Chapter Text
Scarab was… agitated.
He had been forced out of his warm, comfortable home, and sent out to perform an unplanned social interaction. On a weekend.
He puffed a cloud of condensation out into the frigid air. His steps were rhythmic, as he allowed his body to automatically steer him to where he needed to go. His jacket hardly did enough to keep him from freezing, and his ears felt as though they were threatening to fall off.
Orbo had recommended earmuffs, but Scarab insisted he wouldn’t be caught dead in the pair that had been offered to him. They had rabbits on them, for gods’ sake. Rabbits. Scarab still had dignity, after all.
Scarab reminisced on this interaction. The wind chill must have been altering his thoughts, as he couldn’t help but wish he could trade in dignity for the comfort of warm ears. He shook his head vigorously. Only a few more minutes until he arrived at the library.
He recited the name of the book that Simon had asked him to fetch. The Inner Workings of Snakes, by G.B. Gross. Scarab regrettably owed him a favor, as Simon had recently bought him a new jacket for a party he had to attend, and Scarab had a strict moral code when it came to favors. A moral code which he was now beginning to regret, to be frank.
Finally, he spotted the library as he turned the corner. It glowed a comforting yellow, and Scarab hurried over to it like a moth to a flame. When he finally opened the door, he felt warmth pour into him like hot tea into a mug. Scarab had to restrain himself from audibly sighing. There was a hanger by the door, so he shrugged off his coat and quickly hung it up. He recalled what Simon had told him about the librarian.
“Oh he’s really very friendly Scarab!” Just ask him to see if they have the book.” You won’t even have to get it, one of the interns will pick it up for you!” They’re very helpful, truly.”
Scarab had been slightly dismayed at the news that he wouldn’t be able to find the book himself, as he did quite enjoy the act of searching for things, and found the dewey decimal system comforting, but he quickly brushed that off. He couldn’t remember what Simon had said the librarian’s name was. Something that started with an… R? P? M?
As luck would have it, he did not need to wonder much longer. As he approached the librarian’s counter, Scarab immediately noticed a nametag on his chest. “Prismo W.” Scarab began to ponder on what the W could stand for, but before his thoughts could consume him, the man in question called out to him.
“Hey there stranger! Can I help you with anything?”
The man had a wide grin, but the rest of his face betrayed his exhaustion, with his eyebags showing prominently. The bangles that covered his arms jingled as he waved. Scarab couldn’t help but judge his lack of professional attire
He stood there analyzing Prismo, before common sense got the better of him. He cleared his throat and relayed the instructions he had been given.
“Are you in possession of a copy of The Inner Workings of Snakes, by G.B. Gross?” Nailed it.
Prismo’s eyes flashed with recognition.
“Oh, you’re here for Simon, aren’t you? I know he’s doing a study on snakes. He was talking about it earli- oh wait actually, you could just be picking this up for yourself. Nevermind.”
As he blabbered on, Prismo’s face began to darken with embarrassment, which was frankly, pitiful to watch. Scarab cut him off as he was apologizing.
“No, you were correct. I am here on Simon’s behalf. Do you have the book?”
Prismo startled, and attempted to gather himself together.
“Oh I’m sorry, I was just droning on there. I’ll check the database for you! If I’m being honest though, we probably have it. Not many other patrons take an interest in ophiology.”
As he turned to his computer and began to search, Scarab took the opportunity to look around. The library was sprinkled with beanbags and swivel chairs, and full of colorful rugs. Stickers were plastered on the windows, and there was a shelf full of CDs available for rent, although Scarab couldn’t imagine that being very popular anymore.
“Alright!” Scarab was shaken out of his daze. “Looks like we do have it! In fact, we have three copies of it! I’ll send Fionna to fetch it for you.”
Prismo peeled a sticky note off of a stack of his desk, and scribbled a few notes onto it. He then sauntered up to a door, and gave it a few knocks. When nothing happened, he cleared his throat and cooed, “Fiooonnnaaaa. Would you mind grabbing a book for our dear friend here?”
The door swung open to reveal a blonde twenty-something woman, who seemed even more exhausted than Prismo. Her light blue shirt was darkened with sweat stains, and a few strands of her long hair fell out onto her face. Upon seeing Prismo, she straightened up, and quickly grabbed the sticky note. “On it boss!” she proclaimed, and ran off diligently in search of the book.
Prismo watched as she went, sighing fondly. “She’s a hard worker, that one. Sometimes disorganized, but she sure tries her best.”
Scarab quickly became aware of the fact that he was now under pressure to maintain this conversation, and asked a simple question. “Is she an intern?”
Prismo shook his head. “No, no, she’s a paid assistant. Started out as an intern, yeah, but she was down on her luck and I had enough money to keep her afloat. Figured bumping her up was the least I could do, you know?” His smile shifted into something more somber. “Besides, I’ve been in her position before. I know what it’s like.” He stared silently for a few moments, until he suddenly perked his head up and turned to Scarab. “Well, that’s enough about me! How about you? What do you do for a living?
Scarab paused for a moment, before replying, “I’m a health inspector. Have been for a few years now.”
Prismo seemed grateful for the new topic to latch onto. “A health inspector? Well you must have some fun stories from that!”
“Not many.” admitted Scarab. “I find that most of the more… entertaining aspects of my life happen outside of work hours.”
Prismo’s eyes sparkled. “Well you can’t just give me that and then not share! Do tell!”
Crap. What was Scarab thinking? Prismo likely lived a life full of fun and socializing. Obviously that was what he’d be expecting Scarab to talk about. But Scarab didn’t know anything about that. When he’d said entertaining, he meant documenting new progress in his pill bug terrarium, or buying a new box of tea made in a faraway country. There was no way Prismo would find any of that even slightly entertaining.
But the pause in conversation was beginning to become awkward, and Scarab knew something had to be said. So he blurted out, “I recently purchased a Polyphemus moth for my display collection?”
What he wasn’t expecting was Prismo’s delighted reaction. “Dude, you like moths? I love moths! What’s your favorite species?”
Scarab couldn’t believe his luck. Almost no one he met cared in the slightest about insects in general, let alone moths. Emboldened by his success, he stated, “I have a preference for the Cinnabar moth, myself.”
“Ooh, cool pick!” replied Prismo. “My favorite is the Rosy Maple, which is a cliche, I know, but I just love their coloring!
As Prismo spoke, Scarab noticed how when he smiled, one of his cheeks dimpled, and whenever he grinned, you could see a small chip in one of his teeth. Scarab was aware these were strange things to notice, but didn’t ponder it for too long.
During their conversation, Fionna returned, book in hand, and extended it to Scarab. “Here you go, Sir!” she announced proudly. Prismo took it from her, and quietly thanked her. He scanned the book, and handed it to Scarab, who began examining it upon receiving it. The book wasn’t as heavy as he thought it might have been, thankfully. Fionna nodded back to him and retreated to the room she came from.
“I suppose I should get going, then,” said Scarab tentatively. As much as it surprised him to admit, he had somewhat enjoyed talking to Prismo.
“I suppose you should,” replied Prismo, sounding slightly wistful, before he perked up again.
“Y'know, I really liked talking to you! We should talk again! Here, lemme give you my number.”
Prismo peeled another sticky note off of the stack and jotted down a few numbers, before handing it to Scarab.
Scarab was slightly taken aback by the action, but tried not to show it. He slipped the note into his coat pocket, gave a polite goodbye, and opened the door. Unfortunately, the strange heat in his face was not enough to keep him warm, and he was hit with the familiar icy gust of wind that he’d been dreading. He silently cursed Simon, snakes as a species, and libraries as a concept, as he willed his feet to move again and carry him home.
But before he could get anywhere, the library door burst open again. Prismo was standing in the doorway. “Wait!” he called. “I still don’t actually know your name!”
Scarab stared at Prismo, and his askew nametag, and cheap jewelry, and casual outfit, and couldn’t help but chuckle, just a bit. “It’s Scarab,” he revealed.
Prismo gazed at him with an unreadable expression, and Scarab turned around and walked away.
As he walked, he couldn’t help but think of Prismo. He wondered if he should take up his offer and text him. As strange as the thought felt, he was somewhat looking forward to talking with this disorganized, awkward man. He shivered and rubbed his arms. Perhaps this cold really was getting to him.
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Prismo was… terrified
Gods, what was that? He’d just met a cool, super-cute guy, had a chance to bond with him, and totally blew it! He’d stumbled over his words, gave out his number before learning the guy’s name, and gotten laughed at! A part of him just wanted to curl up into a ball and hide.
But, miraculously, it wasn’t all bad. The guy seemed somewhat comfortable talking to Prismo, and didn’t turn him down when Prismo offered to talk again. Maybe that meant something? He sighed and hid his face in his hands, replaying the interaction in his head. Scarab. Geez, that was like, the coolest name ever! Prismo was completely and utterly… doomed.