Closed [Wright Library] Study Dates

[Noven]

Spring, Day 48, 514AV

"He stood there in the door way, covered in the blood and flesh of those he'd killed, and I thought to myself, this is it. This is how I die. In some shyke hole of a mobster lair by a murdering savage more beast than man. But then...he spared me. Stopped mid hack because of what he saw."

He turned and lifted his shirt to show them. It was a faded mark of ruddy, reddish hue on his lower back, easily mistaken for a peculiar birthmark. Smooth to the touch and unrecognizable in form except to those who didn't know exactly what to look for. Nov and those closest to him had always thought it looked like an oddly shaped hand with wriggling fingers. Something for the runts to make up stories about and whores to feign interest over. Nothing more, nothing less, and certainly nothing special.

Oh, how wrong they had all been.

"I'd given up figuring out my past, and then this happens," Noven continued, voice hushed in the uncertainty of it all. "The Myrian changed everything. He said it was ink, not a birth mark, and asked if I was Raging Fires, whatever that is. Which meant someone put it there for a reason. Only I can't...I can't remember any of it, except maybe the pain, and when I try..."

Closing his eyes for a tick, the cook let the hem of his shirt drop and turned back around. "...I get...headaches. Like I'm not supposed to be thinking about these things. Crazy talk, I know, but I don't know how else to explain it. I do see flames sometimes, though. Big, roaring fires that have nothing to do with the night Old Calyn died. And I can hear a woman's voice if I ignore the pain long enough, too. A woman I swear I know, or used to know, but I just can't remember..."

Noven stared at his companions then, struggling to avoid delving into his murky memories again and torn between gratitude and anxiety that the two people he'd trusted enough to seek help from were witnessing such lost, hapless babbling. But even more so because he was afraid. Very afraid. Afraid of what he might find, and of dying before he uncovered the whole truth.

Most of all, he feared where this was leading him. Because for the first time in a long time, he had not one, but two things other than vengeance to live for.

--Later that day--

Nov stood there, slack-jawed, before row after row of book shelves that seemed to go on forever with no end in sight. His first thought was that there were more books in here than people he'd met in his entire life, so vast was the collection that it defied all expectation and imagination.

"So this is a library," was all the merc said.

After that, it was a fairly straightforward process of locating certain books with the help of some junior assistants, then a desk upon which to stack their finds, and finally a plonking of bottoms into seats as the research began. He would have liked to claim that the actual research bit went just as smoothly, only it was a mere matter of chimes before Noven started to feel truly out of his element.

It was quiet. Absurdly quiet. What few sounds that did occur were muffled by thousands of tomes, and the reverent air of academia served only to deepen the feeling that they'd somehow walked into an ancient forest of paper, leather, and wood. Used to the constant din of the Berth, the surliest of the three companions who had visited Zeltiva's prestigious library that day found his ears ringing from so much silence. His mind buzzed with agitation. His left knee jounced in visible unrest. And his troubled eyes scanned the same sentence over and over again, comprehending nothing.

Nov let the book fall over his stomach and raised a frustrated palm to his eyes. "This isn't working," he muttered, lifting the book to place it face down on the table. "I read too slow, and I barely understand a petching thing it's saying."

The Sunberthian fugitive was not an educated man. That he could read and write at all was something of a minor miracle--and certainly nothing that the city he'd been raised in had engendered. Both Calyn and Nona had been surprised by his literacy. An uncommon skill for an orphan to have, to be sure, but it was clear from the very beginning that the scrappy boy who had so mysteriously appeared one dark, uneventful night had no penchant for academia. He could grow deaf to the world if he was lent a good story, or lose himself in the task of taking apart and putting things back together. He was good at that, once upon a time.

But the moment he found something of beauty, of any worth at all, it would get destroyed. Most of the time by the other children. Others by ill luck or the ill bred of the slums. And when that happened, there was only one way Noven knew how to respond: he fought. Fire with fire, blood for blood.

Such instincts didn't exactly make for a model student.

Even so, the man could be rational when he needed to be. There had to be a better system. A more efficient way of doing this. Sitting still and trying to process the dry, long winded descriptions of this location and that religion was obviously not his strong suit. But carrying dozens of pounds' worth of books one small mountain at a time was. Or, at least, more so than this mind numbing task of skimming chapter after chapter for relevant information.

Nov looked at his companions, one fair and one dark like him. It was still hard to grasp the possibility that he and Kaie shared the same heritage, even though their similar coloring and attitude suggested it likely enough. "Maybe I should go find more books and bring them back while you two do the searching."

There were a good number of tomes stacked and strewn across their table, but the shelves contained so many more to go through. Hundreds upon thousands, if looks were anything to go by. With weary but unwavering determination, Nov stood from his chair and picked up a few books they'd already rifled through and deemed useless. The trio didn't have much to go on, other than Myrian culture in general and any relevance it had to tattoos or some clan called the Raging Fires. It was going to be a long and arduous search. Hence, Matthew's erudite presence and Kaie's direct involvement. He couldn't think of any two people better for the job, except maybe Bitzer, who was hopefully preoccupied with a different sort of investigation altogether.

"Any other stuff you need me to find while I'm out there?"

Course, he had an agenda of his own, separate from this research, that he was itching to fulfill. But he would need to find one of the assistants to help him and he didn't want to burden his companions further.

They were going to need all the energy and focus they could get.

[Kaie]

The tick they walked into the library, Kaie understood one thing if nothing else: their task was about to get incredibly daunting. The shelves were endless, packed here and there with bound pages so numerous the Myrian wondered what information the place didn't carry. That day marked the first she'd stepped foot in such an establishment. It was only in that moment she realized why she'd never entered such a place before. The dumbfounded foreigner had looked to her companions to lead the way in their research endeavor. Something told her that they would need plenty more than a day, let alone several bells, to scour the knowledge at their finger tips. Nonetheless, when the assistants dropped dozens upon dozens of books in a heap before the three at their table, the Myrian did her best to make herself useful. After all, if it was true that the familiar ink upon Noven's skin signified him as a member of the Raging Fires clan, thus making him partially a Myrian, it was both her duty and pleasure to assist in helping the man discover what he could. Of course that seemed like a much easier task when it was in her head rather than stacked before her.

Kaie lifted a fresh book off the stack by its front binding, turning it horizontally and letting the pages shuffle open with the force of gravity. A sneeze escaped her when the dust erupted from its paper. Amber eyes were dazed, staring past the book rather than upon the words that flipped rapidly before her. Then she did what she had done with the others before it. The book was unceremoniously dropped upon the table, rotated the proper way, and bronze fingers thumbed through the pages in search of pictures. So far she'd found nothing. No Myrian symbols, no murals of Falyndar, no beasts of the jungle. Mostly, it was just elaborate flower borders that framed the black ink on the page. What exactly made the first letter of certain pages so special it had to be blown up and carefully designed anyway?

When Noven finally voiced what the trio must've been thinking all along, the book before the woman slammed shut. "I'm starting to think I should just do us all a favor and find us a good ship back to Falyndar instead," she concurred with no regard for her volume, which while no louder than a normal speaking voice, was probably deemed unacceptable where silence was customary. At least if we were home we could meet with the Raging Fires themselves...and my illiteracy in Common wouldn't be so much of a petching issue, she thought miserably and slid the book to the middle of the table. "Maybe more books would have more...pictures." It was pathetic, really. Her first Zeltivan defeat was not on a battlefield with an enemy but in a library among books.

To the Sunberthian's offer, the Myrian merely shook her head."Thanks, Nov, but I'm all set. There's nothing in this petching building of use to me unless I light a fire with it." Apparently her frustrated response wasn't popular with the junior library staff, who shot her the dirtiest of looks. Another intellectual reading in a corner made a boisterous shhhh! in the trio's direction. Kaie whipped around in her seat with a curled lip, and put her hand on her gladius out of habit. The slender man in rather elegant attire quickly ducked his head back down into his read. The savage turned back to deal with the remaining books still sitting intimidatingly ahead of her. Bronze features smoothed back over and she took another from the stack and plopped it open on the table.

And then there were two.

"I'm not sure what we're looking for," She murmured as pages turned before her, yielding no pictures yet again. "Outsiders are not welcome in Falyndar. We don't trade with barbarians. Most clans kill those they catch wandering the jungle. Only the Village of the Shining Scales clan has been known to tolerate them, but even then it's out of pity and their land lies way out on the coast." It never took long for her to finish flipping through the tome before the binding was shut and passed along to the middle. If she couldn't find purchase with images, perhaps her companions could find value in the words she couldn't read.

"What could a Zeltivan library so far from Myri's domain possibly know of my people?" Another book was ripped from the stack and dropped before her. She sighed and procured her water skin from her hip. Naturally, it held anything but what it was meant to. Kaie tipped it back to her lips and drank a solid few sips of wine before closing it again. Tawny fingers tossed open the cover of the book and soon enough a satirical grin masked her inner frustration. "Look! This one has little ships sailing around the edges instead of flowers."

[Matthew]

This wasn't anger. There was no swell of heat that pushed against the inside of his chest, looking to explode outwards and find relief on the outside. No, this was something much more subtle. It was completely mental and internal, bubbling at a steady boil but not ever threatening to spill over. The taste of it was oddly bitter, stinging lightly at his tongue in little tugging pinches. Whatever it might be, it was slowly starting to materialize in more physical ways. The sensation had started once he had stepped into the library and had only worsened from there, but the physical symptoms had only started within the past few chimes. The Harlot kept finding that his fingers were curling into something that almost resembled a fist, groomed nails digging lightly into his palms with a stinging bite. The foreign sensation quickly became something of a puzzle as Matthew passively watched both Noven and Kaie attempt to adventure through what appeared to be terrain that was quite foreign to them.

Sometimes he didn't clench his hand into a fist. Sometimes he ended up rapping his fingertips across the wooden surface of the table they had found. The physical symptoms evolved? No, they alternated.

At Noven's question, Matthew blinked and snapped out of his train of thought, bright blue eyes glancing up and staring at the cook he had met back in Sunberth. He didn't even think about his reply, the soft words automatically responding. Apparently his mind had come up with a faint idea and he hadn't even been entirely aware of it. “Yes. First, leave whichever book had the most information on Myrians, even if the information was deemed useless to your interests. Second, there is a leather-bound book that I'd like you to see if you can locate as well. If it isn't too much trouble, of course. It is a book called Miracles of Faith.” The Harlot paused for a tick and then continued on, his voice suddenly holding a rather out-of-place edge to it. “Try to remember to keep as quiet as possible, please.” He had noticed how jittery Noven was getting. It did not bode well for the continued serenity of the library.

As Noven left, Matthew bent at the waist and reached into a nearby backpack he had brought along. Both writing utensils and paper were produced and placed on the table before him. Focusing on the blank page before him, Matthew slowly and carefully began to write out some key words. He had seen a few of the words before and other times he had heard them spoken. This could certainly backfire but it was better than what they currently had. Kaie and Noven were not as used to studying books in the way he was. They would no doubt grow frustrated very quickly and either give up or work much less effectively. He had to find an easier method.

There was a moment that he paused, quill poised high, frozen in motion. His eyes lingered on the unfinished page for a moment before slowly sliding sideways to stare at Kaie's bronzed features. She was being loud. She was also being rough with the books. He was also quite sure that the waterskin didn't actually contain water. He stared at her a moment longer before realizing his fingernails were digging into his palm again.

Little ships? Matthew didn't blink or even look down at the page, instead opting that it was best to return to his writing. He knew she had no way of knowing the unspoken rules of a library. He was very much the same way when it came to various other social norms. Why was it making him feel so... so...

He briefly curled his lip as he finished writing, the word never coming to mind. “Here, Kaie. Look at this.” He pushed the paper towards her and gestured toward each word in turn, all of them spaced a good distance apart. “Myri. Falyndar. Myrian. Raging Fires. This is how each of those words appear when written in Common. Are you able to write each of those words in your own language, right underneath the word as it appears in Common? That way, we can simply scan through the books while keeping an eye out for only this set of words. It'll also make sure I don't miss it if it is for some reason written in your language, while also helping you identify what it looks like in my own language. Does this make sense?” His voice was soft and polite, Matthew having some teaching experience. It helped that Kaie had also proven to be a quick learner in the past.

His mind briefly flickered back to Noven. He hoped the man hadn't gotten lost, or worse yet, caused any damage.

[Noven]

He gave the Myrian a sympathetic grin at her suggestion to find a book with more pictures. Seemed he wasn't the only one who found reading such dense tomes horrifically tedious. It wouldn't hurt, however, jest or no, to do just that. Pictures would certainly be faster to identify than a handful of keywords in block after block of text. He committed the suggestion to memory, along with the harlot's strange request. Miracles of Faith, eh? Was this something of personal interest, or was it actually relevant to their quest for answers?

Well, they'd find out sooner or later. Setting down a few before adjusting his grip on the remaining books, Nov turned and left his two compatriots to their tasks, eyes peeled for the first junior assistant to enter his sights. The sooner he could get someone to help him, the better. Needles and haystacks. The library was massive and his subject of interest so very, very small.

He was just rounding the corner of one of the shelves when he noticed a mop of dark, wispy hair bobbing over his stack of books almost a beat too late. Nov stopped, not trusting himself to dodge out of the way in time with so many tomes in his arms, and was promptly met with the impact of someone's forehead smacking against leather bindings. A frustrated swear followed as whoever had bumped into him backpedaled a few steps.

"Oy, didn't see you there," the merc blurted, readying himself for a torrent of backlash as he peeked around the tomes. Matthew had been very clear, on multiple accounts, the kinds of rules that the library upheld. And given Nov's track record with rules, he'd been walking on eggshells since the moment he'd set foot in the prestigious establishment.

But instead of a stern lecturing from an even sterner librarian, what the Sunberthian got was a mouthful of stuttered, clumsy apologies from a junior assistant more mouse than girl. He could tell her station by her robes, which hung around her slim frame like drapes. Aside from that, she just had a bookish sort of air to her, with her hair trapped in a bun and a pair of overly large spectacles teetering on the edge of her button nose. She'd only just managed to push them back up and brush some wayward locks of hair away from her face when her eyes met those of the mercenary peering at her from behind his burdens.

They went wide, magnified twofold by the lens of her glasses, and for a moment Noven swore he thought he saw their color change.

"D-do you require assistance, sir?" she stammered, having finished apologizing. The minute assistant held out her arms. "I can reshelve those for you, if...if you are done with them."

Nov eyed her for a moment, trying to discern whether what he saw had been real or just a trick of the light. When he'd first bumped into her, the assistant's eyes had appeared distinctly blue. A troubled blue, he was even willing to assume, but blue all the same. Yet, they had flickered violet just now. Or had staying in the library for this long finally driven him stir crazy?

"Uh...yes, I do," he responded a tick late, "need help, that is. But not with these, with something else."

The assistant blinked, her eyes very much blue again, although perhaps a shade less troubled, and asked, "What are you looking for? More books on Myrian culture, perhaps?" She pointed a finger at the spines of the tomes in Noven's arms. "I see you and your friends have been quite devoted to one subject. I think there might be a few more left regarding Myri and her savage people. Though books of hard fact are rare concerning them, being as barbaric as they are."

The former Scar narrowed his eyes. His mouse of a helper had turned garrulous owl, and he found he rather preferred the squeaky former. "My friend back there is full Myrian, and I am likely half. I'd be careful what I assume about a people I barely know." He leaned a fraction closer. "Or maybe you've been right all along, and just want to see for yourself what we're capable of."

There, it happened again! Her eyes had shifted in color, this time to an indigo so dark it practically swallowed her disc-like pupils. The girl's fear wore itself plainly on her dark, heart shaped face, and Nov pulled away, feeling guilty. She had only spoken in ignorance, after all. And since when did he take to declaring himself the same race as Kaie's? This was the first time he'd actually admitted to his murky birthright in public. It made him feel uneasy, confused, and thrilled all at once. Was this what it was like to know one's origins?

"Oh! I-I'm sorry, I didn't--"

The merc shook his head. "No need. My words were uncalled for." He shifted uncomfortably in place, unused to such civil conversation with strangers, let alone complete restraint from aggression. Perhaps the girl hadn't been so wrong after all of their barbarism.

"No no, you were right," the assistant responded with grim conviction, "I should not have judged. I ought to know, more than most." She whipped around, robes flouncing in the wake of such sudden movement. "There are more books on what you're looking for this way. If you don't mind carrying them, we can reshelf the tomes you no longer require en route.

"Fine by me," Nov answered, eager to get moving again. He'd been standing in one spot for too long and the ticking of chimes in a day slowed for no one.

He followed her through the shelves, the silence broken only once when the assistant asked why he had said he was "likely half Myrian" rather than just "half." Noven explained in his usual, curt manner that he'd been an orphan all his life and only just recently discovered a potential clue to his past. The assistant gave another placid "oh" before gluing her shifting eyes to the shelves once more.

Nov was helping her put back the last of his unwanted books when the assistant tugged at his sleeve urgently. He looked down, feeling for all the world like he was back at the orphanage again with one of the runts bugging for his attention. "What is it?"

"Look here," the assistant explained in a hushed tone. She held up a strange looking tome, dusty and somewhat smooshed at first glance. It was smaller, too, and had no title on its cover or binding. "I found this wedged behind two of the bigger books. I thought someone had mistakenly forgotten their personal diary, but then I flipped through a few pages--I know, I shouldn't have if it was but I had to be sure--and, well, does this sound like it might be of interest to you?"

She opened the booklet to the first page and read out loud:

"1 Spring, 492AV. A new year brings a new adventure, and mine has finally begun. We are to sail for Kalea, where my fellow classmates of the University will each be embarking on new, exciting studies abroad. But my field of choice will prove to be far more daring and dangerous than all of theirs combined. For I have not only chosen a land ruled by savages that few outsiders understand, but I have also decided to make contact with one of the most radical of their clans, one with a reputation feared even by her fellow tribes. Tomorrow, I take my first real step toward unveiling the Sisters of Fire."

Noven stared, dumbfounded, at the little assistant. "So?" she whispered, as if her discovering of the travel log had turned the space around them sacred. And in many ways, it had. "Is this relevant to what you seek?"

"It's...Krysus, it's exactly what we've been looking for." He could scarce believe their luck and gave a delirious half-laugh as he plucked the diary from the assistant's hands, much to her repressed annoyance, and flipped through the pages with greedy eyes. Then he snapped it shut, excitement growing like wildfire across his features. "Lass, I could kiss you for this great discovery of yours."

The assistant's eyes ducked again, barring him vision of what color they'd changed to, as she mumbled something that sounded like "...was just doing my job..."

"Come on then, no time to waste," he urged, nudging his chin in the direction of where his companions sat. "My friends will shyke their pants when they get a look at this."

The assistant looked something trapped in between horrified and perplexed. "I am to come with you?"

Nov looked back, equally confused. It hadn't even crossed his mind the girl would argue otherwise. The library was quite empty of patrons that day, on account of rumors of some prank pulling ghost running amok, and most of the other librarians had been overly eager in hanging about, watching him like a hawk in case he and the Myrian woman started tearing their precious tomes apart and eating assistants alive when the research grew too dull. Nov suspected Kaie's last statements hadn't gone over well with the local eavesdroppers.

"Of course you are," he replied, completely serious. "You're helping me, aren't you?"

Well, there wasn't much the petite assistant could say against that.

By the time they'd returned to the table where Matthew and Kaie remained pouring through book after book, Nov's arms were growing a bit weary of lugging around so many tomes. He set down the fresh stack the assistant had helped him select and looked upon his companions with uncharacteristically high spirits.

"Kaie, Matthew, this is--" Noven was halfway through an introduction when he realized he didn't even know the assistant's name. "Uh..."

"Quinn," the girl supplied helpfully, no trace of indignation to be found in her library-appropriate voice. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Kaie. And an honor, as always, to assist you and your family in person, Mister Wayne."

Of course, he should've known. Nov cleared his throat awkwardly before he continued, "Right. So, we didn't find that Miracles of Faith book you wanted. It wasn't in the Religion section, but Quinn here says she might know where it could've been shelved, so we're going back for it. There are also some books with pictures, as you've requested Kaie. Hopefully they prove useful." Next, he pulled forth the little travel log. "Quinn also found this. It's a diary of some scholar turned adventurer, hellbent on finding the Sisters of fire. I don't know about you guys, but I get the feeling this has something to do with the Raging Fires. Our best lead yet, all thanks to this lass."

Quinn's eyes turned a pale shade of pink as a calloused hand patted her roughly on one shoulder.

"Promise me you two will wait until I get back to read this, though. We'll be quick. Off to find this faith book and back before you know it." Another pat before he scooped up some of the books in the discarded pile. "Lead the way then, Miss Quinn."

[Kaie]

The Myrian resigned to put her head down upon the table. Sunkissed fingers folded over the back of her neck. She subdued the urge to sigh like an irritable child. The sound of paper making its way toward her caused her to snap out of her subtle tantrum. The woman sat back up, hands shot forth to spin the paper so that the words faced her the proper way. Amber eyes followed Matthew's perfectly groomed nails as they gestured to each group of symbols. Brow scrunched together while she focused, internalizing each word in her head and committing the combination of Common letters to memory. Brown curls swayed with the nod that followed. No time was wasted taking the quill gingerly from his hand and awkwardly adjusting it in hers. She fiddled with the foreign tool for a moment. Then the Myrian symbols flowed in fresh ink upon the page beneath the words in Common, just as the man had instructed.

"I knew there was some reason people always keep you around," she jibed when she sat back to inspect the finished product upon the page. She flashed Matthew a grin, a non-verbal cue so that he might know what she said was all in good nature, even if she knew he had a tendency to miss the most obvious of punch-lines. She placed the quill back down neatly before him. Then the Myrian returned to silence. With the new reference, she was far more productive. Previous discarded books was yanked back again. Pages were studied, her finger working slowly along each set of letters in search of the right order to match Matthew's written words. Now and then she found something of worth. More often then not, it was just the word Falyndar used in context of geography. The words Myrian and Raging Fires were the ones they were truly after, and no matter how long she searched after she'd found the region of her homeland, the more important words hadn't yet followed.

Kaie noted Noven's return before she spotted him. Even the most gentle of steps could be easily heard in the strangely quiet realm of a library. It was the fact the man was not alone that struck her perplexity. Eyes tore away from her research when she heard the Sunberthian's voice addressing herself and Matthew. Her gaze then swept to dully scan what made up the junior assistant at his side. Quinn. Didn't I work with a boy merc named Quinn? Pretty sure he impaled repeatedly and ripped apart by the mob, came her stray thoughts as she mentally dozed off. Thankfully, her etiquette had improved over the years and she neglected to make the connection aloud. A nod of acknowledgement was offered toward the girl with the strange glass on her face and a mumble of hello. However, when she heard the meek assistant address Matthew, she couldn't help but privately grin.

"Thanks, Nov. I'll see what I can find," the Myrian offered more eagerly than before. The book before her, finished, was pushed to the stack she mentally labeled as useless to her right. Then it was right to work on Nov's new stack, and she was surprisingly pleased to find the first had many more pictures indeed. "My clan lands were deep in the jungle. We had contact with many others, naturally, but the Raging Fires weren't nearly so close. Sisters of Fire is a fitting title to such a clan, though. So, uh, yeah. Good work, Quinn."

Right before she dove back into her new read, she swore she caught the change of color in the assistant's eyes. Distant memories swarmed her. Back to Syliras, Ravok, and the hated city of Nykia. Vanari. Didn't she have eyes that did that, too? Perhaps if she ran into the kind woman again, she'd ask more about it. Nonetheless, she agree to Noven's one request and watched the two disappear back into the shelves. At first she was content to continue trying to read Common, thanks to Matthew's ingenuity. It wasn't long until the savage found her eyes trailing off the page to eye the man, lips curling.

"Mister Wayne, huh? Does everyone in this city kiss your family's ass?" This time it was a newer, bolder individual that dared challenge the ignorant savage with a loud shhhh! from a corner table. The Myrian's body twisted around in the seat. "Alright, alright!" Kaie hissed with an easing gesture of her flat-palmed hand. She turned back the The Harlot, rolling her eyes. Nonetheless, she'd gotten the point: use an "inside" voice. Her gaze fell down to sift through another book. When that one was finished and stacked atop the "useless" pile, she found her attention slowly becoming more drawn toward the forbidden diary. She might've had more of an inclination to open it if she could read more words on the pages. Instead the woman shook her head and went to skimming through another book.

"I found two words. Maybe there is more." She spun it around for Matthew's inspection while they waited on Noven's return. It was from the new stack. Her index fingers highlighted two words spread out on the same page. "See? Falyndar...and Myrian." Then she flipped to the next page to continue the search. That's when she came across a troubling picture. There was a tan woman that towered above the other heathens running rampant through the foliage in the drawing. Her skin was bathed in blood along with the massive bone dagger she brandished into the sky. At her feet laid a dead man with an impressive, glowing sword. Kaie's face scrunched in disgust.

"Wrong. All wrong!" she hissed to herself as she spun the book back to face herself. Fingers began to clench around the edge of the page as if to tear it viciously from the bindings. At the last tick, it would appear she had thought the better of it. "Myri does not look like that. This representation of her battle with Ruros is wrong. She killed him with the Ash'dene, not a petching dagger." The disdain on her face was rather plain to see, especially when she shoved it aside toward the pile decidedly useless.

[Matthew]

A hesitant smile was exchanged for Kaie's playful grin, the Harlot fairly certain she had just made a jab at him and this was the part where he was supposed to sensibly smile. Or was he supposed to chuckle? He was saved from having to solve the sudden socialization puzzle when Kaie dived dutifully back into the dusty tomes, Matthew refocusing his attention on searching once more. He lost himself in the books for what felt like a short period of time before approaching footsteps caused him to raise his head. Noven had returned and Quinn had come with him.

Quinn was a breath of fresh air. It was nice to at least have one person who respected the rules nearby. “It is nice to see you, Quinn. Is your mother still making those blackberry pies?” The young assistant nodded quickly, giving a small smile. “She is. They are still very tasty.” Matthew considered her reply for a moment, blue eyes searching her face for a couple of ticks before he suddenly reached a hand up. “That is good. On a side note, are you aware you need to have your glasses adjusted? They are too big. Don't you get tired of pushing them back up your nose all the time?” Graceful fingers pushed the spectacles back up her button nose and quickly tucked a wayward lock of hair back behind her ear in an effort to help fix up her appearance a tad. The Harlot thought he was helping. Quinn, however, was now briefly frozen in place, eyes testing the extent to which they could widen. The junior assistant was obviously not used to Matthew's casual invasions of personal space. The Harlot had already moved on, tugging one of new books in front of him and flipping it open. Ducking her head so far down that her eyes couldn't even be seen, Quinn's cheeks flared a hot red and she spun around, hurrying back towards the shelves. “Yes, of course. Follow me, sir.”

At Kaie's next little verbal poke, Matthew looked up with a blink, staring at her silently and patiently waiting for her to finish her latest encounter with yet another library patron. When he finally spoke in a soft voice only meant for the two of them, it was quickly made obvious that this time the joke had definitely soared high above his head. “I believe I am the only one in the Parker family who would be in such a position where someone would kiss any part of my ass. It is rather rare, though. However, there are plenty of people who enjoy being on the receiving end of such a thing. There are several areas in that region that can be stimulated with lips, fingers or tongue. There is of course the option of penetration, though careful preparations must be made to keep the entire act sanitary and safe. That is a whole different lesson, though. In any case, it is usually an even rarer desire.” Matthew enjoyed sharing the wisdom he had gained over the years. He still had not quite realized that some knowledge should probably be kept private. While Matthew saw all knowledge as equal, many people would disagree that a very explicit sexual act could be discussed as casually as potato peeling techniques.

Two words? Matthew grabbed the book that she had spun around for him and tugged it closer, scanning the words on the page. After a few ticks of quick reading he shook his head, a look of mild displeasure briefly flickering across his handsome features. “A lot of these should practically be considered fiction. It appears there are a lot of assumed facts, which actually amount to no facts at all.” As Kaie flipped the page and immediately expressed great displeasure, Matthew was briefly concerned that he would have to save the book from her. Luckily, common sense took a hold of the Myrian and she simply shoved the book aside. “I understand your frustration. Inaccurate depictions of both your people and their history will only make it harder for the actual facts to be seen. It is harmful knowledge, something that I am not pleased to see.”

He stared at the discarded book thoughtfully, glanced around to see if he could spot Noven returning to them, then slowly turned his focused stare to Kaie's amber hues. “Ruros? Ash'dene?” He had no idea what the Myrian was talking about. Like always though, he was very interested in learning.

[Noven]

Nov grinned a little as he looked from Quinn to Matthew to Quinn again before following after the petite assistant.

"So, this a new deal, or the kind so old that the word 'crush" doesn't even begin to cover it anymore?" he asked bluntly once they were out of earshot of his companions. Quinn's shoulders tensed and her next step almost faltered, but she kept on walking as if nothing had happened.

"I'm guessing old, then."

This time he struck a chord. The assistant halted in place and spun around, robes swirling with her sudden movement. Once again, her eyes had shifted to a dark hue, and they were wide with poorly concealed desperation and a hint of anger behind the too-large lenses of her spectacles.

"Even if it were, it's not something to jest so lightly over, and it's certainly none of your business," Quinn huffed.

Noven stared back in bemusement, finding this slip of a junior assistant to be ever full of surprises. He'd compared her to a mouse before, but now that he'd witnessed her little outburst, the merc thought she might be something more of a spirited kitten, all hiss and spitfire without the claws--or in this case, the will--to do real damage. Her eyes were bordering on ruby now, splotches of pink coloring her cheeks, and her nostrils were slightly flared with suppressed fury.

It was as unexpected of a sight as it was intriguing. Nov imagined that underneath all of the harried studiousness and deceptively mild manners, the lass might be quite pretty. A shame she didn't seem the type to see herself that way, he thought to himself. It could score her an extra opportunity or two if she played her cards right, rather than wallowing forever in obscurity, lost within the far reaching shadows that families like the harlot's undoubtedly cast. At least, that was how the Sunberthian would have gone about it, had he been a common library assistant who was ambitious enough to study her arse off for success and naive enough to pine after someone far above her station. Which, thank all the gods and goddesses, he was not.

A moment of awkward silence later, Quinn lowered her chin and added in a far more subdued tone, "And I'd appreciate it if...if you'd not...you know, mention it to anyone." There was a nervous adjustment of her glasses before she held one of the discarded books closer to her chest.

Noven gave her a blank look. "Mention what?"

His guide appeared confused at first, but realization slowly dawned across her expression. A small smile appeared as her gaze settled to a mellowed, pale peach and she nodded once. "This way, please."

It wasn't long before they were standing in front of a set of stairs, their access to it barred by nothing more than a single length of rope. Nov's brow knit at the sight of it. Quinn didn't seem like the type to break rules, and the rope all but wrote out in big, plain letters "Do Not Enter."

So what the hell were they doing here?

"I'm not usually one for following signs and shyke," he muttered, looking around to make sure no one else was around, "but uh...I don't think we're allowed up there."

Quinn didn't turn to face him when she answered, but her shoulders squared a little and her voice held an odd sort of conviction. The same sort you developed after telling yourself over and over that what you were about to do was justified. "We're not. But this is a personal request of Mister Wayne."

Nov waited for more of an explanation. None came.

The former Scar had his doubts, though he was given no time to voice them before his guide pressed on, lifting the rope to duck quickly under. Her much taller companion merely stepped over it and followed doggedly after Quinn. It wasn't long before they were both creeping up the stairwell, side by side and without a single word exchanged until they reached the second floor.

It was dark. Very dark. But the lass came prepared with a metal holder and small candle in hand, which she had lit against the flame of another right before they'd gotten to the top step.

Nov's eyes narrowed as he scanned the area. It was hard to see beyond a few feet of the glow of candle light, but all the same he had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. What did the harlot want with a book stowed away in such a place, anyway? And how would Quinn know to find it here in the first place?

When he looked down, he saw that the assistant's face was set with frightened but determined focus. "It's just around the corner, if I remember correctly," she whispered. "We should grab it and go. Best not tarry long here."

The merc was about to ask why when a mournful rush of wind seemed to moan between the shelves. None of the windows were open, as far as he could tell.

"Oh, petch this," he growled, shaking his head. "I don't care how in love you are. I'm not going in there for some shyke book. If that pretty boy wants it so bad he can come get it himself."

Quinn gave him an incredulous look. "Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark."

A curious scrape, scraping suddenly could be heard from behind some of the shelves. It was faint, but definitely noticeable. And it was accompanied by what sounded like a splash of water. "You fucking hear that?" Nov hissed, "Does that sound like the godsdamned dark to you?" He had to stop himself from spitting into the darkness for fear of provoking whatever shyke spirits were riling up for some unwanted activity right about now. It didn't even cross the man's mind that he might have been acting a bit too paranoid. Because there was no such thing as too paranoid when it came to ghosts.

The assistant sighed, ever mindful of keeping her voice low. "I don't blame you for your hesitation, but it's really not that far. And even if there was something...going on here, as the rumors might suggest, what harm could possibly come to us in less than a chime?"

Noven looked at her as if she had sprouted an extra head. "You really haven't been in danger before, have you? You don't say shyke like that and expect things not to go down exactly like you don't want them to." He glared back into the restricted area, jaw already set at a disdainful angle. "Also, ghosts and I don't get along. Period. And it's better you don't know why."

Quinn gave another exasperated sigh. "But--"

A loud thud caused both of them to jump. It was a book. A rather heavy one, and it had somehow fallen out of a shelf all on its own.

"That's it. We're getting the fuck out of here."

"No." The assistant held the candle before her like some kind of shield to ward off the looming dread and eerie disturbances. "You can leave, but I'm getting that book. I will not disappoint Mister Wayne."

Before Nov could stop her, she was marching off into the darkness, leaving him to silently curse in a moment of indecision before striding after her. Quinn appeared relieved when she noticed he was by her side once more, but she said nothing. It was hard enough just concentrating on getting to their objective as quickly as possible. The little flame of their only light source flickered dangerously, forcing them to keep an even pace as the assistant's hand warded off oncoming air as best she could.

To the merc's immense relief, Quinn stopped before one of the shelves in less than half a chime and roamed both eyes and fingers over several of the spines. A breath or two later, they froze in place. "Ah hah! I found it. It was right where I thought it would be. One Miracles of Faith, as promised."

"Praise the gods, you're a proper hero now," Nov congratulated, tone glazed with sardonic indifference. "C'mon, time to get--"

Quinn looked up in bafflement as the half-Myrian's eyes went from concerned to alarmed. A split tick later, she was being shoved, hands grabbing at her shoulders and practically tossing her behind Noven's tensed frame. She nearly fell on her rump and only just managed to catch herself in time, book still in one hand and candle in the other.

And then a giant billow of dust assaulted her senses as the shelf she'd been standing in front of not five ticks ago toppled over.

Right on top of her ghost-despising charge.

Quinn coughed violently as she fought to clear her lungs and vision of the thick cloud of dust. By the time she could see again, her candle had been snuffed. She had to squint hard and was barely able to make out rough shapes in the dark, a groan of pain the only evidence that the man buried beneath a mountain of tomes was still alive.

"N-Noven!" she wheezed, frantically trying to dig through the books.

"Quinn...help...in here..." His voice was muffled and his words disjuncted, but the lass could at least get a general direction of where to dig. When she finally pried free enough books to form a small opening for Noven to breathe, he sucked in the dust-filled air greedily, coughing once or twice himself as he face emerged from the paper and leather rubble.

"Are you hurt?" the assistant gasped, shoving away a few more books. "Oh gods, this is all my fault..."

"I'm alright," Nov answered as confidently as he could, "Been through worse. But I'm stuck, this shelf has me pinned and I won't be able to get out on my own." He hushed her before she could utter more irrelevant, guilt-ridden self admonishments. "It's not your fault, Quinn. Just go get the others. You don't have time to light another candle or worry about getting caught, just run."

She had tears welling up at the corner of her eyes, but the girl was made of stronger stuff than she appeared to be. With a curt nod, Quinn was scrambling back to the stairwell, Miracles of Faith cradled safely in her arms. Nov sagged with relief when he heard her footsteps hitting the wooden steps of the stairs again. At least someone would come for him eventually.

Now all he could do was wait, ignoring as best he could the echoes of malicious laughter reverberating somehow in such densely packed quarters, and the inexplicable sound of trickling liquid being poured over hardwood floor.

[Kaie]

It was a rare event when Matthew's thoroughness completely baffled the Myrian into silence. In that library that day, the Harlot had once again achieved just that. Her figure of speech had flown far and wide over the man's head. Before even she knew where the conversation was headed, the man was delving deeply into intimate details of anal pleasure. Details she never had much intention of knowing. Really, she was trying to keep the idea of Matthew partaking in the penetration bit of it all out of her head. The woman blinked blankly at him several times. A long pause followed as she just stared at the man, wondering how it was they had gotten to the strange place they were in. Resigned, the woman finally shook her head and had chosen to focus entirely on her book. It was the very same one that had so quickly gathered her deep disdain, the one she had so quickly rid herself of the moment it had revealed its troublesome contents.

Hearing Matthew confirm the silly inaccuracies of the novel was somewhat relieving. It was as if by having another person say it, that it was indeed true despite what she knew of her own culture. All she found herself thinking about as she stared at the closed cover was how nicely it would fuel a good fire. If it really is harmful knowledge, why would anyone miss it? She'd had enough of the strange place called a library and all the hateful objects within it. She hated that she couldn't read the books upon the shelves, and loathed the pages that had proved to be none other than blasphemy toward her people and their Goddess. The more radical of her kin would've thought to burn the Wright Library right down to its very foundations for its offense. It was beginning to sound like a better idea the more she contemplated it. The woman sat back and folded her arms upon the table. The unfinished stack beside her was quickly ignored. Matthew's inquiries, however, were not.

"Ah. I forget you and your people know so little," she replied with an apologetic smile. She leaned back in her chair and glanced around a bit for the familiar faces that had left them only chimes ago. When she saw no sign of neither Quinn nor Noven, she shrugged. The tale she was about to tell could very easily be retold later should it pique the half-Myrian's interest. "Myri was not born immortal nor a Goddess of War. Before her, Mizahar had another: Ruros, the God of War. He tall. He was powerful. He was strong. He paid no attention to the violence in our jungles. And while he cast his eyes elsewhere, Myri the Merciless had been named chieftain and matriarch of her clan. One by one she rallied the rest of the jungle clans to her cause, and together they built Taloba and destroyed the other races that opposed them. They all loved her, swore their unwavering loyalty to her, raised her up as their Goddess Queen, and named our race in her honor."

Another glance about the library. Still there was no sign of Noven or the mousy assistant. Assuming they were still deep in their search for more dreaded reading material or tracking down Matthew's book, the Myrian continued. "Ruros heard the rumors of Myri's great victories and the disturbing tales of what came of her enemies. So he came to Taloba to meet his rival for himself. He revealed himself before her in the throne room, confessed his admiration, and offered to take her as his bride so they may instead rule together." Her face contorted as the story progressed with disgust, voice conveying just what a mockery the very notion of such a marriage was in the eyes of her kin. "Our Goddess Queen banished him from our jungle instead of course. Ruros took great offense, and so the two engaged in a ferocious battle as her people looked on. He managed to wound Myri, but she slayed him with the Ash'dene. The Battle Glaive of the Dead. A great gift from Dira. Once Ruros was dead, Myri rose to divinity as the Goddess of War. All that remains of the fallen God is the story and his wretched son Uphis. Like the Dhani in Zinrah and his father before him, he too will fall. All in time. And now you know." A broad grin graced the foreigner's features. That's when the dreaded crashing noise erupted from the direction Noven and Quinn vanished. The woman whipped around in her chair.

"Did you hear that?" Eyes found Matthew's for a few ticks before she was in action. The lanky jungle creature rose from the chair and all but darted through the long aisles of full shelves. Head swiveled every which way in her search. It was during one of those rapid head rotations that a body crashed into the savage. The two rebounded off one another, the Myrian with a growl and the mousy assistant with a surprised squeal. Beyond the thick glasses tears threatened to spill. "Where's Noven?"
"W-We were up there. It..it was dark and I shouldn't have..." the woman rushed in the face of the Myrian, whose expression was no longer full of mirth and voice no longer carrying harmless sarcasm. Tawny hands gripped the assistant by the shoulders. Amber eyes held hers fiercely. "Quinn! Where is he?" The woman swallowed hard and seemed to gather herself. A finger pushed the slumped glasses back up on her face and then pointed toward the ominous staircase nearby.

The Myrian quickly left the woman where she stood with the stupid book and made her way toward the staircase. A length of rope provided a pathetic barrier against intruders. Naturally, the Myrian knew and cared little of library etiquette especially when there was concern for her allies, and thus had no problem shamelessly bounding over it. Bladed boots stormed the staircase in bold, resounding steps. Darkness swallowed her. A silent prayer was offered toward the Mistress of the Night to guide her weak eyes. Soon enough she was in the forbidden room where she suspected dozens more shelves of dusty books sat. Old habits placed one of her kukri back into one of her hands as she moved. Foot steps were quick but aimed for greater silence in the face of the unknown. Twice she called out in a whisper for the ex-gang member. Yet it wasn't until she stubbed her toe on a congregation of fallen books that she made the worthwhile discovery.

"For petch's sake, what happened?" Eyes better adjusted to the dark stared down at the man's face that was surrounded by the wider book pile. She shook her head. "Never mind that. Let's get you out." A few novels were carelessly tossed out of her way while she searched for the edge of the book shelf that visibly trapped her companion. The kukri was sheathed. Hands pried beneath the object as the Myrian crouched beside the man, and with a grunt, her Myrian strength was applied to the daunting task of removing the heavy trap. Despite how hard she pulled, the weight of the shelf was too much for one single individual to lift. "Slide out...now!" Kaie hissed beneath the burden, muscles taught, and arms beginning to shake as she expended her strength. When Noven had managed to free himself, the shelf would be dropped with a resounding boom back to the floor.

A bronze hand wiped at her forehead, brow tugged together in utter perplexity. A few ticks were taken to recover and eye the dark room they'd found themselves in. "This place gives me a bad vibe. You did get what you came for, yes?" Kaie searched over her shoulder for Matthew, and brushed the dust that found its way on her body when she dropped the musty shelf. The longer they stood there in the dark...the more her hairs seemed to stand on end. Something isn't right about this place.

[Matthew]

Matthew could faintly remember a time when he had played with Quinn as a child. They had lived close to each other. They had played catch together, swam in the ocean together, explored the surrounding tree line together. There had been many adventures. There had been a lot of laughter. Looking back at it now made Matthew feel as if he was staring upon something utterly foreign, something that wasn't himself. Why was he remembering it now? There had been a promise. He remembered that she had threatened to cry until he promised. It was a promise that he was supposed to have remembered forever. Things had changed, though. Matthew had changed. Matthew had forgotten. He had forgotten more than he realized.

Completely unaware that his gift of rather explicit knowledge had baffled Kaie, the Harlot was content to listen to her story and absorb every little bit of it in. It was all utterly new to him, unknown information one of the very few things that Matthew felt some level of delight in. It was certainly an interesting story. It sounded like one of the fairy tales that he had heard when he was a child, though with a slightly more mature spin to it. There were a lot of foreign words and names that Matthew archived away for later, planning on reviewing the story when he had time to himself. Quickly skimming back over the brand new collection of sentences in his brain, Matthew slowly parted his lips to ask a single question about the story before they were suddenly interrupted by the crashing noise. A short and sharp nod answered Kaie's question, blue eyes narrowing as he returned her brief stare. Then suddenly she was up and moving, actually running through hallways formed by towering bookshelves. Nipping at the surface of his lower lip, Matthew slowly rose from his seat with a brief look of annoyance flashing across his handsome features. Noven had likely damaged something. Kaie was probably about to be loud. They were going to be kicked out. He had practically predicted that all of this would happen.

Quinn soon came striding around the corner, twisting and wringing her hands with a look of worry and fear written across her face. Laying eyes on Matthew, the young woman paused for a split tick and then hurried over to him while once again pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Matthew wasted little time getting right to the point. "Where do I need to go, Quinn?" The girl whimpered softly and then pointed back towards where she had came from, the angle of her extended arm giving Matthew all the information he needed. "You know you aren't supposed to go up there. Stay here. I'll be back soon." Quinn's face fell, the young woman ducking her head and staring directly at the ground. The Harlot moved forward, the fingertips of one hand lightly brushing against the side of her arm as he passed. At the sensation of the sudden touch, Matthew immediately paused. The young girl blinked, lifting her head slightly, noticing that her crush had frozen. "Matthew? Are you okay?" He did not immediately answer, still reflecting upon what his Auristics had passively pointed out to him upon contact with her. How had he not noticed it when he had touched her before?

His head slowly turned, blue eyes intensely focusing upon the assistant librarian. "Why do I sense another person inside of you, Quinn?"

Quinn stilled, eyes widening. A moment of silence passed between them before a large tear suddenly rolled down one of her cheeks, her soft voice barely a whisper. "You promised you'd be with big sister forever, Matthew. But you weren't even with her when she died. You broke her heart." Matthew blinked at her, caught off guard as pieces rapidly began clicking into place. His memories had been flawed. Quinn had been the younger sister. Quinn had not been the one he had remembered.

The Harlot had become so very distracted by his thoughts that he did not notice the presence slipping from Quinn and moving towards him.

~

Matthew strode up behind Kaie, eyes shrouded in the darkness of the surrounding area. Surveying the damage, Matthew squinted a bit at the heavy shelf that was laying across the floor and then shook his head with a wide grin. "You idiots. We need to get away from this area before they find out it was us. They'll just blame it on the ghost if we aren't up here when they come to investigate. Come on, let's just get back to studying. Can you walk, Nov? Or was it clumsiness that put you under a shelf in the first place?"

A small, teasing grin was offered towards Noven, poking fun at him. A single wink was tossed at Kaie, as if to let her know that he was just trying to rile Noven up a bit and that she should play along.

[Noven]

A rush of relief filled his lungs to mix amongst the dust when he heard Kaie's voice. He was grateful as well then she didn't require an explanation straight away; the man could barely breathe under all of the weight, let alone speak. There was a moment of wry amusement upon seeing the blade in her hand, which the Myrian sheathed once she realized the danger was indeed just a book shelf.

Nov was at once surprised and unsurprised by her strength. But there was no time to speculate as Kaie began to lift the shelf inch by inch. It was too large for any single human to hold up for long and the instant he heard her command the Sunberthian dragged himself out from under his wooden prison with all of the speed he could muster. No sooner had he managed to shimmy free did the shelf collapse back onto the floor with enough noise to wake the dead.

He was still wheezing for air when Kaie spoke again. There was a nod of confirmation that they had indeed gotten what they came for, then,
"Thanks...Kaie...fucking...ghosts..."

That was all he managed to pant before the presence of a third announced its arrival. It was hard to make out details in the darkness, but he could tell by the voice and stride that it was Matthew. There was the smart click-clacking of his expensive shoes, that same, Zeltivan accent, even a faint whiff of some kind of scent if he focused hard enough. Yet...

Perhaps it was all the dust and gods knew what else he'd been inhaling for the past few chimes, but Nov had the uneasy feeling that something was...different about the harlot. There was playfulness in his tone. Too much playfulness. Bold and eccentric Matthew could be, but he'd never outright called Nov an idiot to his face before, not even in jest. And somehow, the former Scar was confident in assuming it had nothing to do with courtesy or the fear of a broken nose and everything to do with the concept of jests themselves. Because they tended to fly right over that perfectly groomed head.

Something fishy lingered in the air.

"I can walk," came Noven's terse reply. He'd already long since made a habit of wearing exra thick skin, but something about the harlot's newfound demeanor rubbed him the wrong way.

A problem to grapple with later. He started to walk, back and ribs still smarting from being crushed by a shelf. Quinn was no where to be seen, though Nov had no doubt she would be there waiting with a stammering apology, stewing with self blame. He only hoped she wouldn't cry again. The man was clueless when it came to crying women.

About five steps away from the stairs, Noven stopped. The feel of cold, satin fingers had just brushed across the back of his neck. He whirled around, glaring angrily and defiantly into the dark, but saw nothing, only his companions.

"Did you guys see that?"

Shaking his head, the Sunberthian pressed on. "Forget it, probably better off not knowing. Just gotta get the petch out of here."

Then he took a step forward and promptedly slipped, falling right on his ass.

The stream of cursing that proceeded to pour from Noven's mouth was as varied as it was vehement, though vocalized only after a series of bodily thuds as his body hit the stairs in a most unconventional manner. It took him a good amount of sliding around and swearing before he managed to get back on his feet. And when he did, he found that he was covered in what appeared to be oil.

The man looked down at the slick sheen covering his limbs, back pressed against a wall for support. Confusion and pain contorted his dark, dusty face. "What the bleeding, sodding hell..."

"Is everyone alright?" Quinn's familiar voice rang out in alarm from the bottom of the stairs. "I heard so many noises, I was worried."

Behind the thick frames of her glasses, her eyes shone dark blue again, flecked with the orange and yellows of flame as she held up a new candle to stare wide-eyed into the darkness. Nov only knew this because he had fallen about half of the way down, and it only took the junior assistant a few moments to reach him.

"Gods and goddesses, it's done it again," Quinn whispered. She looked around for the others. "Are you badly injured? Have you broken anything? It's the worst when someone breaks something..."

Mood having fouled considerably, Noven spit out a jibe before he could even think to stop it. "No, but pretty boy is still up there. I don't think he's ever broken a thing in his life, either, so maybe you should go and pester the shyke out of him instead. I'm done with petching ghosts and stairs and going where I'm not supposed to for the day."

The moment the words came out of his mouth, he regretted them. They were spiteful and unjust, he knew, but they could not be taken back. Strangely enough, however, the little library assistant hadn't burst into tears like he'd assumed she would. Instead, she was staring up the stairs into the murky dimness. Her eyes seemed distant as if she was trying to recall an old memory. Nov's brow knit with concern and he waved a hand in front of her face just to make sure she hadn't fallen into some kind of trance.

"Oy, Quinn. You still there?"

She blinked and shook her head. "S-Sorry, I was just trying to figure something out. My memory feels...foggy for some reason. I should know all of our esteemed patrons' names by now, so forgive me for asking at a time like this, but whom were you referring to again?"