Throughout his tumultuous existence, there was one thing that remained constant: comfort could be found in books.
In life, tending to his duties distracted him from confusing feelings. In death, it kept him from focusing on the minutiae of his past and all the pain and anxiety they dredged up. Perhaps Herr Reinhardt had done too well of a job in training him, seeing as working was the one thing that kept him together most times. Pale fingertips ghosted over the spines of the books he was shelving, gently nudging them into their proper homes with his telekinesis. Everything was fine. There was nothing to be gained by fretting over how's and why's. He inhaled — a purely psychological gesture, given his current state — and released it slowly. Everything was fine. What a humorous thought, seeing as he was dead.
Shaking his head slowly, he endeavored to push that train of thought from his mind, soldiering on to focus on the pushcart of books. There were still plenty to put away and more to do beyond that, so he really couldn't be wasting time with internal struggles. Centering himself, he reached to 'pick up' more of the volumes needing to be returned to the shelves. He was halfway through his armful of tomes when the sound of nearby footsteps startled him. This...was embarrassing. He was supposed to be working, not fumbling around due to being on edge.
Apparently focusing on work wasn't enough — or perhaps the books alone weren't enough. Maybe keeping himself distracted would be easier with someone else around. With that in mind, he gently set down the books in his telekinetic grasp and pivoted silently in the directions of the footsteps he heard.
A careful, practiced gait carried him forward and as he rounded the aisle corner, a pre-emptive...
"Is there any way I can be of service?"
Lilted softly from his lips.
ooc notes: open to anyone! if you'd like to join but need more to work with, let me know and I'll happily edit.
In life, tending to his duties distracted him from confusing feelings. In death, it kept him from focusing on the minutiae of his past and all the pain and anxiety they dredged up. Perhaps Herr Reinhardt had done too well of a job in training him, seeing as working was the one thing that kept him together most times. Pale fingertips ghosted over the spines of the books he was shelving, gently nudging them into their proper homes with his telekinesis. Everything was fine. There was nothing to be gained by fretting over how's and why's. He inhaled — a purely psychological gesture, given his current state — and released it slowly. Everything was fine. What a humorous thought, seeing as he was dead.
Shaking his head slowly, he endeavored to push that train of thought from his mind, soldiering on to focus on the pushcart of books. There were still plenty to put away and more to do beyond that, so he really couldn't be wasting time with internal struggles. Centering himself, he reached to 'pick up' more of the volumes needing to be returned to the shelves. He was halfway through his armful of tomes when the sound of nearby footsteps startled him. This...was embarrassing. He was supposed to be working, not fumbling around due to being on edge.
Apparently focusing on work wasn't enough — or perhaps the books alone weren't enough. Maybe keeping himself distracted would be easier with someone else around. With that in mind, he gently set down the books in his telekinetic grasp and pivoted silently in the directions of the footsteps he heard.
A careful, practiced gait carried him forward and as he rounded the aisle corner, a pre-emptive...
"Is there any way I can be of service?"
Lilted softly from his lips.
ooc notes: open to anyone! if you'd like to join but need more to work with, let me know and I'll happily edit.