70th of Spring, 507 AV
It was a rare day off from the university clinic and Caelum was balancing on top of a rickety, wheeled ladder, stretching for a leather bound book. Sunlight streamed through the shop windows and he could hear the light clatter that meant Lillis had dropped another copper bottomed pan in their flat above stairs. Dust motes floated in buttery slats of light and the familiar, reassuring scents of old paper and ink, leather and dust and knowledge pervaded the antique book shop.
Earlier he had sent a note to Hadrian that his order had come in from the Spires, but somewhere between he had gotten caught up in an intense researching of archaic mage-craft. It had left ink splattered over his hands, molten eyes squinting in attempts to translate fine and faded script and sunk his consciousness into a state that had little to do with the reality surrounding him. Thoughts pinged and scattered against the insides of his skull, coalescing only to spiral back out again into endless tangents. Paper was spilled over one of the wide, oak wood tables in an uncharacteristic disarray, he typically being very exact about the organization and compilation of his notes.
The brass bells Lillis had hung on the shop door jangled, startling Caelum with their herald, and he was forced to catch his balance against the rough edge of a bookshelf. The book tumbled to the ground, landing with an explosive smack, and he swore vehemently under his breath.