12th of Winter. Coba felt like bashing her head against a wall. She had been looking for Jason's place of residence far longer then she could justify. It was beyond her why she kept going shop to shop, asking for a librarian and her bookish son. Or just the way to the library itself. With all the looks she got from the educated shop keep, so similar to the one Jason had given her not so long ago, she had a feeling that even as their voices said that they knew nothing of this small family, their suspicion in their faces spoke that they did not trust her far enough to spit, let alone reveal to her the location of one of their own. Directions to the library where all based on written signs that where about as reasonable as gibberish. For these and other reasons, the stone that flanked the street was looking awfully tempting. It was nearing evening, and in that calm before the storm of after dark activity, the pathways were relatively sparsely populated. She had just spoken to her future employer, and on whatever impulse she'd decided to seek out Jason again, to tell him of this armed party that might increase his chances of survival outside Syliras's walls. She didn't even know if the Isur would appreciate it. In justification, the boy had considerable talents, of magical sorts, that may or may not come in handy. Maybe. She glanced around, now desperate, to find Jason before her interest dwindled to the point where she had no drive to keep searching. The other, irritating fact, was that Syliras was huge, and she didn't know how many libraries one city might hold, or how many librarians there would be. It wasn't as if she knew much about books or their places of keep. So tracking down a single librarian's son seemed a gigantic task with very little chance of success. With this, also rose her ill temper. It annoyed her that she had to spend so much time grasping at straws. She snapped at one of the few pedestrians, a well fed, older man. "Librarian, woman. Has a son. Do you know them? Of them? Something?" He smiled at her in a way that was both creepy and suggested that he was a bit thick in the skull. He merely pointed. She followed his direction without question, to cross and impatient to stay and argue with his lack of actual help, and found herself at a door. Her first pounded the it, angry not necessarily at whoever was behind the door, but with the fact they may, or may not, be who she was looking for. And for the sake of whoever opened it, they better be who she was looking for. |