Nathan and Lydia, backdated to March 18

[om_panax]

A love-drugged Nathan accosts Lydia in the library... looking for love advice? Lydia, once more, is totally sassed out by him.

Lydia slipped a slim volume back into the shelf and moved on to search for the next on her little scrap of a call sheet. Disturbing, how many events in history could be called similar to a mass scale mutant-outing had gone completely shit almost immediately. Even more disturbing how very, very dissimilar--and relatively less 'othering'--those events and coming-outs and revolutions had been, in some ways.

Or it would've been disturbing, anyhow, if Lydia hadn't been well engrossed in the business of trying to decide how large each portion of their sample should be from each event, while simultaneously making a mental list of all the things she needed to get to Arthur before the weekend if they wanted to be on top of this shit.

Several feet in front of Lydia, a book suddenly dropped off of the shelf to land on the floor, the sound echoing in the quiet space. ...And then one next to it fell.

A dozen other books abruptly plunged to their doom all at once in a single heap, literary lemmings committing mass bibliocide just in front of her. Or perhaps they were pushed, from where someone had made space behind them and wriggled their hands through the dividing slats.

Lydia sighed and rolled her eyes. "Whoever you are, you'd better hope to god Arthur doesn't catch you doing that."

"Aren't you any fun at all? Ever?" Nathan came around the stacks, looking the flash girl over, and then admiring the chaotic pile of downed books. "I don't know who that is, I don't think, but it hardly would've stopped me," he was reasonably sure. "They're only books."

"And here I'd heard the Irish had a great respect for literature." Lydia arched an eyebrow and looked down her nose at the pile. Whether his question was rhetorical or not, she definitely wasn't going to dignify it with a response.

"Oh sure," Nathan said easily, not seeming to notice her distasteful look as he got down to gather up an armful of the books. His thoughts were rather pre-occupied with something very pleasant. "I'm just not nearly drunk enough yet."

Lydia rolled her eyes and turned back to her own book shelf search. "I just assumed you were from the way your eyes are glazed over. Must be a perpetual thing."

"Stereotypes are real timesavers," he suggested lightly. He was pushing books back up onto the shelves, but not in the order they'd started in, not even bothering to face out the spines so much. "You haven't seen my roommate in here anywhere, have you? He's possibly invisible at the moment, which makes the search more difficult."

Right, spooky Simon. What a creepy little room that must be. Lydia somehow refrained from rolling her eyes again. "It wasn't my turn to watch him. If it's so urgent, try a text. And oh my god, just leave those on the cart if you're going to fuck them up like that."

Nathan wasn't really thinking about why he should or shouldn't comply when he moved over to grunt and yank the squeaky book cart around; it just seemed easier to do it as she'd said if he wanted her to talk to him. Which, he sort of did... "You're clearly a romantic," he started, thoughtfully. If it was baiting her for some joke, or being sarcastic whatsoever, he didn't sound it.

Wow. Really had not expected him to actually listen--but she made a face at him like he had just sprouted a second head for the romantic comment. Obviously it was leading up to some kind of annoying troll comment, but whatever, she needed to find this damn book. "You are the first to ever think so. Or--wait, don't tell me, you're one of those fluffy happy romantic types who likes to see it in everyone?"

That, in fact, was sarcasm.

"Well, you would be prettier if you didn't appear to constantly be squeezing lemons with your clunge," he granted absently. He stopped putting books on the cart to stop and look at her, something quite nearly serious in his open, eager curiosity. "But haven't you ever been in love?"

"My heart is cold and black and dead, so of course not," Lydia lied, her voice sharp, gaze fixed on the stacks. "And with men like you in the world, who think that I exist to conform to your idea of 'pretty', is it any wonder? God help whoever's unlucky enough to get your romantic attentions."

Nathan just stopped, turning to look at her face with the big-brow quirked expression of seriously, now? "Just for curiosity's sake - are you naturally this venomous, or is this the product of some early trauma? It's a real bait and switch with you."

"Really?" Lydia murmured, again ignoring his question. That... had not been what she'd expected either. Something more trollish seemed more likely, but there were surprises around ever corner here, weren't there? "Did I give you the impression of sweetness? That's why you thought I was a romantic?"

Nathan shrugged. Not sweet, definitely no. "Not that I know you from Eve, but you seem like you've got a lot going for you. Not to my tastes at all, but it's highly unlikely to me that you haven't had at least the one romantic interest or another."

Lydia finally turned her head and leveled a narrow-eyed gaze at him. "What are you getting at?"

Nathan stooped for the last of the books, shoving them onto the cart with his palms. "Some of us are crap at that sort of thing," he told her, second-guessing having even brought the subject up. She'd probably have a good laugh in his face and leave it at that. Maybe kick him in the groin while she was at it. "I thought you might have advice, that's all."

Now Lydia's brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Wait. You're saying this is not some elaborate set-up to some kind of master-troll? You're really looking for a conversation about romance?"

"Not so much now as when I'd started," Nathan admitted. "But why not? It's like Freud said - sometimes a cigar is just supposed to be a penis."

"I have no idea what is going on today," Lydia said, eyebrows high. Because seriously. What. In the holy hell. Was going on? She turned back to the book shelf. "Fine. What aspect of romance is baffling you?"

Creaking the cart around to its other side, where there were no books on the top as of yet, Nathan leaned his bony elbows onto its bare ledge for a leaning while he went on, frowning but slightly as he glanced at her uneasily. "I think about him all the time. Can't get him out of my head, no matter what I do. Is that...normal?"

"Yes. Especially in new relationships." Lydia actually turned to face him, cocking her head and eyeing him just as warily, still waiting for a punchline or... something. "People newly in love tend to have lower serotonin levels. Exactly like people with obsessive-compulsive disorder."

"So it's not completely mental," he got from that, looking slightly relieved. Because if Nathan really thought about it, it was pretty unsettling how strongly he felt and how hard it was not to, you know, do something for it. "When does that wear off, and the shit parts everyone complains about start to happen?"

"Oh, depends." Lydia's skeptical expression didn't change a bit. "Your brain's already flooded with phenylethylamine, which is basically chemical stupidity, aka love high. Next comes the oxytocin increase--can happen after orgasms, all kinds of physical bonding, really. Well, that and going through some kind of emotionally difficult times together. Increases attachment."

"We've had those," Nathan agreed. "The tough scrapes, not the orgasms, I'm still working to get him around to them."

"Great, thanks, you can leave out the details." Lydia made a face--this time, she actually tried to think what squeezing lemons with her vag would look like... but honestly had no fucking clue. Weirdo. "Well, then you're probably already pretty good there.

"So my advice would be, if you love him, try not to be such a complete douche nozzle. But if you must, at least make sure you keep getting him high on oxytocin so he makes excuses for you being a complete douche nozzle." Because, trust me. It fucking works. Don't I know it.

Nathan stared at a minor ding on the side of the cart for a few moments. Then he lifted his head to loll a look back over at Lydia. "Hearing a girl using the word 'douche nozzle' is entirely arousing," he informed her. "Give us one more?"

Lydia stared at him for exactly three seconds as if he might've been a very fat, messy fly who'd spattered on her windshield and obscured her view of the highway. And then she turned back to her search for the goddamn book. Under her breath, "Weirdest. conversation. ever."

"When you're reading it," Nathan whispered low, waving the very title she was searching for from next on her list around into her view, "think to yourself... Douche nozzle."

"Oh, I will," she promised, taking one step nearer and holding out her hand. "I seriously doubt there's any avoiding that."

Nathan waggled the book between them for a beat, presumably working up the most disturbing answer possible or to tease her with the thing she was wanting. But the comedic moment passed, and he didn't make to fetch it back again, smiling a bit instead. "Thanks for the advice and all that," he handed the book over.

She accepted, aware that five minutes ago she would've been astounded at how easy that had been, but now completely past being able to register any kind of surprise. Just. what. even?

"Mmm, good luck," she said, eyebrows high. "Mostly to that poor boy. whoever he is."

"God help the unlucky bastard," he brightly echoed her words from earlier back to her. Nathan hopped up to lodge one foot on the bare lowest shelf of the cart and held on to the frame, pushing off with his foot to squeak-coast himself back across the aisles in search of Simon.