thegreatlibrary | Welcome to the Library

Who: Open Post
What: Opening Post
Where: All over the library and its grounds
Warnings: [to be edited if necessary]

Today the Great Library opens its doors to all Patrons, who have come from many of the stories and books all available on the shelves.

For this first visit, Patrons will be restricted to the Library and its grounds.

Fortunate, then, that these are impressive indeed - large gardens set up for all sorts of activities, woods surrounding the area and in the Library itself? Cafes, internet access, and the best weapons in the universe: books.

Do enjoy your first visit to the Library, Patron, and always remember the rules.

The Rules of the Library
1. Patrons cannot read further ahead in their own stories than the time they have arrived from. Any attempt to do so will result in being met with blank pages.This lack of information will also occur if trying to find out spoilers online.

2. Patrons cannot tell other Patrons how their story ends. Any attempt to do so will find the Patron unable to find the words to explain it.

3. All books must be shelved correctly.

4. Do Not Harm the Books

5. Do not interfere with the nature of Narrative Causality

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Horatio is a scholar. Horatio is a scholar, and a man with a past to forget, so he takes some time among the books. He isn't certain if he wants to find a comedy to make his mind rest more easily or a tragedy to find catharsis for his own grief, so he wanders. Peruses books at random, never really finding anything to settle on just yet.

He's content to remain in the library until he stumbles on a book with the name of a prince he had loved and lost. He doesn't need to touch Hamlet to know that he doesn't even care to see if there's an end beyond what he knows.

He's already faced the very real ends of the two people he cared the most for.

And so, he flees the library. Finds himself instead in the gardens, trying to catch his breath and composure. Loses it entirely once more when he sees the devastatingly familiar young woman studying some flowers.]

...O-- Ophelia?

[It's a lucky thing, in the end, that she's taken the time to brush the dirt from her dress. It means there need be no pausing or fussing when a familiar voice catches her ear, only turning in a pleased rush.]

Horatio!

[Ophelia might not be meant to speak to Hamlet, but certainly that should not stop her from speaking to another dear friend. She doesn't even pause to struggle with the possibility of overstepping her father's mandate as she sweeps closer to the young scholar.]

And to think I had imagined myself alone.

Y-you...

[Of course he steps closer. Of course he absolutely can't help himself, even if he can't bring himself to reach for her.

He feels as shaken as he does when he saw Hamlet's father. A small part of him that's still capable of rational thought supposes that's fair.

This must be a ghost, after all.]

H-How are you-- here, my lady?

[Her father is not hovering to huff his breath about propriety. Her brother is not waiting beside her to be crass and obnoxiously amused.

Despite the odd air hanging around Horatio (and who hasn't had an odd air about them, of late?), it remains an almost impulsive thing to throw her arms briefly around the man's shoulders.]

I should have thought, my lord, you the one to sort out the workings of this place.

I?

[His voice is already trembling as he asks the question. It cracks fully as she throws her arms around him and he's overwhelmed with the undeniable sense of her, as though she's both real and really there.]

I fear I-- have only lately understood how-- little I t-truly know, lady.

[Grief is recognizable enough as Horatio keeps speaking. It resonates in the crackle of his voice and the stiffness of his being.]

Then we must all of us be fools, if Horatio knows so little.

[Her arms slacken, although one hand cannot be moved from smoothing protectively at his cheek.]

You-- you are--

[Dead, lifts to his lips, but he finds himself unable to speak it aloud. He stops trying to, after a moment.

It's a fact he'd rather forget, after all. Even if that gentle hand at his cheek can't help but cause a few tears to escape.]

--You are as-- kind as ever to a-- heavy heart, Ophelia.

Edited 2018-05-09 03:16 (UTC)

[The tears are easily enough explained. All of Elsinore has been in such a dreadful turmoil of happiness and grief, and those newly returned were no exception.

Surely Horatio could use a moment's peace like the rest of them. Surely he needed the same opportunity to let himself grieve without fear of burdening the prince of the Danes.]

Would you would be as kind to yourself.

[Hopefully he'll begin by allowing her to brush the tears from his cheeks.]

I find that difficult to do, lady, with-- the things I've seen of late.

[Hm. That he at least seems capable of speaking of; generalities only. It's something to continue to test, perhaps.

Or maybe, for now, it's just time to let himself rest his cheek in the press of her fingers.]

[At least he's being soft and pliant with her. He isn't pulling away. He isn't driving verbal daggers into her. He isn't retreating fully into himself.

He isn't Hamlet. And it's awful, but for a moment, that's painfully comforting.

Ophelia's thumb smooths protectively against Horatio's cheek, tongue clicking lightly as she shakes her head.] Then will you be kind to me, my lord?

[Of course that earns a fond, gentle smile. He doesn’t know how to be anything but, with her.]

Of course, my lady.

Then be gentle, Horatio, with one of my dearest friends.

[Her fingers stiffen for just a beat to hold him in place. She needs to press up onto her tiptoes to press a light kiss against his nose, and there's no small chance she'll stumble if he pulls away too quickly.]

Be not so hard.

[She's so kind. So soft, still, when last he'd seen her hardened and wild-eyed from the world. It briefly earns some tears welling up in his eyes, though he tries to force them away.]

I shall-- do my best, for you.

[Of course his eyes are still soft and sorrowful. Of course his head is still heavy with the tears prickling his eyes.

Of course it's easy to tug with a gentle insistence to bring his head down to her shoulder. None of them were held often enough for the hurts they had all lived.]

[It's a small comfort, but a helpful. He has to take some time to stay settled against her shoulder. To draw in a few deep breaths.]

--Thank you, my lady.

Of course, Horatio.

[This, surely, ought to be as natural as breathing.]

Welcome to the Library

smooch. but also........ makes him from postcanon bc i love tears :'>

leave me here to cry forever

i can't leave i'm right there with u

all these happy icons are such a lie my heart is breaking

same :"'>

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