beauty meets the beast {soren + mabel}

[MABEL MISHRA]

Mabel closed her book with a sigh. The last page of an old favourite was always the most depressing to read, no matter how familiar she was with the story. It seemed unfair for something so engaging and alive to come to a close, but alas, such was life. She ran her fingers over the textured cover of To Kill a Mockingbird, her eyes narrowed, wondering why in the world Harper Lee would ever decide it was a good idea to give up writing. To think of the additional books she could have obsessed over... As though her collection wasn't large enough.

Slipping the book back in her bag, she pulled out a second: The Book Thief. She glanced towards the wall to check the time: ten minutes until two in the morning, and unsurprisingly, the library was still packed with weekend procrastinators. Typical Sunday. Mabel barely suppressed a smile; she had never been capable of such blatant procrastination, unless absolutely necessary. Then again, she had always enjoyed throwing herself into her homework without abandon; it made forgetting both easy and productive.

Despite the crowded state of the room, however, it seemed that tonight her job was almost entirely unnecessary. Only one person had approached the desk to check out an item, and even that had just been a set of headphones--no doubt a useful aid in disguising his plan to take advantage of the research center's faster internet connection to watch YouTube videos. Nonetheless, she sincerely doubted that she would be bombarded by desperate students within the last ten minutes of her shift. Perhaps she could get at least a few chapters in before closing.

Or...

Surveying the area discreetly, and deeming it safe, Mabel slipped out her phone to check the score of the Liverpool vs. Manchester match from earlier in the day. She hadn't had a chance yet to look it up, having been busy re-shelving returned books earlier in the day. Her heart thudding in her chest, she tapped the link. The page slowly loaded, as though purposefully drawing out her suspense, then finally appeared.

"Yes!" Mabel muttered under her breath, proudly staring down at the score: Liverpool 1, Manchester 3. Maybe now Manchester would actually have a chance at the Cup Final, if they got their act together against Chelsea, and Liverpool lost to Sunderland...

"Attention please," the intercom blared, startling a number of focused students and causing Mabel to drop her phone in astonishment. "The library will be closing in five minutes. Please check out any last-minute items now, and vacate the center as soon as possible."

Mabel slipped her phone back in her bag. The announcement towards closing always startled her, no matter how prepared she was for its blaring interruption. Plus, it always gave her the sickly feeling of having just been caught breaking the rules.

Her cheeks slightly flushed, she waited for the remaining minutes to pass, anxious to return to her apartment and collapse on her too-comfy bed.

[SOREN SOMERSETT]

It was really, really, really fucking dark out.

Not that Soren minded that much. He wasn’t exactly a night owl or anything, but hey, he’d had soccer games later than this before. And it was already morning in Madrid, where the F-ballers would already be getting up and getting their games on. Fuck, he wanted to be like them. He needed to be like them. Soren Sommersett, number 9, on Real fucking Madrid as soon as he could skip out of this damn town. It was happening. Suck on that, all you doubters. What was he doing out here again? There was some book he needed for his Theater History II paper no reason whatsoever.

Nice…rice…lice…life! A Life! That was what the fucking book was called. Right. He’d googled it. That sounded like a One Direction album or something. God, he fucking hated One Direction. If this book had any mention of One Direction in it, he was setting that shit on fire without a second thought.


The full moon gleamed over New York City. Soren walked slowly down West 33rd street, right in front of Barrie’s main building, passing beneath the dim glows of the street lamps and windows. He kicked a soccer ball along in front of him, maneuvering it in deft figure-eights, pullbacks, and step-overs. Because fuck you, that’s why. He’d dribble a soccer ball wherever he damn well pleased.

Soren took a right at the Empire State Building and onto 5th Avenue, counting the addresses on his way through. 29…30…31…32…33. Soren made a nimble leap and kicked the soccer ball on the right edge of his right pinky toe, Soren was ambidextrous, but fuck you, he liked his right foot. He watched as the ball launched itself into the air, soaring in a graceful arc to land in the dead center of a dumpster across the road. Yes. In-fucking-deed.

He walked into the front room of the Barrie University library, which seemed to be made entirely of fucking marble. He strolled up to the front desk, spitting into a fountain as he passed, and grinning at the chick who stood behind the counter. Because…well, damn. She was pretty hot. You had to admit.

“Well well well. How’s we doin’ tonight, hun?” Soren leaned against the countertop, adopting the thick New-Youkuh accent he’d used in Barrie’s last drama production. He wished he’d brought a fucking cigarette so he could take it out of his mouth like a boss. Not that he smoked or any of that shit. Ew, no, no, no, fuck you.

“Ahm a’lookin’ fr’uh…"What the fuck had the author’s name been? Had Google even said? Shit, he’d probably forgotten to look for the author’s name on the Amazon page. Damnit, Soren. There must be seven fucking billion books called “A Life” in this library. You’ve been turning your brain off for too long. “Sonmhen? Solhem? Solendime? Any o’ that, uh…be ringin’ a bell fr’you?” Great. She was probably going to have no idea what the fuck he was talking about. He must be sounding like the biggest idiot ever, right about now.

[MABEL MISHRA]

Mabel was startled from her hazy daydream--which starred her bed, her comforter, and three goose-down pillows--by the sickening splat of spit dislodging itself from someone's throat and soaring into a nearby water fountain with a tiny metallic echo. She blinked, somewhat startled; in over two years of manning the desk at the library, she had never before seen such (somewhat revolting) behavior right before her eyes. But she knew her eyes were not deceiving her, for the culprit was quick to approach her, a grin splitting his face. She smiled back habitually, a helpful mask to hide her disgust at his behavior.

She was fairly certain she had seen this guy around campus before... Wasn't he some sort of treasure to the theatre department or something? She vaguely recalled a recent play she had seen, showcasing the boy across the counter, involving a character with an identical New York accent. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and decided to give him her full attention instead. Perhaps he was only trying to catch her interest, which certainly wasn't a crime. She had been fairly engrossed in her daydream (or, more accurately, her 2-AM-dream) before he had approached; maybe he had sensed her current desire to distance herself from reality.

"I'm doing very well, thank you," Mabel patiently replied, resurrecting her friendly smile. "Do you mean Sondheim?" she suggested helpfully, guessing the name quickly enough. Despite her deep-seeded fear of performance, she was familiar with some aspects of the musical theatre genre, and was even prone to singing some renditions softly in the shower--if she was certain no one else was within a near-enough vicinity to hear her. "Well, if it's sheet music you're looking for, you'll most likely find it in the M-Mu call section, organized by composer. Or maybe you would find "Stephen Sondheim: A Life" by Meryle Secrest more helpful?"

She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, surveying once more the spitting tough-guy across from her. He seemed quite tall, and very well-built; perhaps he was an athlete of some kind? He certainly looked out of place against the somewhat pompous white marble background, surrounded by shelves of books. She was fairly certain she had never seen him in the library before. Besides, he looked way too--well--jock-ish to spend much time amongst these cherished books, and especially to be searching for musical theatre subject material.

He's probably trying to impress a girl, she thought gravely. One of those dancing musical theatre girls, no doubt. Not that he needed to do much work in that department, anyway; Mabel assumed the guy's build most likely did all the work for him, not to mention his theatre resume.

"Have I seen you around before?" Mabel finally asked, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter. "You look very familiar."