Yankee Doodle Lonely

Even though he didn't belong in this world, Barnaby found it impossible to return to his own. And perhaps that was wrong of him, considering the job he had left behind. No matter how much he loved the museum, however, it wasn't the same. This was just a bookshop, sure. Could anyone really blame him? The books were about magic. So his spare time on the job was spent diving through the texts on the shelves, soaking up anything that he could.

Besides his boss (who he'd seen far less of lately, strangely enough), the one real constant in his life was Sloan. Not in any big, grand way. He just appreciated seeing a friendly face as often as he saw hers, and from what he'd learned of her, he understood that her family before her was like him. Muggles. Without magic. So it was easy to ask questions that she, perhaps, would not find so stupid as the others he saw on some sort of regular basis. Even Keiran would probably find himself taken by surprise. Barnaby didn't know the truth of his upbringing, though, so that was hardly true.

At any rate, he had a working list of titles that he thought Sloan might appreciate, and was ready to list another one when she spoke first, surprising him.  

"Oh? Weird how?"

His surprise was evident, which was fair. They were certainly familiar, but it wasn't like they hung out outside of the bookshop. The greetings were still somewhat formal and awkward, and the silences could stretch on, and Barnaby usually initiated because he was the one who worked there and she was the customer. It was the way things worked and here she came in, disrupting all of that without the confidence to make it seem okay.

She nervously tugged on the straps of her backpack, her cheeks tightening into an apologetic grimace before she even managed to form the words. There was going to be no making this normal or casual. She reached up and tugged at one of the spring-y curls framing her face and rocked back on her heels. The grimace held as she hit him with the bombshell. "Weird like... would you mind coming to a funeral with me?"

The look she gave him was certainly... concerning. But he supposed that he didn't really need to read into things with Sloan like he did with other people. She didn't seem to hide things like Keiran did, or like his friends did. Frank was an open book provided you read the thing he wanted you to read. Not that that made sense, but still. All of his experiences with the man led him to that theory, and really there wasn't anything else he could think of that could properly explain that enigma of a man.

He blinked.

It took longer than was strictly appropriate, socially, for him to move after that. When he did, his mouth opened uselessly first, and then his eyebrows furrowed. Barnaby was a man of odd interests, according to most people, but he couldn't claim to have any handle on how to behave when loaded questions and circumstances were presented to him. Ships and artifacts didn't carry pressure with them besides the fear that someone would ruin them. This was entirely out of his realm of understanding.

"Uh... I mean," he shrugged one shoulder, "I wouldn't mind, per se, but -- are you sure?"

Sloane knew she should have followed up. It was a question that produced so many questions that she should have just immediately explained herself, and she was already asking so much. She shouldn't have put the burden of obtaining information on him, not when she was asking him for such a big favor. Going to a funeral for someone you knew was a bleak affair. Going to a funeral for someone you didn't know was an awkward one. And going to a funeral of someone you didn't know with someone you hardly knew was close to torture.

But he seemed to be up for it?

She relaxed a bit, but the words still streamed from her lips quickly, hoping to explain herself and make the whole situation seem less weird. "Well, yeah. It's... I don't think anyone else is going to come and that seems wrong, to have a funeral for someone and it's just me and the... the funeral guy. I couldn't get a rabbi or anything, becuase he was cremated. Which is fine. I mean, my grandparents would probably roll over in their graves, and I think my aunts and uncles are too upset at the whole thing to even thing - but it's not like he was religious, which is fine. So." She shook her head, realizing she was over explaining all the wrong things.

"It's on Saturday. At three. At this river he used to go to."

In all honesty, Barnaby stopped listening halfway through. He was too surprised by the concept of dying and having nobody show up besides some family member (or whatever Sloane was?). It wasn't as if he didn't know something like that could happen. But on the other hand, he also found it hard to comprehend on a personal level. What did someone have to do, apart from that whole cremation thing, to end up alone like that? What did a life mean if nobody wanted to remember it, even if only for a little while? It was probably the saddest thing he'd ever heard, although to be fair he was only sentimental over weird historical stories and objects. So maybe he wasn't the best judge of such things.

But then she concluded with information as to the when and the where. And that snapped his attention back into focus.

"Uh, right. Well, yeah, I can go. I've got off work this weekend, so." He nearly flinched at how unfeeling he must sound. This girl's whatever-he-was had died and she felt alone enough to ask him to go. No matter how irrational he felt for thinking it, Barnaby immediately decided that, even if nobody else could be bothered enough, he was going to remember Sloane. For more than just this, of course. He would be there. When he spoke again, he sounded more certain. "I suppose you'll pick me up somewhere? Goodness knows I won't be able to find the place on my own."

Thank Gallah (the horribly blasphemous name her brother had invented when they were so young to watch the grandparents faint) but he wasn't asking any of the really tough questions. She didn't want to explain if she didn't have to, and she knew that was just procrastinating, but here she was. It would end up awkward once they were at the thing, maybe, but... at least she could live to fight another day here.

She nodded. "Yeah, um... Why don't I just... swing by here? Then I'll apparate us - or if you don't like apparating, we could take the Knight Bus or- well, all magical forms of transportation are a bit traumatic. We could always get a cab, I suppose." Rambling. "But yeah, I can come here."