Invincible and Stranded

He nods.

"That's cool."

His main illusion, the one that was getting him the big reviews, was the Absent Bookworm. It involved him moving about a random study set up on the stage while being shot with arrows, having knives thrown into him, and surviving a skewering by a sword, all without seemingly noticing until the very end, wherein he would 'faint' before getting back up for the applause.

The trick even involved pulling one of the knives out of his shoulder, slicing an apple up with it, and eating it.

"Busy today, or can I get you to show me your town? How were those chocolates, by the way?"

"Actually, my town is in London, but I can manage Los Angeles." She winks. "And the chocolates were excellent. Too bad around here you'll only find stores that serve low-everything chocolates."

"Only if you're looking around here. If you can put your nose down, there's a hell of a lot of good eating around here."

A pause.

"I mean, it's no New York, but it's not bad."

"Then again, New York's not Paris."

"Ugh, thank God," he answers with a grin. "Sorry, I'll give the City of Light it's due, but you know what they say: you want the best French food, go to New York."

He grins.

"They also say that about Chinese, Japanese, Italian, German... heck, anything you care to name."

"Oh, you're just biased. Anyway, I want to take a quick look inside this book shop and then we can go on a tour."

"Maybe. Doesn't mean I'm not right," he points out. Then he looks at the book shop.

"Sounds like a plan. I was heading in to get a book for myself as well."

The bags on one arm show that he's done this a few times.

Mmm. What is it with Lindsay and bookish types? She eyes the bags, grinning. "What did you deprive all those other bookstores of?" she asks, pushing the door open.

"Restocked myself in some Maguire, couple of physics books, bit of history on my own craft, picked up my ritual copy of The Prestige, a couple of Edgar Cayce books, and I got something for my agent's daughter since that girl devours books like they're going out of style."

"And which book would that be?"

She pauses in front of a table display where one of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's books is on display.

"Started her on Eddings. I figure it'll take a while for her to chew through all of it. She likes the fantasy stuff," he confides.

Of course, the book would be One Hundred Years of Solitude. She picks it up, observing the cover. It seems this book will never have enough covers.

"I could never get into fantasy, you know. I liked Narnia well enough when I was seven, but after that I lost interest."

"Too preachy for my tastes," he admits. "I like my fantasy like I like my sci-fi: all about contemporary political issues at the time of writing."

He shakes his head

"Don't mind me."

She isn't minding him. She's taken in by a passage she opened by chance--though really, the whole book's a lot better in Spanish. It takes her a moment to realize what she's doing.

"--oh crap, I'm sorry," she says, looking at him sheepishly. "I wasn't even paying attention to you."

He grins.

"As long as you don't do that when I'm on stage, don't worry about it."