Cecil's Never Gonna Give Mimey Up

"What do you want from me?" he signed finally, exasperated. "I'm trying to read in peace."

"What kinds of books do you like?" He asked simply.

He held up Oliver Twist.

"Ah, always a good one." He remarked. He looked down at what he was reading and frowned. Twilight. He quickly hid the book from the other man.

"Yes. That's why I was reading it," he signed dryly.

"What else do you enjoy?" He asked.

He made the sign for "silent films" after a moment of pause.

"Ah, indeed? How strange." He seemed somewhat delighted, despite his stoic expression.

"...May I go back to reading, now?" Somehow, he managed to make sign language sarcastic.

"Yes, yes, fine." He seemed reluctant, however.

Ignoring that, Aleks plunged back into the world of thieves, social injustice and the industrial revolution.

After approximately ten seconds minutes, Cecil asked, "So, where are you from?"

He glared daggers at Cecil.

"Didn't you not want me to bother you," he signed.

Cecil frowned.

"And you're not, which is perfectly nice of you. Now, are you going to answer my question?"

He groaned on the inside.

"It's really none of your business, I'm sorry."

"Then what is my business?" He asked, invasive.

"Your half of the room."

He sighed.

"Fine, fine I get it."

Happy that they had reached an understanding, he returned to his book, smiling slightly.

Cecil sighed, getting progressively grumpier. He had hoped for maybe some intellectual company.

Oh Fagan, thought Aleks to himself, Always such a bastard.