It was entirely possible she could have skipped the line in its entirety. When you know the author, you can get your book signed without having to wait in lines. But there is something special about going to a book-signing for a friend, and seeing the fans lined up to show the author just how much they enjoy their work. It's kind of like showing your support to the home team at a sporting event. You could go to school pep rallies and cheer, yeah, but being there is so much better. There's a kind of energy. People have questions.

When Serena's agent had set it up, and Amelia had found out her friend was doing a book signing, she had been psyched. Serena had written a fantasy story, and it was pretty good. Not hobbits and dwarves and Elrond Hubbard, but urban fantasy. As in set within an urban setting. It was probably one of her favorite genres. There is so much creativity in setting a fantasy story within the confines of a modern setting, and mixing myth with modern day realities. And the magic system kicked ass. The main character was witty as hell, and that incredible kind of clever that main characters usually are... but they had such good character development and backstory going, that it didn't make them sound like they were incredibly in every way. It was well-written. Her characters had flaws, and they were believable. And that thing with the horse? Hilarious!

It wasn't surprising that the line for the book signing stretched around multiple bookshelves, up and down the book store's first floor. The bookstore itself wasn't a big, brand name box store, but it also wasn't an obscure, mom & pop bookstore. It was hip and trendy, and very popular among the fantasy and science fiction crowd. It was perfect for a young writer, just starting out. And Serena had drawn a big crowd. Even though she had contributed nothing to her friend's success, she felt incredibly proud of Serena. Good for her.

Also, hey. She was dating the author so if she felt like bragging or something-- she mentally shushed that thought. Her old babysitter would have chastised her, 'ridiculous girl.'

Living life in the city, outside of the imprisoning confines of his former residence, was exciting. Everything was new, everything was uncommon, and there had been many aspects of the city life that the mutant did not have the opportunity to encounter prior to his unexpected release. One of them was the sheer amount of people, perhaps the most inhibiting aspect in Matthew's life on the outside, which often caused him to become a recluse, living in his own personal bubble, reticent in conversing with others, until he would be alone or with someone that he knew well enough to be relatively comfortable with. Yes, that had formed an impediment in the full enjoyment of New York City, fluctuating in unpleasantness- from awkward and shy conversation, to feeling trapped within his own flesh and bone-, but Matthew was working on it. If not for his attempts, he would not have been able to communicate with his recently-affiliated friend, Leo, and with the mysterious and helpful mutant, Tempest; interactions which helped him immensely in discovering whom, and what, he was.

One of the most exciting aspects of his current life was that Matthew was capable of purchasing his pieces of literature himself. Prior to becoming a student he had been restricted to the books that he would obtain at the mercy of his benevolent mother, mostly classics, but now that he had the freedom to choose for himself, he found himself attempting to read modern literature. It was so different from classic literature that, at first, Matthew felt an utter disgust towards it. Where was the poetry? Where was the dialogue that revealed aspects about the characters that no narrative could ever hope convey? Where was the plot that was detailed, straightforward- yet interesting- and captivating enough that it kept you up until 2AM in order to finish the magnetic piece of literature? Due to these questions, which remained unanswered, the Creative Writing and Literature student assumed his previous position as an ardent admirer of classic literature.

His disgust retained its fervour for a long while, but it seemed to gradually falter the more he noticed his classical literature professor opting to read modern literature in his free time between lessons. It was not as if Matthew had chosen to spy on his favourite professor; it was simply that he was reluctant to leave class until most of the other students had already left- introvertedness taking its toll once more. This actually prompted a conversation with the middle-aged teacher where, Matthew, intrigued by the concept of his favourite professor having such poor taste, politely inquired as to what drew him towards modern literature. The answer, accompanied by his recommendation, was sure to change the student's life forever. One way or another.

So, there he was, in line to get his modern literature book signed- something that he never believed could occur. He had finally understood! The poetry, the plot, the dialogue, it had not been reduced to nothingness, it had been altered to fit a new era of literature, one which was more direct in its apparent approach, but seemed to be able to convey so much more subtext by addressing contemporary issues. And, the excellent writing found within some writers' works was a welcome bonus, metaphors and pathetic fallacies pouring together into one river of imagery that never failed to impress Matthew.

But, of course, the line had been arduously long, causing Matthew to be rather internal and awkward at most times. He knew no one in the line, and the large amount of people had something of an overbearing effect upon his psyche. But, he had to withstand it, he had to meet his favourite modern literature author!

((OOC: We're skipping Serena until we get to the front of the line, with Serena's players okay.))

In long lines, some people don't talk to each other. They keep to themselves, silent, maybe texting their boyfriends on their phone, or playing Angry Crush or Candy Birds or whatever. Vaudeville Heroes. Cellphone Games. Or, they would shun conversation like a recovering alcoholic shuns liquor. They might miss it, remember it fondly, but remember the things it does to them and avoid it altogether. That was a bad comparison. Really bad. Because she had never been an alcoholic, so she could not really fathom what an alcoholic in recovery might truly feel like. She supposed a better comparison might be someone with a song in their heart, but scared to try and sing it because of the inconvenience it would give to others, as well as the fact that they just didn't know the words to the song. How could they begin? Yes, that was probably a better comparison. Right now, she had a song in her heart, but she sure as heck wasn't going to start singing it.

Amelia hummed the tune for one second, caught herself, and ceased singing it. Whatever tune you think it was, it was. Enjoy that.

To get away from the song, Amelia glanced around for someone to talk to. There was a man with a squarish jaw and short-cut brown hair standing behind her. "Hey," she smiled politely at the man. "Good day for book signings, huh? No rain." Amelia paused, glanced towards Serena, then added back to the man. "I bet I could get us to the head of the line pretty easily. I know the author."

Ridiculous girl, the words resonated in her memory.