Welcome to the Library

[werepuppyblack]

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

Comments

What one guy? He can't have been that important. ;)

[whattheydefend]

Not in the least; or if you are, I can well bear interruption, if you will do me the honor. We all have time enough and more in this strange place, and the hours drag on without such pleasant interruptions.

[Courteous words, but his friendly smile and demeanour seem genuine enough. He pulls out a chair for her to take if she will, but there stops. The choice to go or remain is hers.]

so unimportant you probably wouldn't write a play about him

[importuned]

[This is absolutely more like speaking to Horatio than to Hamlet. That in and of itself is something to keep her shoulders relaxed as she ducks again just briefly before allowing herself to move to the offered side of the table.]

I suppose I should not be adverse to helping the poor hours hurry on apace.

[Or to some of that sweet-smelling drink, although it had been unladylike enough to inquire in the first place.]

Some paltry sequel to The Tale of Ophelia and Horatio, maybe.

[whattheydefend]

I thank you for it. I am beginning to lose count of them.

[Accordingly he turns to the young woman behind the counter--barrista, she has named herself, a word that sounds strange in his ears despite all the languages he knows. A questioning smile and a gesture are all that is needed for her to understand his request, and she nods at them both. He turns his attention back to his new companion as he regains his own seat.]

I am remiss; forgive me. My name is Faramir, of Gondor. And you are?

he's like the Phantom Menace to Fortinbras's New Hope, really

[importuned]

[There's something deftly reassuring about the movement. The man looks just on the edge of familiar by his attire and bearing, but he seems to have settled into this place dreadfully well.

It lets her fingers rest relaxed on the table before her, spine unerringly straight but hands laced idly together without much nerve in them at all.]

Well met, my lord. Ophelia of Elsinore. [Which has gotten a few quizzical looks so far, prompting the almost unconscious addition:] In Denmark. [That had smoothed out expressions before, anyway.] Have you been here very long?

No lie detected. Poor Fortinbras, what a weird mess he inherits.

[whattheydefend]

[He makes a small face.]

Some two weeks. Long enough to grow accustomed to our entrapment, if not to love it. Fain would I return home if I could, for there was much that needed my attention there. But since I cannot, I do my best to be contented here. There are few other options, after all.

[The barrista arrives with the drink, and Faramir smiles his thanks to her. Here is a man who treats all with courtesy, it seems, whether they are his equal his rank or no.]

I am afraid I have not heard of Elsinore, nor of Denmark. We have been drawn from a most diverse variety of places, it seems. Would you tell me of your homeland?

just https://tinyurl.com/y7a6oxlf into the night

[importuned]

[The fresh brew smells even better. If she were alone, Ophelia is certain she would have been effusive. On uncertain grounds, even ones which seem so inclined to stability, it seems better to murmur softly and beam instead. Men could be so changeable, after all.]

Of Denmark?

[The shift is unconscious. Ophelia might not have the bearing of one of the great ladies of court, but Polonius's children had been raised to be diplomats, if only by the guidance of an invisible hand.]

She is-- a small kingdom, my lord, with more islands than I've ever been able to hold count of. Elsinore sits in her east, that the king and his guard may better guard the straits from Sweden's advance on our people.

No kidding. An anticlimatic "...hang on, *I* was supposed to kill you all..."

[whattheydefend]

[He smiles to see her pleasure in the drink, obvious for all that she hides it. It is good to feel he has accomplished that much--a little thing, but such small things are no less worthy, he feels. Perhaps more worthy, in this gilded prison they share.]

A nation at war, then, or at great risk of it?

[He can imagine it clearly, from her words; such a place would be difficult to defend.]

poor sweet boy, just trying to live his best life

[importuned]

[Having a drink, thankfully, is a proper reason to take a brief pause in speaking--even just to blow lightly at the warm surface. Hopefully that excuses the slight carefulness of her features as she continues.]

A nation in constant consideration of it. The death of my dread lord the late King Hamlet death has put the whole of the kingdom in fear of it.

[And mourning, but surely that went without saying, clear enough in the careful shifting of her fingers around the cup.]

But his line is well-loved and much respected. I should think the risk no greater now than it always is.

Conquering a country that's just imploded is no fun.

[whattheydefend]

[Her tension is noted, and since it's no wish of his to make her uncomfortable, he backs off the subject a little, attending to his own drink.]

Perhaps such fear is the destiny of all nations, much as I would hope otherwise. I have never known a time when my own country was not at war.

is it even a country if it's just Horatio sitting in a fire saying "this is fine"

[importuned]

Perhaps so.

[At any rate, it must be the destiny of soldier and of kings. Both thoughts seemed to fit as a comfortable mantle around the shoulders of the man sitting before her.]

Does Gondor fight at home or far afield, my lord?

Horatio is an island unto himself, though not really by choice.

[whattheydefend]

[He looks grim.]

Our enemy has gradually brought the war to our own doorstep. Though we have fought him off a little, and our captains left but a few days ago to return to battle to his front door.

[He sighs and rubs his forehead, suddenly looking older than his years.]

So it is both, to answer your question, for we have traded land and lives back and forth for generations, accomplishing nothing save our own survival. Which is no small prize, it is true--but I would be grateful to see an end to it at last. I have no love for war.

and tragic mind islands are such a pain to conquer

[importuned]

[Now that is a familiar look. It had been replaced, lately, with faces of mourning for the king, but Ophelia had known that exact sort of tired for years before then.

Ducking her head into a sip of her drink is instinctive. Men like Hamlet didn't particularly enjoy being observed in their long moments of quiet.]

Wise men never do. And I am certain, my lord, that it is-- no small prize for men to be wise before their hair has turned grey.

Poor Horatio. He deserves so much better.

[whattheydefend]

[His attention returns to her, and he smiles, lifting his cup in a toast to her for her courtesy.]

You are gracious, my lady, and I thank you for it. Will you tell me more of yourself, Ophelia of Elsinore? Have you been here long?

quick, to the fanfic mobile!

[importuned]

[Every smile on a quiet face is a victory. That, as much as anything, has Ophelia lifting her cup in the man's direction.]

Not long. [Although long enough, apparently, not to be so terribly off-put by oddities in the world of the Library--particularly not delicious ones like this chai.] Although I must say I-- should not mind terribly lingering here for some time. The grounds alone seem worthy of a week's study, before one even reached the books.

Amazing how many stories there are where he marries Ophelia, who's pregnant with Hamlet's son...

[whattheydefend]

And the books would take more lifetimes than I think I can count to read, so numerous they are.

[He looks around with an emotion somewhere between wonder and wistfulness.]

I too would be happy to stay, were it not for my duties and my worries about those left behind. I had rather be a scholar than a soldier, given my choice. This--this seems a wondrous dream of a place, beyond my imagining.

LET THEM BE HAPPY, OKAY

[importuned]

We shall have to hope it still stands when your duties find a proper lull, then.

[It was extraordinary, really, the amount of times soldiers always seemed to find they had once the battle lines had fallen properly quiet.]

It seems a peaceful enough place, at any rate.

DO YOU SEE ME ARGUING NO YOU DO NOT ;)

[whattheydefend]

Indeed we shall. Are you a scholar yourself, or wishful to become one?

APPRECIATED :')

[importuned]

[There's something rather startled in her laugh, prompting one hand to shake free from her drink and press briefly over her own lips.]

I suppose I am-- wishful to be a dutiful daughter, more than that. And-- should that endeavor require some scholarly pursuits, I should not mind it.

Pffft like I'd disagree on that point.

[whattheydefend]

[He raises an eyebrow at her, looking more thoughtful.]

An impulse I certainly understand, though one not always easily accomplished. What behaviour do your parents consider necessary of a dutiful daughter?

<333

[importuned]

[...well. Certainly more like Horatio than Hamlet. Or, perhaps, like Hamlet had been what felt like a lifetime ago.

Her lips purse thoughtfully as her attention drops to her cup. Laertes hadn't quite managed to pick up the edges of tactfulness from their father, but it's become easier to fall back on the older she gets.]

Respectful of my father, supportive of my brother, and well-equipped to manage the man I marry at least as well as my mother before me.

[whattheydefend]

[Much information in quick succession, and Faramir leans back a little in his chair as he processes it, taking a sip from his own cup.]

So you have a father you wish to treat with respect, and yet he also requires management. What is he like? And your brother, your mother.

[She says so little of herself, even when asked direct questions. Perhaps he can learn more of her indirectly, from how she speaks of her loved ones.]

[importuned]

If you will forgive my saying so, it seems all men could do with a bit of management from time to time.

[Some men more than others, to be sure, and some days more than others as well. Still, this topic is clearly the sort of thing that perks the corners of her lips back up slightly.]

My father is chief counselor of the King of Denmark. Even in times of peace and prosperity, it begs much of him.

[whattheydefend]

[He laughs outright at that, a ringing sound, and looks much amused.]

I think you are probably right, my lady, and we are fortunate when we are so deftly handled! I think too that you have learned much of tact and diplomacy from your father. Or, perhaps, from your mother?

[She imply her mother managed her father well, after all.]

[importuned]

[The laughter is quite lovely, in its own right. It must be the peacefulness of the Library.]

My father would certainly prefer to be given the credit, and I will confess I have had far more years under his tutelage than my lady mother's.

[whattheydefend]

Then he must be glad to have so dedicated and skilled a pupil. What of your brother?