[He snorts, not deigning that question with a response besides that.
...friends, huh. Well. Sampo had always been like that. He roots through the cupboards, trying to find something suitable for Sampo Koski and torn between something aggressively Belobogian and something very much not. Snowberries or something different...
Well, anyway.
The bookstore is a mix of new and used. The shelves contain a mix of books. There's a few books which are truly foreign. There's one or two books Sampo might realize were written by some of his old coworkers. Unbeknownst to Gepard, there's one slim volume of a history written by someone who was inspired by a follower of the Enigmata.
There's some new things. There's a shelf which contains works written by new and upcoming Belobogians - for Belobog, by Belobog. It's set at a prominent place of honor.
Behind the front counter, there's a slim leather notebook with notes written in Gepard's precise hand, just detailing the books he's read and what he thought of them, with a to-read list. While there's some overlap, it seems like the genres of books Gepard takes home (adventures, romances, big, sweeping plots, grandiose stakes) are slightly different than the books he reads at the shop (historical fiction, tales from foreign lands, a snapshot of a different world).
There's some overlap, but still.
If Sampo goes far enough in the notebook, he'll find that there was, indeed, books about parenting. There was a shift, over time, from something purely pragmatic to something a bit more wistful.
...well, anyway. There's a picture of Gepard, his sisters, and Lily, in a place of honor. It's a bright day, and the family is smiling.
Ledgers indicate that sales aren't all that great, just barely enough to keep the shop running. But Gepard's not doing this because of the money, is he? He's doing it to have something to do.
There's also a locked box. The lock isn't complicated. Small, wooden, with a lily carved on it. Special ordered, probably. Something involving his daughter, probably. Large enough to hold some papers, some photos, some mementos - if Sampo shakes it, he'll be able to hear the sounds of paper.
Speaking of sounds, it sounds like water's still being boiled in the back room.]
no subject
...friends, huh. Well. Sampo had always been like that. He roots through the cupboards, trying to find something suitable for Sampo Koski and torn between something aggressively Belobogian and something very much not. Snowberries or something different...
Well, anyway.
The bookstore is a mix of new and used. The shelves contain a mix of books. There's a few books which are truly foreign. There's one or two books Sampo might realize were written by some of his old coworkers. Unbeknownst to Gepard, there's one slim volume of a history written by someone who was inspired by a follower of the Enigmata.
There's some new things. There's a shelf which contains works written by new and upcoming Belobogians - for Belobog, by Belobog. It's set at a prominent place of honor.
Behind the front counter, there's a slim leather notebook with notes written in Gepard's precise hand, just detailing the books he's read and what he thought of them, with a to-read list. While there's some overlap, it seems like the genres of books Gepard takes home (adventures, romances, big, sweeping plots, grandiose stakes) are slightly different than the books he reads at the shop (historical fiction, tales from foreign lands, a snapshot of a different world).
There's some overlap, but still.
If Sampo goes far enough in the notebook, he'll find that there was, indeed, books about parenting. There was a shift, over time, from something purely pragmatic to something a bit more wistful.
...well, anyway. There's a picture of Gepard, his sisters, and Lily, in a place of honor. It's a bright day, and the family is smiling.
Ledgers indicate that sales aren't all that great, just barely enough to keep the shop running. But Gepard's not doing this because of the money, is he? He's doing it to have something to do.
There's also a locked box. The lock isn't complicated. Small, wooden, with a lily carved on it. Special ordered, probably. Something involving his daughter, probably. Large enough to hold some papers, some photos, some mementos - if Sampo shakes it, he'll be able to hear the sounds of paper.
Speaking of sounds, it sounds like water's still being boiled in the back room.]