It had been a quiet day so far... which didn't say much, at Xavier's. At any moment, something fantastic could upset the perfectly orderly library. Ezra had taken advantage of the momentary silence, however, and taking care of some clerical, menial tasks around his domain. There were only a few students here-or-there, working on homework, typing away on computer keyboards, or reading... so he was free to flit about.

There was one of those electric tea kettles plugged-in in his office, with which he was listening for with a diligent ear. Presently, Ezra was re-shelving returned materials, muttering to himself as he skimmed spines of novels for their call number. It was a mindless task, especially for one who was as familiar with books as he. He left the cart at the end of the aisle, so that he was forced to periodically return to the area of the library where students would study. That way, he could supervise the children under his watch, and make sure nobody was at the front desk.

Ezra hummed idly to himself, a concerto that had graced the radio station on his way to work. It was one of those peppy, catchy tunes that, once it cleaved-on to you, it didn't let go. Heavens, he remembered when that composer was still living, though it'd been two centuries since. It had been a quiet day so far... and for that, the homunculus was grateful.

Rivka came into the library, as it was both a good place to study and also sometimes meet new people or classmates while not being overwhelming. She was starting to get to know a few people, but truth be told, she had to force herself to come here. She deliberately avoided the kitchen and dining areas at the height of lunchtime, coming in during the last 20 minutes or so when there were few people there. She knew this was self-defeating though. If she continued to hide in ehr room, she wouldn't make any friends. But when everyone one was there, and they were all talking at once... it was just too overwhelming. Her shyness won out easily, and she chose avoidance instead. 

But, the library, it seemed a safer, quieter, environment. She might even be able to eavesdrop here, to just listen, then silently practice what she might say if she were actually in a conversation. 

This plan was going great for the first 20 seconds or so after she walked in. The problem was, she was paying so much attention to where to sit, and how close, or how far, and did she know him or her, that she really wasn't paying attention to where she was going. There was one of those little roll-around foot stools, and she totally missed it was there. That is, until she had already tripped over it, and was headed for the floor. She landed face-first, but mostly caught herself. Her shins, however, had made contact with the hard top edge of the stool. While the real damage was minimal, hitting her shins was most unpleasant. 

She uttered several very colorful words in Arabic about it, as she sat on the floor clutching her shins. Arabic had much, um, expressive metaphors than Hebrew she'd found. She could feel her face reddening as the giggles of the other students. She was very glad that no one knew what she'd said in the heat of the moment. She began to gather the contents of her purse which she'd spilled during the fall, so that she could beat a hasty retreat. 

Ezra Pahlke

Ezra was drawn from the stacks by a sudden clatter (someone falling or knocking something over), followed by the surprised giggles of onlookers. As the responsible adult, Ezra was compelled to investigate. As a harried librarian at a mutant school, he was dreading what he might find.

What he found was rather commonplace-- a young women, strewn awkwardly on the floor, a step-stool tangled with her legs. Poor thing must have taken a tumble.

"Are y-" Ezra began to inquire, his voice soft. He hadn't mastered the teacher-voice quite yet. After three-hundred years of being mousy and complacent, speaking with authority did not come naturally. His inquiry was cut short when the girl muttered a stream of foul words-- not in English-- and began hastily collecting items that had been scattered from her purse. Ezra stared, bewildered, for a moment. When one had encountered as many languages as he had, it sometimes took a while for the gears of his mind to translate and process which one he was hearing.

'A-Arabic,' the homunculus observed, the word creaking out of him in the very same language. He smiled timidly. It had been many years since he'd flexed that linguistic muscle, so the sentences came gradually, 'You speak Arabic?'

He was forgetting his manners! He hadn't even introduced himself.

"I-I am Mr. Pahlke!" he said hastily, in English now. He'd offer his hand to the girl, for a handshake, or to help her up-- oh, but that would be peculiar, since she was still picking things off of the floor-- and his arms were full of books, "I am the librarian, here."

What Rivka saw initially were shoes. Teacher shoes, specifically. Well, adult shoes, most teens wouldn't be caught dead wearing them, outside of Synagogue or Church. She was very flustered, but understood the question readily enough and replied before she thought about it. More to the point, things came together in her head half way through the sentence. 
"Yes, I speak Ara...bic?" she replied, as her eyes got big with fresh horror. The one and only good thing about not being a fluent English speaker here was being able to say something without anyone knowing what you were saying. Especially if what you were saying wasn't particularly nice. That illusion of safety went 'poof!' in an instant. 

On the other hand, hearing a language from home was like a tiny piece of being there. That was food for a starving woman, so to speak, as she was terribly homesick. The school was nice, the staff had bent over backwards to help her settle in she knew. But that was no substitute for home, and friends, and people she could talk to without a struggle. 

Rivka shoved the last item - a little jar of lip balm - into her purse, and pulled herself from the floor to meet the person attached to the voice. She looked up, searching for a face, and found that she had to keep looking up for some time before she found it, as the librarian stood almost two feet taller than herself. His face was definitely different that what she was used to, though it seemed kindly in its own way. 

"Am Rivka Katzin. Please to... meet?" she squeaked, giving a very awkward smile and wondering if this man was some distant relative of a basketball player, but the only one she knew the name of was Michael Yordan - or something like that. Shy and awkward under the best of circumstances, she was blushing badly at her poor start at meeting him. 

Ezra Pahlke

The girl seemed flustered-- and rightly so. The exclamation she spouted was nostalgic of the colorful words of the construction workers Ezra had found himself with in the mid-1800's, and quite surprising to hear from the mouth of a young woman. Ezra wasn't the type to reprimand new acquaintances, though. Gracious no. He simply shared in her embarrassment.

"The pleasure is mine, Ms. Katzin," Ezra returned to Arabic, the platitude falling easily from his lips. He had extended a hand for a handshake, but the girl seemed in such a tail-spin (and she had that gawk-eyed look of one who realized how tall Ezra was) that the homunculus worried he'd be standing with his hand outstretched well into the evening, should he choose to wait. He tucked the outstretched hand behind his back, and bowed faintly at the waist.

"Are you a student?" Ezra asked, "Are you new?"

As he spoke, he went to the book cart, peering at the spines of unshelved books. There were a few that needed to be shelved near the end of the stacks, so he stood partially in the aisle of books, and partially where he could see Rivka. The smile, with just a touch of uneasiness, remained. He wasn't exactly a socialite, but being in the public eye (so to speak) was forcing him into a more extroverted role.

Rivka dusted herself off, and only after he'd pulled his hand back realized it had been there waiting for her. Oh drat! Okay, get yourself together girl! she mentally scolded herself. The thought might be hers, but the words definitely belonged to her father. She grimaced at the thought of what he might have to say had he overheard her little tirade. 

Ah, but then he bowed, and she caught that just in time. An old lady at the shul had taught her a curtsy in response to a bow when dancing, and she managed to do it without looking totally awkward. 

"Yes, am definitely a new student" she replied, and though her smile was shy, it was genuine. Someone she could talk to! She picked up the next book to hand to him, which was easy since they were in order on the cart. This kind of organization she could handle. It went well with her tendency towards being a little OCD. Really, it should have been called CDO, so that it was in the right alphabetical order. Okay, okay, maybe a lot OCD. 

"My father, he is with the Embassy in Washington. We only discovered I am a mutant just before we moved here. He found this school after we arrived, so I can learn about this, ah... ability?" she told him, but her smile was strained at the thought of her new talent. Like so many when they first got their power, she wasn't quite sure just yet whether it was a blessing - or a curse.

Ezra Pahlke

The girl rippled over an explanation of how she'd arrived at the school, and Ezra grabbed a few snatches here-and-there of her description. He was rusty. It would take time for him to settle back into his Arabic-speaking tendencies. Now, German-- German was a language he'd be able to pick-up again without issue. It was, after all, his first language.

From what Ezra gleaned, her father lived in Washington, her mutant ability was newfound, and it was her mutant ability that compelled Rivka's father to send her there.

"Xavier's is a good school for learning that," Ezra agreed, his voice trailing off as he slid a book back into its spot, "When I was... younger-" this word was carefully chosen, for he couldn't remember ever having a childhood, "-there weren't schools like Xavier's. You learned about abilities alone."

So, it wasn't a flawless explanation. But his struggles with Arabic meant that certain details were lost. Other details were purposefully excluded simply because Ezra, like many older individuals, didn't talk about difficult times freely-- and his beginnings were certainly "difficult times".

It also meant that Ezra wouldn't ask such baseless questions as to the nature of a lady's mutation. That, in his opinion, was an incredibly personal question. A gentleman would not ask a lady such a thing.

"What brings you to the library?" he asked, in English this time, "May I be of assistance to you, in any way?"

The library was his domain. And if Miss Rivka wanted answers, or aid, that was something that Ezra could provide-- in literary form, at the very least.

"I um, I come to study" she replied a bit awkwardly, this time back in English. "Have been, what is called? Crab? Hide in room much?" she admitted with a shy smile. "Guess plan work?" she offered. She was, after all, talking to someone. 

"Wish had study English hard home in Israel" she admitted to him with a wry grin and an eye-roll at her own foolishness at having sort of just slid by in the class. At the time, she hadn't foreseen using it very much. She now understood how short-sighted that had been of her. 

"When learn about alone, wound up swimming pool. Made big splash" she said with a giggle at the memory. It hadn't seemed funny at the time, but now in hindsight it really was. She almost wished she had a video of it. 

The librarian was as unique as anyone in the school, which hardly surprised her now. The few humans that worked there almost seemed to stick out now because of being 'normal', if there even was such a thing anymore. But an idea had now begun to form in her head. She knew that, sooner or later, her frugal father would bring up the thought of work-study. So it was best if she was prepared ahead of time. 
"Students, they allow work-study in library?" she inquired. She wasn't sure if she'd been clear enough for him to understand the question, but at least she'd floated it out. 

Ezra nodded respectfully as Rivka spoke. She came here to study. Of course. A lot of students came to the library to study. He smiled when she laughed at her story-- Ezra could feel himself relaxing, marginally. Children spoke so freely about their mutations, and experimenting with them. It was refreshing, if not a little alarming-- a definite change of pace from the old ways of "we don't talk about those kinds of things.

>> "Students, they allow work-study in the library?"

Ezra had taken to reshelving his books, providing an "out" for the girl if she wanted to go study rather than waste time talking to the decrepit teacher in her company. The question gave him pause, and a confusion stitched between his eyebrows.

"You are always welcome to work or study in the library," he said, "At least, when I or an assistant is here. You can't really check books out when I'm gone..."

He had misunderstood the question completely-- largely because he wasn't familiar with this idea of work-study. Xavier's was a high school. There were occasionally student assistants, but their positions were unpaid and just done as a class. Ezra smiled at Rivka, wholly unaware of his faux pas.

Darn it! Not what she meant, but she wasn't sure how to explain it better. Rivka decided to leave it be for now, and pursue other questions. Physically she might be 16, but some days the curious teen asked more questions than a 3 year old. 
"You work here long time? School, ah, it here long time? Some say yes and other no, is confuse. Is good school?" Rivka asked him with bubbling enthusiasm. What she didn't understand was there was more than one location. The North campus and this campus in New York City. Never mind that when the X-men (and they enemies) were involved, having to rebuild a building was not an unknown occurrence. 
"Am hoping Abba's assignment long enough I graduate" she told him, offering the next book when he was ready for it. She was at least a competent helper. "Maybe English get good then" she continued, "am, ah, how say? Soft More? Now?"