Flashback Literature Mountaineering

[Eridanus]

Day 25, Winter of 506 AV
Early Evening
Wright Memorial Library

It was not too long after the event that tired him out immensely. Because of that it was decided that he had to rest. The ethaefal took it to mean "physically". Surely research of the scholarly nature only invoked the mind but not the body? Pragmatically speaking, he doubted Professor Wejerx would appreciate his excuse if he could turn up his preliminary proposal for the deliverable that he was tasked to do the previous season.

The table before him was already devoid of people, and so he utilized it to the fullest with piles of books and journals and scrolls piled messily throughout the table. Speaking to himself, he organized and reorganized the books into categories as he sought to find inspiration on Magecraft and on Magic. What could he do? What kind of pressing, unsolved mysteries were there about magic?

Flipping open a book with the title that said "Exploring the Effect Durations of Magecrafted Items", he read the Abstract for a couple of seconds before breathing out impatiently and putting it aside. So far, his research was not going well, but at least he helped it somewhat by trying to find a way to properly categorize the data. In the midst of the chaos there lay order, for in the sea of messily arranged books were neat piles of literature in random spots on the table, their locations decided by the scholar's whims.

"I need an answer!" He said his last frustration out loud, for he knew that no one could hear anyway since it was likely that he was the only person left in this library on this seemingly futile task. What use were this books to him if he could not find the answer from them? If he did not know what kind of answer that he wanted in the first place?

[Philomena]

There are many disadvantages of being very small. Minnie Lefting knew them very well. But then, there is the occaisional blessing, just to add spice to the curse - the ability to drift ghostlike through the library is one of them, to slip through the shelves unnoticed. More than once since gaining her professorship, Minnie had taken to reading in the library, simply because she could find an obscure row of books, sit on her stool (a necessity with the high shelves and her low physique), slip her gloves on and thumb carefully through a book in blissful, studentless silence. She did this today, her hands following slowly through a ghastly book entitled 'Plague - A Cultural History of a Physiological Force'. It was remarkably well written, and very accessible, placing the (frankly foreign to her liberal arts mind) concepts of epidemiology and pathology in a context of human stories, that she could understand - She held a wax tablet on her knee beside the duodecimo volume, scribbling long lines of minisculely lettered, idiosyncratic shorthand. A whole chapter of the book was devoted to the White Fever, and while most of it wasn't new to her, it did connect to some traveller's accounts on the disease outside of the famous infection of the Circumnavigatory crew that gave Minnie a great deal to think about. It was so cold, there, the book pointed out, what could possibly be the vector of the disease? Something must carry the miasmic humors from place to place to fill the breath of those who fall prey to the disease...

And then a shout.

A library, to Minnie Lefting, was as much cathedral as workplace, and a shout in a library was a blasphemic act, for the whole point of the place after all, was to inject one's self into the alternate universe of narrative, wasn't it? A shout, that was a sign of either disrespect or misunderstanding. She gently shut the book, with great caution, and slipped out of the row of books, not silent but as silent as she could be with her clumsiness, and not invisible, but hardly a flash throguh the thickly packed shelves, until she emerges from the end, to look over the tables.

//Who the devil is here at this time? The noisy rotters did not come in late until closer to exams, usually.//

She found the sight, a lone man at a table, and frowned with the imperiousness of an angry goddess at the man.

[Eridanus]

If Eridanus were as proficient in summoning otherworldly creatures as with his shout, he would be a very accomplished mage. For within moments of his shout the unexpected sight of a rather short but evidently adult woman appeared within sight, her glare piercing even through her exceptionally thick spectacles.

His first reaction was surprise followed by embarrassment. Before he could erupt into profuse apologies, the logical side of him stopped himself before he could further embarrass himself.

Who is she anyway?

The student did not recognize her to be a librarian, though with her age she could not possibly be a student here. Perhaps some sort of staff? Or maybe just a bored citizen perusing some lore. Either way, he realized that he had been taking a longer time than usual in displaying his blank-face expression and he blinked several times before refocusing his vision upon her.

"Apologies, it's just that I'm a little bamboozled at the moment," He directed this apology in a sincere voice to the woman. Hopefully she would then leave him alone so that he could continue his fruitless research.

[Philomena]

Perhaps, one would expect Minnie to nod self-righteously, and retreat. In other settings she would. In other settings, though, she would have never asserted herself in the first place. And here, in the temple of the written word, something of the force of her Patron Goddes fills her. Every soul, no matter how timid, must have their secret place of power, of fulfillment. There is an element of this to Minnie. The library is the place in which she is a force of the divine, in some simultaneously profound and silly sense.

Never great at reading through the polite intonations of the comfortable class, the note of 'sorry, now leave me alone' inherent in the boys' tones escapes her notice entirely. Instead, she merely inhabits the actual content of his words. She pulls the books tighter under her arm, and moves toward the boy with a quiet shuffling step, low and cautious against the stone floors. She says nothing until she reaches his desk.

At that point, she stands her full height - as unimpressive as that is - and looks at the boy, her brows softening somewhat. //The boy is lost, Minnie, you know what that is. Bamboozled he said? A nice word, that one.//

The woman almost smiles - its sort of the shape of a smiling face, but without the extension to the lips, and speaks with a low nasal resonance, queer, childlike and piercing all at once, though quiet.

"You are confused, then, child? What is it you are researching? I know something of the library."

She COULD of course, simply look over the scattering of books on the table. That, though, would be invasive. The book, this is the bosom companion, it is the place of greatest privacy. It must not be invaded without just cause.

[Eridanus]

One would expect any reasonable person to sense the meaning within his words. Eridanus was not that good an actor to completely mask all emotions from his voice. Sometimes his words would betray subtle tones that reflect his mood and thoughts. And usually though people did not consciously pick that up, they would subconsciously understand and would behave accordingly. Not this person as she came closer, sliding step by step as if she were approaching an unfamiliar object.

He did notice her pointed aversion to looking at the table, as if there was some sort of secret ritual. He understood human society's courtesies to know that it was impolite to look over the shoulder of someone while they were reading, but apparently she expanded this courtesy to include every other book around. That part about her was interesting. In fact, interesting enough to defuse the growing impatience within him. Perhaps it might be good to take a little rest from figuratively banging his head against a wall.

Who knows? It might provide some insight.

"Trying to find a research question, ma'am. Professor Wejerx gave me a deliverable dateline last season. Of course, I've done research papers before, but now I find myself stumped as to figuring out what the research question should be. And that paper I did previously was a humanities one anyway. I figured that if I scoured through all these research journals I might be able to gain inspiration into some question that no one thought of answering, and maybe work from there."

Jerking his thumb carelessly towards the table, he added, "Feel free to take a look at those books, in any case."

[Philomena]

With a gentle delicacy surpassing a mother lying baby a-cradle, Minnie gently sets down the volume she has been reading on the table, far from the edge. Then she pushes up her spectacles and draws from her bag a pair of white cotton gloves, putting them on with a regularity that is almost ritualistic in its slowness.

"Wejerx? I have... I met him, yes. I have heard he is a good man, though I know little enough about that wing of the school. A rationalist though, I believe - he will want something, I would think that leans toward the empirical, rather than the interpretive. That is more difficult to do when one is a student."

The gloves work their way onto her tiny hands, and she nods at the table, with a warmth to her eyes she seldom lays on human beings. She reaches forward to touch one book, her gloved fingers stroking the leaves with a feathery caress.

"I am… not a Magic scholar, not in the least. Some incidentals, where it intersects with my own work, but nothing of any use to you, I'm sure. But if I may offer a suggestion, you are going about this entirely the wrong way. In an empirical field, theory is only the spectacle of discovery. Active observation is the eye. You have heard the poem by Daryxyl?

I read of the sun,
So that I could lay beneath her and know her warmth was love.
I read of the water,
So that I could taste her lips and know they tasted back.
I read of the blood,
So that, I could feel him stroke my neck as he raced beneath my flesh.
I read of the world,
So that I could know what it means to fill her with my seed."

She strokes the book again, the delicacy and quiver of her touch almost vulgar in public, particularly considering she knows next to nothing about the subject it contains.

[Eridanus]

Eridanus felt some frustration within him when she said that. That thought had of course occurred to him. In fact, with him asking Wejerx about it, only to be harshly rebutted based on two points.

The first was that it is not the manner of Formal Research that Wejerx demanded. If he were to do so, he would have to frame his paper in the terms of an Exploratory Research, and doing so was not supported by the University.

The second reason explained the University's reticence in offering support for such a research. Mainly, Magecraft was expensive. It was so expensive that there could not be a doubt to anything. Every experiment, every attempt to collect empirical data would cost thousands at the very least. It is no surprise that experimental attempts were often run in parallel to actual operations to make the full use of the same operation to reduce costs. Yet, the more esoteric operations would have no parallels and there would be no other choice.

Eridanus was about to voice a sharp retort, when he restrained himself after seeing her gentle treatment of the book.

This woman loves books.

That silent display of affection jumbled up his thoughts for a moment, and he realized how unfair it would be for him to lash out at her, for she did not know the subject matter in the first place.

Taking his time to word his next sentence carefully to avoid letting any remnants of sarcasm or anger creeping in, he replied, "That... is impossible ma'am. I was advised that it is best to first seek a research question and to plan all possible paths in advance before embarking on the gathering of empirical data. Magecrafting is ridiculously expensive, and unfortunately the University would never approve of Exploratory Research should I even dare to submit such a proposal."

[Philomena]

The woman looks up from the book, at the man's words, and wrinkles her brow, the look of one who is less than familiar with being ignorant on a subject. Her hand draws back - one does not touch a book without one's undivided attention. She is silent a moment, the silence of careful formulation, the cogs in her head almost visible turning behind her broad, glass-magnified eyes. When she finally speaks, her words are now more cautious, more formulated toward the audience she speaks to than tossed toward an abstract idea.

"That... I understand what you mean. I do not know a great deal about magic, but the expense..." she smiles softly, a patronizing almost motherly look, "Well, once cannot have students at the University for long without hearing how expensive a course in magic ends up, simply in incidentals. It is why I was lucky as a shipper-girl, perhaps, to prefer poetry, which is after all more or less free. But I think perhaps I do not explain myself well - if I am to understand - and perhaps I'm not? - it sounds essentially as if the doctor asks you to create, in essence, a hypothesis and proposal - oh I know, he wouldn't call it that, because as like as not, you're unlikely to create something that will be ever enacted. But, essentially, what you must do is come up with a question, and then suggest means for answering it, non? That is not so different from the humanities after all. I..."

She laughs, and blushes just slightly, her laugh is... well, unattractive, but genuine, anyways. Disarmingly ugly, one might say, "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I'm a hammer who thinks she's found a nail without checking it for threading. You have work, likely, that is more well directed than me telling stories about my thesis."

[Eridanus]

Eridanus did not take heed of her so-called unattractiveness. After all, when compared to his vague memories of bliss in Ukalas and the very form of his unnatural beauty - so imposing on his surroundings that it might even be deemed intimidating - all mortals were as equally unaesthetic. That had the effect of giving him the mentality to - unlike ordinary mortals - to disregard external appearances unless as a use for inferences, and instead to assess and judge people based on their abilities, potentials and goals. It was a more fair and meritocratic manner of perception, even if the rationale behind it was warped.

"Your thesis, you say?" The ethaefal queried with interest. Perhaps his mind had already decided to take an extended break, or maybe he was slightly terrified of going back to the tomes of abstract words and diagrams. It could be a form of escapism, or he could justify it as a method of seeking inspiration.

In any case, having a fresh perspective might open his mind, and he was going to seize it.

"If you don't mind, ma'am, could you share your... thesis with me?"

[Philomena]

Minnie looks at the boy, with a queer expression - something like suspicion, something like... well hunger sounds a bit dramatic. The peek through the window, call it, of the isolated soul. But she nods, softly, and after a moment takes a chair, speaking softly.

"All right... if you believe yourself to be interested. When I began to work on my doctoral thesis, I did much what you are doing now. I sat in the midst of the Early Post-Valterrian section, pulling down enormous stacks of books, and poring over them, looking for... something? Looking for what was waiting to be said. I could of gone made doing it, for I will tell you, the great secret of the library is that there is always, somewhere, in some book you've skipped, something you have not yet read on your subject, no matter how obscure, some tangent you have not yet explored. I got nowhere. Every day I would fill my tablet up with notes, and every night I'd look them over, see nothing, and melt the wax flat again. I began to believe that, perhaps, simply, tha tI was not able to think of anything worth repeating, to be frank."

She smiled, a wistful smile, and shrugged, "Perhaps that particular affliction does not infect you. You have... other assets, it would seem to grant you a sense of worth: good lucks, your health, that sort of thing."

Her own arms are wrapped around her satchel, which rests in her lap. She is, slowly, delicately, drawing the gloves back off her fingers, now, then folding them neatly. She pauses, in her narrative a moment, to allow the man to interject.