Closed Pass The Parcel.

[Archailist]

Time Stamp: 10th of Winter, 513.

First day on the job, as a courier, was bound to be fun. What could be more fun than running around the city just to give some letters to random monks, he thought sarcastically on his way across the rooftops, occasionally having to move around the poised guards on the high red walls in order to not get stopped. His 'disguise' of a squirrel might fool most at a distance, but it was very easy to notice the fact that his colours were wrong, he had no fur, and he was greatly disproportionate when given closer inspection. He skittered along the edges of the roofs on all-fours, occasionally swinging down with his forepaws holding most of his body weight so that he could jump across the busy streets to the opposite house and continue on his way. It wasn't simple - he needed to constantly focus, to keep his claws in shape, to keep everything.. together. He could feel it was getting better since the last few days that he'd spent running around like this, but it was still taxing on his mind. Thankfuly, he wouldn't need to do it for much longer - he could see one of the bland red buildings that showed a small host of Infik in the stables behind it.. which meant that it must have been the Delivery Bureau.

A few houses on the left, and he was climbing along the roof of the building and hopping down to the entrance, having to slip cautiously around a few of the couriers who were passing through at the same time, and nearly getting stepped on in the process. Parcels like stone bricks became steps that he quickly used to get to higher ground, until he reached the desk and found an elderly man talking with another, only passing a glance to the squirrel in a small scowl before turning back to the crowds.

"Someone get that damn animal out." He began taking up the letters again, but the squirrel persevered and hopped closer, sighing softly as he looked up.

"Sir, I was sent here by the Employment Office.. I'm here for work as a courier?"

The man didn't look back again, but he finished talking to the man currently standing at the counter before picking out a rather large parcel and shoving it into a bag, and then onto the comparatively-smaller Pycon. "Take this, deliver it to where it says. Be quick about it." And with that, he was off. He didn't know particularly where he was taking it - and he had no clue how to get there either. But he had a good plan - or at least, one that sounded good in his mind.

He slipped back out the front door, nearly being forced to drag the bag along behind him as he went, holding it in both paws and hopping quite clumsily around the stampede of constant couriers and other patrons moving in and out. As soon as he finally got out, though, he was straight up the nearest wall with the bag hanging low behind him, putting excessive strain on his claws and nearly bending them all the way back, before he can make it to the roof and breath out a heavy sigh of relief, holding the bag close to his back with both paws and beginning on his way, hopping between the roofs until he can find one flat enough to relax and pass a glance back to the address. Somewhere in the North Quarter. So that's where he set off.

More jumping around buildings rooftops, more hard work. Though now it was even harder, with a damn satchel flapping back and forth on his shoulder, weighing him down with whatever was inside. He had to be careful that whatever inside didn't break, but at the same time, it was very difficult to run around with a heavy object holding him back, especially with a malleable body that allowed the strap to dig deeply into his shoulder - and especially since he was attempting to perform acrobatics with the damn thing on, wobbling around on his hind-paws with the satchel held high over his head, struggling to make jumps that would otherwise be easy for the small Pycon. Even the monks guarding the walls were beginning to pay more attention than before, now that the squirrel was holding a satchel as it ran... could a squirrel really be stealing something like that?

[Naia Whitewater]

Speach | Thoughts | oocI am going to assume morning And that it will be a few posts separate before they actually meet. If only because once Arch shows up, I feel like there will be a severe lack of work actually done XD Sorry for the length of her little intro, by the way! I'm just trying to establish her character before I accidentally write her like as though she's another of my characters XD

Naia gave a heavy breath. Of all the jobs she could have chosen, she just had to think a scribe would suit her best. What in Gods' names was she thinking? Right, note to self: do a thorough background check on the place of work, and obligations of work, before deciding on which 'suits' you. And it wasn't a particularly rewarding job, in terms of pay, either. She sighed and shook her head to herself, deciding that she could at least take the opportunity to learn anything and everything that could come from her line of work, before perhaps switching to a job more profitable. Maybe. If she could be bothered to do so, that was.

She sighed lightly and pushed herself on, moving towards the Halls of Robes with a noticeable lack of exuberance. She didn't quite mind the work, but already there was a certain droning and strict structure. Eat at this time, arrive and leave at that. Ensure these duties are done between the times of this and that. Don't forget that you're expected to take up the mantle as a librarian during this time to ensure that the work you've completed is properly cataloged, and that the older tome is put where it should. But don't forget you need to only allow yourself so many ticks and chimes of rests, and that is between this duty and that.

Oh, and be kind to the cooks and those that work with the dyes, and be sure to aid the scholars should they ask for a book or manuscript to be found, or ask for certain pages to be copied. Should a request by a monk be sent in, such work is to be completed first and foremost, as most daily duties may be maintained by those man the looms, though official monk and lower end political documents require a scribe of competent skill to transcribe and archive. Any unfinished daily work or business of the monks must be taken home and completed before work begins the next day. A privacy agreement is also in place, such that if one is to request the work done to remain confidential, then not a word is to be spoken to a third party of no authority - so ranting about the apparent triviality of some of the requests lodged was out of the question. Well, she could complain that they were trivial, just not how they were.

If it wasn't for a rather remarkable memory, something which came from growing up in an environment where everything appeared to be the same white ice, blue seas, and coastal rock, Naia figured that she'd be in a mountain of trouble already. A strange sound disrupted her thoughts, and she couldn't help but gawk at the roof tops above. She was still in the thick of the Eastern Quarter, so perhaps it was some form of water foul? A sound to her left quickly drew her attention. She stopped mid stride when she caught the sight of a little... what in Gods' Names was that? Did she really want to know? She felt another hit her back, and a curse follow soon after, the man who'd bumped into receiving nothing more than a glare and a huff of annoyance from the woman.

She increased her pace, then, making the journey to The First Rib far quicker than she'd intended, and feeling a tightness in her stomach well at an alarming speed. It was some kind of twisted excitement crossed with a bout of fear, the Svefran never quite able to stop herself from looking down into the Aperture. There was a short moment when she jokingly wondered if the little critter she'd seen had risen from the gaping crack, only to dismiss it upon realising just how not funny the thought truly was. In response, she promptly pushed it from her mind, taking her steps across the structure of marvel with the feeling in her gut morphing towards that of stupid allure and thrill of adventure. She shortly adverted her gaze away from anything below the horizon, and moved on to the Celestial Square with great speed, torn between writing about great people, and being one herself.

When she finally stepped foot within the building, she was greeted by a pile of tattered books, and a dismissive wave towards the large corner desk she'd pretty well stolen from a scholar and claimed for her own work. Another exciting day at the Halls of Robes, it seemed.

[Archailist]

OOCNo problem, I can see there'll be a while before they eventually meet. Arch has got a few deliveries.

From the East to the North was much more difficult than he'd thought, at first. The package, on much closer inspection to the little label over the front, was to be delivered to somewhere near the Bloody Hunter, to a man named William. There was also a little sign on the corner, though he had no clue what that was and so he didn't really question it - he'd ask the man at the Bureau when he got there, but for now, there were the deliveries to focus on. To get their as quick as possible, he needed to cross through the Celestial, which was one of the most busy areas in the city for a very good reason, before turning and moving North. The straps of the satchel were pulled as tight as possible, and then wrapped around his waist as much as possible before he continued between the rooftops, narrowly managing to make an exceptionally long jump with just one paw taking the full force, before he dropped down to the floor and slipped quietly along the edges of the streets. It was a close call - he could have dropped the package and smashed whatever was inside.. hopefully just a few letters, though he doubted it. Whatever it was, it was heavy enough and large enough to make the next few chimes very trialing. Because of its size and weight, he couldn't possibly hold onto the thing and climb up one of the walls, so he needed to try and avoid being stepped on as he maneuvered through the streets, and also stop his package from being crushed.

The Aperture was soon in sight, and damn, if it didn't scare him. Though, not as much as the monks that crowded up either end of the bridges crossing it. And he needed to cross it.. lucky him. There wasn't a chance in the world that he was going to make a jump across the Aperture, and he didn't want to, either. But those guards would probably stop him, if he tried to make it through.. he could explain, though, couldn't he? He could just, like, explain that he was a courier delivering a parcel and that they should let him pass...

That's what he kept saying to himself, all the way up to the monks that stood guard over the entrance, obviously still being forced to jump around the many large feet that threatened his life and his package for every second. And, remaining completely silent, he slipped through.. without them even batting an eyelid. Apparently they weren't really paying attention enough to notice something at only half a foot in height slipping practically between their feet.. which was good news for him. Or, he thought so, as he crossed the bridge quickly and made his way into the Celestial Square.

The place was just.. full. It was impossible to see through the crowds of moving people, the streets thick with monks of all different types slipping through, as well as the vast majority of travelers that spent the majority of their time in the one neutral place in the city. He climbed up the wall of the hostel that was practically the only memorable place - it was the one place that one could actually sleep - before climbing to the roof and leaping to the neighboring building, and the one after that. One bridge down, one to go. The Bridge of the Dead. And on there, even more monks in even more armour than before. He was going to take a tough time in getting past them - although, he'd done it once, hadn't he? He could do it again, couldn't he? Just be fast, be agile.. make it straight through, around the edges of the buildings.. and he'd be able to pass through completely unscathed.

So, he did. After making a dramatic little drop to the floor, he snuck carefully around the people passing over the much-less-crowded bridge, casually passing the guards. Who immediately started yelling something that he couldn't hear - he'd broken into a full sprint with the package wrapped as tightly as possible around his back by the straps, all four paws taken advantage of, and his long tail looping as much as possible around the bottom of the package for stability. And just behind him, he could hear the monks shouting even more. Damnit - what did they want?!

"Stop that squirrel! It's got someones stuff!" Oh shyke.

[Naia Whitewater]

Speach | Thoughts | oocjust wanted to make sure that there is a constant little mention of Arch so the posts don’t seem too unconnected

Naia didn't like sitting with her back open and face towards a wall. It made her feel shut out and open to anything. She couldn't send a cross look of warning towards those doing what they shouldn't be, she couldn't watch and send weary looks to the librarians still a little unsure with how the shelves immediately around her were cataloged, she couldn't make sure no one ruined the tomes she was yet to transcribe and replace. Her heart faltered at the thought of how much care was placed in transcribing before her - surely there was another employed solely as a scribe? She decided that he or she must have met their end or found a new place of work, point blank refusing to believe that so much knowledge could have been written first hand alone. Surely there were many researchers and monks who knew how to write, but there was a difference between having a skill and spending your life using it. The later surely had better things to do.

The trek to her desk was a rather taxing one, placed in the far right corner o the Halls of Robes, close enough to the dining hall that the cooks who had a breather liked to come sticky beak into her business, and often poke and prod her about writing a recipe book for them. So far she'd managed to press and push it off, at least until they purchase a blank book to their liking for Naia to use. Once they have that, she can kiss her midday break goodbye. At least she'd managed to make her way into the good graces of the cooks, so she can at least eat copious amounts of soup as she does so.

When she could finally lay down the pile of books and tomes, she felt a certain heat to her cheeks and a sweating of her hands. She hated having to carry leather bound books, for the aspect of sweat alone, though it only took a short moment to remind herself of how many splinters she'd gotten to keep her from making the complaint verbal. I think I'm going to need to work, or something. Unless, of course, I want my fitness to improve because of the constant hauling of books alone.

As she dumped the pile on her claimed desk, and checked the draws for blank books, inks, and quills, she couldn't help but catch a conversation that came from one of the cooks - the woman's own face flustered and grin wide, the quickness of her breath and slight giggle making it hard to tell whether she was in such a state due to laughter or running. "Gods -- yous will never believe what just 'appened outside," She gave a breathless giggle as she through a look to Naia, no doubt seeing the curiosity drawn across the Svefra's expression, and beckoned her into the dining room as she continued to chortle away.

There was a short moment when she considered staying in place, and beginning her work before hearing the tale unfold during midday break. There was a short moment of satisfaction with such thoughts, as though she was genuinely considering doing so, before she shut the top drawer and half jogged to the dining room, following the sound of the cook's voice as she told her little slither of gossip. “-when and ‘nicked some blokes bag and few of the monks were chasing the critter down.”

And now she’d managed to catch the tail end of the conversation, making the move to step into the doorway of the kitchen, weary not to step into ground that wasn’t hers. There looked like there was breath of disbelief in the lungs of many of the cooks, one or two with their eyebrows raised and lips quirked. “Wait…” Naia ventured, her own expression drawing in confusion. “I think I saw…” Could that be it? It’d make sense, she supposed. The woman lived in the Northern Quarter, or had some close relatives or something who did, which meant that there was certainly room for the two to cross paths. It was the first Naia heard of the monks involvement, how ever.“You’re kidding?” Pipped in one of the quieter cooks, and Naia nodded her head rather sternly. She was a scribe, for crying out loud – she couldn’t have her words questions. “Of course not – I saw it on my way in from the Eastern Quarter-”

She gave a look towards the giggling woman. What part of this is hilarious? “If we’re talking about the same thing?” The woman went on to nod madly, tears welling in her eyes as her laughter continued. “Did-did-did you see the ones who tried and catch it?” She was gone then, completely done and wrought with laughter, head rested on the wall as she tried to compose herself. Oh, she was a giggly one. Naia was just pleased that it wasn't some crude or vulgar joke that had her chuckling, if it was - she would have had to listen to innuendos and horrific laughter for the rest of the day.

“Is the scribe here?” intruded a shrill voice, and the slight murmuring and giggles that had broken among the other staff was shortly quelled. One of the cooks shot her a look, mouthing what she assumed to be 'talk later,' to which she promptly, though ridiculously dramatically, responded with 'Gods Help Me'. She then retook her cool demeanor, cracking her knuckles and rolling her shoulders as though it was to a battlefield she was entering.

“Yes, just a moment,” Was her cordial reply, turning and marching towards the voice, finding one of the familiar looking librarians standing at the door. This may shock you, but I do in fact have a name. The woman then gestured back towards Naia’s claimed desk. “There is a monk that would love to bore you with his knowledge about something or sometime, and have you write it for him.” The woman then went on to give an artificial smile, before letting the look fall from her mouth, hollow eyes and a scowl taking place, “Good luck.”

Maybe the woman wasn't quite so bad? Naia returned the look with one of her own, a light sigh leaving her lips and she slipped passed her, deciding as ever to keep her own comments to herself. It’s too damn early for this shyke.

[Archailist]

OOCYeah, and in doing so, you've made it appear like the entire city of Nyka is going to be crowding for a look at the infamous squirrel.

Shyke, shyke, SHYKE. That was about all that could go through his head as he ran as fast as possible between the narrow streets, under passers-by's legs and straight up a nearby red stone wall, narrowly managing to jump onto the opposite house's roof and sprint across that as well. It was a pure miracle that he'd been able to outrun the monks so far, with his complete lack of stamina in running - which was odd, considering his knowledge of acrobatics and climbing - but he wasn't going to stop now, unless he could make them understand that he wasn't a feral squirrel, he had a delivery to make! At least he'd made it to the North Quarter, and now he needed to find the right house.

The monks continued to follow him, though, shouting and cursing as they gestured widely to each-other to corner the squirrel. And though he didn't have any lungs to breathe with, he was panting by the time he'd crossed another few roofs and slid down another alley, hoping that he wouldn't be found if he just hid away in the corner. He wasn't to be spared - one of the monks that had been jumping over the roofs after him was quick to leap down and spot him with his tail wrapped around his body, the satchel still knotted tightly around his back and protected by the squirrels minute, clay form. "We've got the blighter!" he shouted cheerfully, like the whole thing was a game, bringing the several others close behind. And then, for the second time today, a miracle happened.

"Wai' a second, that thing's no squirrel!" There was an uproar from the others, and they all turned back on each-other. He hoped that while the monks all bickered with each-other, he might be able to make an escape between their legs. No such luck, though - the crowd that had amassed around him was filled with curious eyes fixed on him, and he didn't want to make himself look anything more like a thief. Not just the monks that had originally been chasing him, but several others that had turned from their daily activities just to watch such a spectacle.

"Wha'daya mean, it's ob'iously a squirrel! You blind? Look at its tail, fah petch's sake." One of the monks cuffed another, and they broke out into a small brawl that ended as soon as it had started.

"No, look at it's colour, that ain't a squirrels colour!" one barked in retort, throwing wide gestures and pointing to the Pycon, "It's all patchy, and it ain't got no fur on it, neither!" Honestly, it seemed as if the entire city was oblivious to an entire race of peoples in Mizahar. It shouldn't have surprised the squirrel, considering the amount of devotion that they showed for their gods that nearly consumed their daily lives, it seemed anyway, and the completely self-reliable system that they'd created.. it was a wonder that the monks ever left the walls in the first place.

"Actually.." Suddenly the monks all whipped their heads back around to stare at the squirrel, slightly wide-eyed, as it stood up on its hind legs like a perfectly normal - although tiny - human being and slowly reshaped itself into something more humanoid. The tail disappeared, the snout shaped into a flat spot and the eyes became small holes, and in a few seconds, it was a small figurine of a man. ".. he's right, I'm not a squirrel. My name's Arch.. I'm a Pycon." There was a moment of silence as the monks looked back between one-another, and then one finally turned and grabbed the satchel, ripping it up into the air and taking the poor Pycon with it since the knots were still attached around his chest, leaving him hanging precariously while the monk scowled.

"What're yah doin', stealing things from other people tha' ain't y'urs?"

"I wasn't, I swear!" he quickly said, arms held up in the air in a sign of surrender and with an expression of worry over its small face. Oh boy.. was this going to be something else, to try and explain. Why didn't they have some kind of note, or some badge of office that could prove he was a courier! "I'm the new courier, I was just delivering a package to William.. you can ask Anđelko if needs be, please!" The delivery was supposed to be as quick as possible, but he was wasting precious time trying to prove to the monks that he wasn't a thief, he was a real courier.

"Oh yeh'? Guess we'll need ta' see tha' package, then, eh'?" the monk practically sneered at him while shaking the bag back and forth, causing whatever was inside to rattle about and eventually dislodging the Pycon from the satchel and leaving him to tumble down to the ground while they rummaged through the belongings and eventually started pulling at the package, looking at it up and down. And there, inside, they found a little note.. something that, unfortunately, the Pycon hadn't been told about. A Note of Passage.

"Eh'? Oh.. looks like yah' weren't kiddin' after all. Go on then, take the damn thing, and be quick about those packages, err.. boy!" He couldn't believe it, but they dropped the satchel back down and the monks began to disperse as quickly as they'd crowded around him, pushing past the others that had gathered for a quick look. And before he'd get surrounded again - or worse, trampled by people vying for a quick peek - he picked up the satchel hurriedly, looped the frayed ends of the strap around his waist, and set off again through the narrowed streets, around a corner and as fast as he could in any direction, as long as it was anywhere from here! The tail grew from his back and his entire body shifted in shape as he ran, taking on his natural form of a nimble squirrel that put all four of its stout paws to work yet again in trudging through the guttering at the edges of the narrow streets, wary of any more monks that should think to stop him.

And he still had the petching package to deliver...

[Naia Whitewater]

Speach | Thoughts | oocHaha, nothing like a bit of exaggeration to make the coming conversation all the more memorable! XD

Naia had no idea who the moron was, but she despised him already. She didn't care to examine his countenance, nor bother examine his shape or form, the tone of his voice nasal and annoying. "Transcribe that," was the simple order barked, and she was quite prepared to tell him to shove it when he began to speak further. "Make it legible, will you? I'll need it concluded in the next ten to twenty days or so," So, in other words, you want it done in ten and left in storage until you feel like coming to get it. Oh, joy of joys - it wasn't as though she had other, questionably more important things to do.

"Of course," was her response, as cool and amiable as she could muster towards someone she'd taken an immediate dislike to. She then nodded him off, maintaining her look with a mere inkling of annoyance obvious to her expression. At least it doesn't seem so large a tome, She mused, but neither is it old and in need to be replaced. She sent a glare the man's way as she disappeared beyond the shelves, going back to ransacking her drawers in search of materials, picking out quill, ink, and wood bound book with a light sigh.

"Half a dozen pages now, then I'll do what I'm paid for before returning and doing another half dozen." She did a quick, short flip through of the pages, frowning as she noted it to be personal writings. She could certainly tell what the man had meant, how ever, with the script not so poor that it couldn't be read, but serious effort needed to be made.

Following on with the theme of the book, she took seat and cleared a large portion of the desk, before writing the title - in a shoddy attempt at fine lettering - 'Notes on Geology.' The name at the bottom of the page, however, was left unwritten, with too many combinations and interpretations as to what the strange scrawl could be. Given the age of the book and the time span over which she assumed it was written in, she figured it for something kept in the family. Be it a mother's or father's personal study journal, or someone else, it seemed the kind kept by one and shared to only a few.

There was a moment when she wondered if it was at all related to the Aperture, considering that perhaps someone wanted the knowledge of a study planned and passed, with a suspicious look poured over any detail that would hint at such. Nothing, it was clear - and she'd wasted quite enough time already.

She rolled her shoulders and took note of second page, a cramped and crowded table of contents, of sorts, wherein the author obviously had failed to leave enough room to write. She took the liberty of expanding the single page into two as she transcribed, familiarising herself with several words or two, a puzzled expression quick to take form upon her features. It seemed to be beginner's work right through to a little more complex, written more as an explanation of concepts and topics. Whether they were self taught or enrolled in an academy, there was a clear and steep learning curve.

She made earnest attempts to level the spacing of her writing well and even, managing to give at least a nice look to her capitals and main headings, making a mental note that perhaps it was time to learn calligraphy in her earnest - as apposed to merely focusing on making her own hand writing plan and easy to read. What use was a scribe who had a lovely, cursive hand writing if it could be only be written by them? Perhaps a Sage would have little use for cryptography with someone of illegible handwriting around.

[Archailist]

It took a long time. Longer than it should have, much longer than expected. The streets, from below the rooftops, resembled a bland monotonous labyrinth broken only by the occasional passer-by that wandered past and caught a gasp and a glimpse of a squirrel running through the guttering. He swore that he was running in circles, but it was difficult to really tell.. he couldn't find anything to base his suspicion on, and he didn't have time to stop and get his bearings - the packages were supposed to be as fast as possible, and he'd been going at a snails pace for almost two bells. Round a corner, past a small group of monks that gave him more suspicious looks, and he was finally where he needed to be. 32 Iron Avenue, which just happened to be looking straight over the Aperture and practically staring him in the face. The Bloody Hunter.

A bit of effort was required to open the door - once he did, though, he was immediately greeted by the sight of an aged, though not elderly man stood behind the rough wooden desk, staring down at him with something between an instinctive need to attack, some in-bred primal need - like something one would see in a wolf when coming to face with a rabbit - and a curiosity that rivaled that of a child. Either way, it made his eyes wide and his hands occasionally twitch, half between reaching for some weapon to throw and simply grappling the squirrel as he hesitantly walked through the porch on his hind-paws, unhooking the satchel from around his waist and coughing awkwardly into his paw. "Excuse me, sir.. I'm the courier, I've got a package to deliver. I'm looking for a.. William? Willam Ovechse."

"That would be me. Glad that it's finally arrived." He sounded a little annoyed, and there was more than enough evidence in his voice that he wasn't particularly pleased with the amount of time that it had taken.. but most of it had been shaved off, thanks to his appearance alone. Even as the man looked over the package, and tore off the paper to reveal the wrapped piles of fishing line, hooks, and bait, his eyes kept trailing off to look at the little squirrel that had taken perch on the counter, watching him carefully for a few more seconds.

"So.. you don't need anything else, right?"

"You're a courier, aren't you? Shouldn't you be, y'know, delivering other stuff?" The squirrels eyes widened suddenly, and he turned to dash through the door without another word, stopping only to retie the empty satchel around his waist. He hadn't even thought twice about the whole thing - he was supposed to be delivering more than one package a day! There would be plenty to deliver, and here he was, being a complete idiot and spending all of his time delivering one single package of fishing line, when there could be hundreds of more important deliveries just waiting for him to deal with! But.. then again. If he was going to take such a long time, and if it was going to be such an effort to just deliver some bits of fishing line and string, then what was he going to do if someone needed a sword delivering? Those things would be.. nearly three times his size, and seven times his weight.. and he was never going to be able to carry one of those things five steps, let alone all the way across Nyka to some monks at the Tempered Steel, or somewhere equally as ridiculous.

The run back was a lot less uneventful, thankfully. He slipped past the guards, but he took the bridge leading directly from the North to the East, since it meant that he'd only have to pass the guards lining that bridge instead of crossing through the Celestial. Which, he had now decided, he would avoid at all costs. After hitting the rooftops and jumping back to the Bureau, though, he was in for a nasty surprise. The day was passing quickly and he expected a few more packages to be delivered, and instead, there was another monk stood beside Anđelko.

"I'm telling you, we need more scribes in the Hall of Robes, we're dangerously understaffed.. I'm sure we can come to an agreement, some of your couriers could at least use some experience in the field!" said the monk, gesturing widely with his hands and glancing about the place as if for the very first time - which it probably was. "You can spare at least one?

It was a bad time to come in, but that's what the squirrel did. And immediately, a small grin spread over Anđelko's face. And he sure wasn't that happy to see the squirrel, was he? Soon enough, Arch had his answer as Anđelko turned back to the monk with that same shyke-eating grin and then pointed down to the Pycon with a bit of a smug air around him. "Sure, I got one. Yah' can have 'im." The other monk was soon staring wide-eyed, turning back and forth between the man and the small squirrel who now watched the two, trying to figure out what was going on.

"You can't be serious, Anđelko! That thing could barely hold a quill, let alone transcribe anything at all! No, we need someone else."

"All the others are finishin' off their deliv'ries and then they'll be goin' home, Matiah. 'E's the only one. 'E only made one deliv'ry today. Yeh're free to 'ave him, an' e's all we've got." He thought briefly about speaking up, but decided against it in the end - whatever it was, as long as he was going to get paid for it, he was happy to help with.. even if he had much better things that he could be currently doing.

"Fine, fine. Come here, lad. Let's get you into the Hall of Robes. Plenty to get done. And without much of another word, the monk turned and walked straight past the squirrel, nearly on him in fact, without a glance in his direction. He was showing more distaste than even the guards had given when they thought he was an animal - this new monk thought he was nothing but an object, regardless of the fact that he'd not been assigned, he'd not even volunteered! It was stupid.. but he turned and followed anyway, giving one last glance over his shoulder to Anđelko.. who kept that shyke-eating grin on his face, but never looked at the squirrel. Just kept watching the other monk that was trudging disheartened back towards the Hall of Robes.. which meant passing over the bridge that he had earlier. Though at least he was following a monk, so he wouldn't be chased. And since he had company this time, he soon took a place at the monks side, looking up at him as he stood on his hind-legs and attempted a casual gait that still kept enough wariness to make sure that he could avoid being stepped on.

"So, what am I supposed to be doing in this Hall of Robes place?" No reply.

[Naia Whitewater]

Naia's Speech | Thoughts | Others's SpeechoocWe'll have to throw together a couple of NPC write ups before we finish the thread, it seems XD

Naia's quill tore across the page. She was maybe half a dozen pages into the slim tome on geology, and far further behind that she'd have liked to be. As much as she liked the idea of her job, she often found herself spending far too much time actually reading what it was she was meant to be writing out, finding that even when she attempted to see the words on the page as a mere assortment of letters and spaces to be notes and rewritten, there was always some familiar combination that petched up her attempts.

In the case of the 'Notes on Geology,' the small collection of words that had previously screwed with her were apparently the three most common there were: igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic. She, at the time, could stand the first little bout of her copying in blissful ignorance, having no problem pushing them from mind and focusing on the first of the few aged, colossal tomes that had been handed to her when she'd first arrived. Then, Out of her own annoyance for the task, she managed to shut out any word or care that could hinder her own work, which indeed worked brilliantly until she came across a word that was ridiculously similar to that of 'igneous,' a surprise that shocked her enough to flinch, apply and awkward amount of pressure to her quill, and snap its tip.

A moment later she'd sent a librarian to find her a new quill, and she was pouring over the book of geology, hoping that if she'd found the definitions for the three, she could move on without further worry. And that was what she did. When the Librarian gave her what she needed, she pushed aside the large tome and set to work on pages 7 and 8 of the Geology notebook, only then going back and finding the definitions.

Igneous rock came from something that was hot, such as lava or magma, and was cooled to a sold. Metamorphic rock was one which was initially another kind of rock, and was changed beneath the surface due to the weight of the earth above it. She had to read over it several times, but the concept was eventually clear enough in her head to move on. The last, sedimentary rock, was the depositing and compacting of minerals over time. Like a riverbed, or a bank, she reasoned. After her knowledge was found, she went on and madly copied the next four pages, happily content with her work.

She swallowed hard and took a weary glance to the tomes yet to be transcribed, and she wagered the worth of pestering a librarian to lend her aid. They surely wouldn't mind, she figured, since before her own employment those with enough skill in writing would often leave the looms and transcribe texts. Of course, however, Naia had scarcely been working long enough to know a single by name.

A heavy breath left her and she stood from her desk, rolling her shoulders as she made towards the dining hall. If I can catch one or two while they're taking time off to gossip outside of their hours of break... I should be able to convince them to lend me aid without much worry. She nodded at her own little plan, breaking into the dining room after a short pause. The smell of the public soup soon hit her, and she was bitterly pleased to smell that it wasn't nearly as sweet smelling as the day before. It'd be rather pathetic to go into the kitchens to catch someone off time, only to be tempted off yourself, now, wouldn't it?

She gave the room a tight look, trying to look not quite so pissed off or as purposeful as she was, the small handful of public, monks, and scholars not taking too kindly to her loud intrusion. She plastered on a sorry smile, turning on her heel and making quick for the chatter that came from the kitchens. It was, as she found, quite the usual - but that didn't mean that other staff weren't in there, as well. When she burst threw those heavy doors, she got a couple comical looks of terror and one of joy, the others not raising so much as an eyebrow. "Naia's out for blood," one of the girls giggled, washing her hands as she slipped off her apron and raised her hands in defeat. "I have to start my shift at the Log Desk. Please, if it is my blood that must be spilled, at least make sure you do so at my desk, and over that scholar Be-OW!"

The woman turned and backhanded a fellow cook-receptionist (apparently it was common for some to request double duties, for reasons Naia knew not of), a man whom Naia assumed to be her close friend, her own action done in retaliation to punch on her shoulder. "I was only after someone who worked the looms to help me transcribe a thing or two," Naia cooed, giggling as the woman slid passed her with a huff and her head held high. Naia couldn't remember her name, but she ranked among her favourite people, that much was known. It was one of the older men who then spoke, who, as far as Naia knew, was the 'official' cook of the place."I suggest you go see Matiah - I head him an 'nother speaking about seeking extra hands," Matiah? Who was... Naia nodded and gave a smile to the older man, thankful that she had a direction to go, even if she wasn't all too sure where that was.

She figured her best bet was to casually stroll by the front desk, following after the woman who wanted her blood to be used in the ruining of some Scholar's possession, and ask her or whomever else was at the desk where this 'Matiah' man had gone. A dozen brisk paces and it was evident that she need not look any further, a rather familiar looking man approaching with a face like ash, and some-something following after him. "Miss Whitewater," he began, waving behind him. "He's yours."

Naia blinked twice, and her gaze followed after him as he make quick of the journey back to the dining room. "Sir? That is... what?" She furrowed her brow and looked down, gaze lingering on... It that a pycon? What in Gods' Names am I going to do that? She forced herself out of her short reverie, nodding absently to herself. 'Gods, give me the strength to not tell every scholar that even looks at me with a quiet desire to have something copied to get petched.'

[Archailist]

OOCI should guess so, unfortunately..

Needless to say, he wasn't exactly feeling confident anymore. In fact, the further they went, the more nervous he became.. and by the time he was walking through the entrance of the Hall of Robes, he was considering turning his back on the entire thing and going home.. there weren't any parcels to be delivered after all, and his job was a courier, wasn't it? Therefore, he shouldn't have been here.. he should have been at home, resting. Well, he didn't really have a home - he should have been back in the Hostel, napping in that way only a squirrel could. And instead, here he was, walking through the halls and letting monks gawk at him. Some even recoiled as they saw the walking, talking squirrel passing through the corridors and passing waves and gentle smiles in a way that should have been completely impossible for any normal squirrel.. but of course, it was perfectly fine for him.

And then he lost his cool when being presented to a completely random stranger and told that he was 'hers'. He wasn't anyone's - he was a volunteer, here on his own generosity, he wasn't an object to be passed around! "Excuse me but-" he began, only to be cut off again by the girl. Asking what he was, as if she'd never seen a Pycon in her life. That earned her a scowl - he was really beginning to lose his composure, and they were pushing all the wrong buttons on him. And they really didn't want to see what happened when you made a squirrel angry. "I'm a Pycon, for goodness' sake. And a squirrel." The frown pushed on his entire face - muzzle creased and eyebrows lowered, tiny paws pressed on his hips and long tail flicking back and forth. He turned back to Matiah, to tell him exactly where he could shove his scribing, but the monk was already walking away again with his back facing the two, as if he no longer cared for any of it. Such a big help some of these monks were...

He realized that he was being rude to the girl that he'd been left with. It wasn't a good first impression, so immediately he calmed himself down with a few small breaths. "Now.. where are we going, and what will you need me to help you with?" The frown faded as quickly as it appeared, and was replaced by a thin smile; his mood literally turned on its head in a moment. Well, he always prided himself in being cheery and uplifting, not grumpy. "I'm up for whatever. Though, I've never done much drawing or scribing.. well, when I say much, I mean I have absolutely no experience." He kept his gaze on her, with that same little smile. "I'm sure that won't be a problem, though. We can get through this!" There we go. Cheery squirrel is back in view.

Unsure of the reaction, he decided to make a bold move anyway and bent his knees, making a snap-decision to aim for a spring straight up and onto the table pressed to the side of the wall.. and from there, up to the girls shoulder to lounge. It would save any more stares, hopefully.. and it was a pretty casual mode of transportation for Pycons anyway. Short legs and all.. it was always preferable to take a companions shoulder or head. It wasn't like he weighed much. "Where are we going, then?"

[Naia Whitewater]

Naia's Speach | Thoughts | Others's Speech | oocI'll make a scrapbook for Naia and we can just throw some ideas together for the two so far named. It might be of use to get a librarian/loom worker written, while we're at it. Haha, maybe if we work together it could be fun! XD /Is someone who finds writing up NPCs a bit of a pain/

Naia felt her lip curl and eyes narrow. Of course she knew what he was, he wa- Gods, he was that thing from before! The look that took to her features as the small squirrel began his little rant on Naia's apparent inability to to tell a pycon when she saw was drawn in confusion.

She was never good at handling sudden turn overs in attitude, with she herself usually keep the bulk of her thoughts and emotions just under the surface, but the pycon suddenly turned from annoyed to worryingly optimistic, she snapped a little. "To my desk," was the only thing she could quite manage, and stood struck still pointing in the desired direction for a short moment, mind catching up to her still. "My name is Naia. I'm a scribe. And you're a pycon. Helping me transcribe."

She gaped at the shelves for a moment more, praying to Laviku as she wished for the simple life on the seas to return to her. After a bitter exhale and a short moment, she registered her words and told herself that she was in a very normal situation. "Right," she said finally, nodding her head slowly. "Follow me."

She took two short steps before turning and lowering her voice. "If you see a scholar holding an old looking book, and coming our way, glare at them. We're not taking requests today because we're... Gods, just say we're busy." With that she gave a huff, and began her stiff march in the direction of the dining hall, glad that the corner she picked was one of records boring enough that those who hung around did so due to necessity, and not desire. The last thing she wanted was an audience as she tried to teach a squirrel how to write.

When she finally made it to her own little corner, she gestured for the squirrel to keep back, her annoyance flaring as she caught sight of another tome placed upon her pile of books that required transcription. 'The desk can't be too heavy, now, can it?' Oh, it was heavy alright. Really, heavy - enough for Naia to gesture for the closest librarian to lend her aid. She was a young girl with a sweet look, and the only whose name was called often enough for Naia to actually know it. "Hedyla, please, I need to move this."

The younger woman opened her mouth to speak, but closed it without giving a sound, following Naia's pissed off and exaggerated movements with stunning ease and little worry. By the time that Naia had finished acting her little statement of vexation, Matiah and a cook had gathered themselves by the dining room's doors, and Naia took the few steps required to move from the little nook and stand in clear view, rolling her shoulders as though nothing of note had occurred.

With the desk now turned a lovely one-eighty degrees shift - Naia could use her angle and line of sight to ward off an scholar who'd have otherwise thought him or herself important enough to interrupt their attempts at catching up and breaking even ground. She was not taking work home with her again.

She slipped the niceties and sort a chair, before seeking and deciding to make use of a small pile of transcribed, water damaged tomes that were on their way to be thrown out, placing them on the stool so the pycon had greater height, should he choose to use it. "A quill, ink, and a blank book," she murmured, more to herself as she darted from drawn to draw, placing the items collected into a neat little pile, before seeking the most legible and widest spaces of the books. If he was a bare bottom beginner, she needed to grab the least important book with the widest spacing possible.