The Ink Spot, Friday, June 21, 2024

[fears_no_one]

Flint had been doing some major clearing out and rearranging in the week since he'd washed up on shore, broken into the bookshop and declared it his.

He'd also spent an inordinate amount of time flipping the lights on and off, flushing the toilet, and turning on the hot and cold water taps in the apartment above the shop. He'd also quietly panicked at the cold air cycling through the building. The less said about his search for a giant ice cube secreted in the cupboards, the better.

He hadn't made sense yet of the how the books were arranged (other than "a lot of them" and "in many piles") and he kept getting distracted by some title or another. He also had no idea what a "bookbelt" was, so he'd taken the sign outside down and replaced it with a temporary piece of timber that he'd scrawled "THE INK SPOT" onto. He'd get a better, more permanent sign soon.

He was currently seated in a battered leather reading chair under a lamp with a copy of Cervantes' Novelas Ejemplares. On the checkout counter/holding space for the books he'd already finished (not many) was a tiny Kuwaiti flag, celebrating their independence from Great Britain on June 19, 1961.

The bookshop was open.

Comments

[pocketpretzels]

During a particularly slow stretch of an overall slow day at the Trooper Station, Watts ducked out to go investigate the island's newest business owner, since one of the Troopers had made note of the change in sign.

"Good morning," Watts said, coming in to the shop.

[fears_no_one]

"Good morning," Flint said, putting his bookmark into the book and setting it aside.

...and that was all he was going to do. He was not exactly a natural-born shopkeeper.

[pocketpretzels]

There was a reasonably clear path between the doorway and where Flint sat, and yet the path Watts took was significantly more convoluted, weaving between stacks of books.

"Detective Llewellyn Watts," he introduced himself, once he'd made his way over. "I work just around the corner, at the Trooper Station."

[fears_no_one]

"Is that title like a magistrate?" Flint asked carefully.

Magistrates who, say, liked to arrest and hang pirates?

[pocketpretzels]

"Hm? No. Well. I suppose in a sense; a Detective is charged with solving specific crimes," he gave Flint a long look. "If you've reason to be wary of law enforcement, you should know that the general rule of thumb is that as long as you don't bring harm to anyone on this island, what you've done elsewhere does not follow you here."

[fears_no_one]

"I'm wary of no man," Flint said, "I merely wanted to know the difference in titles." His lips quirked. "As a shopkeeper, I am not in the business of getting too familiar with the nuances in law enforcement."

[pocketpretzels]

"Naturally," Watts said easily. "And have you a name or a title you would prefer beyond 'Shopkeep', yourself?"

[fears_no_one]

"You may call me Captain Flint," Flint replied.

[pocketpretzels]

"Nice to make your acquaintance, then, Captain," Watts said, extending a hand for what was originally intended to be a handshake, but for the fact that at the last second he instead reached to pick some piece of thread or other small bit of detritus from the chair Flint was sat in.

[fears_no_one]

Flint's expression clearly said "what the hell" even if his mouth was remembering that he was a shopkeeper. He took his hand that had been ready for a handshake and crossed it over his chest, joined quickly by his other arm.

"Indeed."

[pocketpretzels]

Yeah, that was about the standard reaction to Watts.

"Settling in nicely, then?" he asked.

[fears_no_one]

"People have been very welcoming."

It was very strange.

"And this island is very clean."

It was also very strange.

[pocketpretzels]

"Are you not- accustomed to cleanliness?" Watts asked thoughtfully.

[mustbeawitch]

Lydia had finally found time in her busy schedule of watching TikTok to make a return visit to the bookshop, after a pause outside to consider the new name, and then a shrug because she hadn't the first clue what a bookbelt was, either.

"Good morning, Captain Flint! Er, that is correct, yes? The squirrels said it was your name!" Because in all the excitement of teaching him how the lights worked Lydia had never gotten his name from him in the first place, oops. Despite her dislike of modern manners, a mistress of etiquette she was not.

[fears_no_one]

"Miss Bennet," Flint said, putting aside his book again and standing up to greet here. "How pleasant to see you again. It is, in fact, Captain Flint."

He blinked. "The squirrels said it was my name?"

[mustbeawitch]

"Oh, yes," Lydia said. "The gossip squirrels who run the radio broadcast." It was all covered in the stack of paper she had clutched in her hands, but she explained, "Every day on the island there's an audio broadcast over what's called the 'radio,' with the news of the day before. A bit like a cross between a newspaper and a scandal sheet--goodness, I just realized I don't know if they had either of those in 1715!--although much of the news is quite dull. The squirrels have dragooned me into reading their reports every Saturday morning, and often I am called to report on the island's doctor and sheriff both taking naps at their posts."

Okay, but what about the squirrels, Lydia?

[fears_no_one]

"We had newspapers and scandal sheets," Flint said with a smile.

He'd been in both of them, even!

"And I shall endeavor to find a way to listen on Saturdays to hear such fascinating findings."

[mustbeawitch]

"I can help you with that!" Lydia exclaimed. "Though you must be aware: sometimes you will hear about what you have been up to. They may even report on this conversation." Wait. Yes. She did need to explain, "I do refer to actual squirrels. As in, the rodents. You may mark them by their tiny hats and notepads." Which were infuriatingly adorable. "If you don't want them to report upon your doings, I am told they are quite open to bribery, and exceedingly fond of spirits, particularly rum for some reason."

Had anyone told the squirrels Flint was a pirate yet? They might hail him as their new king.

[fears_no_one]

"Well, they cannot have my rum," Flint decided. "I'm using it. Where on earth do they obtain tiny clothing?"

[mustbeawitch]

"Do you know, I haven't asked them. Perhaps there is a very small side room at Pixie Dust?" she speculated.

On to the matter she had dropped by about! "I took the liberty of writing for you a sort of primer on what I have found most important to know in order to function in this time period." Bearing in mind that she was a rather vain eighteen-year-old girl and Flint was...Flint, so doubtless there was a good chunk of it he was going to find absolutely useless even though she had removed the section on the functions of the Dyson Airwrap. But you totally wanted to know all about TikTok, right, Flint? "How the appliances work--laundry! The laundry machines are truly amazing!--and so on. And sunscreen, of course. Sunscreen is very important, it turns out!" Although Flint was probably already doomed on that front. "I discover something new every week, it seems, so I'm sure there are gaps."

[fears_no_one]

"Thank you very much, Miss Bennet," Flint said with a tiny smile. "What is sunscreen? I'm imagining some form of umbrella."

[mustbeawitch]

"It's a sort of cream that you put on your skin, and it prevents the sun from damaging it," Lydia explained. "Of course I knew that the sun would make one tan and give one sunspots, but I didn't realize it was so dangerous! Apparently it can even give one cancer!" Lydia was now very glad she had been raised to stay the eff out of the sun lest she get unfashionably tan. "My friend Arden--that is, Miss Finch--told me about it, and then I learned more on TikTok." Lydia, no.

[fears_no_one]

"TikTok?" Flint repeated. "What is a TikTok?"

Flint. Flint, no.

"Is it in the primer?"

[mustbeawitch]

"Oh, yes," Lydia assured him. "It's an 'app' for the phone, that is, a little icon you can put on there that serves some specific function. People make these little videos, you see--recordings where you can see and hear them, like...like books but real. Some of them are just for entertainment, but some of them are quite informative!"

What could possibly go wrong here?

[fears_no_one]

So, so many things, Lydia. So many things could go wrong here.

"And these little moving stories talk about sunscreen?"