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

I should not bank on England, my lord. [Turning to glance over the garden again pulls the title thoughtlessly to her lips.] There were a number of patches of lantana here, and they are far from partial to British winters.

[Nor Danish winters, although Ophelia cannot for the life of her begin to feel overly concerned at the moment.]

I cannot say I know enough of flowers to recognize lantana even though they have been pointed out to me.

[He does look around at the gardens, noting the wide variety of colour in the plant life]

The groundskeeper here does their job well. It is ... appropriate to a library, to have such well maintained grounds to enjoy your reading in.

[The final comment has Ophelia's gaze flicking up from the grounds to study the building of the library.]

It does not distract from the work at hand?

[Did Wittenberg have gardens like this?]

If there were work at hand I might agree, but I am here at my leisure. I'm not really one to comment on the landscape of a place but... I have to admit to a well kept ground when I see it.

[Seriously, it is really nice here. It's the type of place you'd want for having free time in. Almost as though some cunning author had created it solely for their use]

In faith, are you not at work? [Her shoulders lift slightly as she twists back toward the lady slippers, nodding in their direction.] You've learned at least a single thing while standing here. That takes some effort.

[Especially if Laertes was to believed while fussing over his studies.]

Acquiring knowledge is surely just a part of life, my lady [He has considered the manner somewhat] Effort it may take but can it be called worked when we do it in many small ways every day?

[For all the world around them is clung to by the air of the unfamiliar, there's the faintest prickle of home in this conversation. Not home just as it is, perhaps, but certainly home as Ophelia had always best liked it.

What's more familiar than prodding at the edges of a mind more worldly than her own?]

Every stitch in the edge of a handkerchief is but small, and I cannot imagine sewing to be anything but work.

But is the gaining of knowledge requiring as much in the way of effort as the act of sewing? It is a physical action, learning is more... leisurely.

That depends entirely on the learner, I should wager.

[It isn't entirely polite to laugh--but then, Hamlet and Laertes aren't here to be offended, and her father isn't here to tell her to be more ladylike. The noise of the giggle is still a small thing.]

Some men absolutely labour over every single word.

And I must confess to not be one of those men. If a word takes too much effort, then it is not the one for me.

That sounds quite a peaceful way to live.

Not as much as people would assume.

[The slightly amused sigh on her lips is an oddly familiar sensation.]

No, my lord?

Peace only comes to those willing to fight for it.

[That's a little less familiar. It certainly bears a moment's quiet reflection.]

Do you think you can fight for someone else's peace?

[He inclines his head]

It is what I do in my Lord's company.

How?

[It feels too forward and insistent once she's spoken it. Her lips press hard together, as if to physically hold herself back.]

If-- you do not mind the asking.

It depends on the fight we are taken to.

When a man fights himself?

[There's a pause as Benedick seems to put some consideration to this]

A man fighting himself can only look to himself for peace.

Is there no reminding him that he ought to do so?

Only on the part of those who know him well.

[Her sigh is soft, as repressed as she can manage.]

Can one truly know another well?

An interesting question, one scholars must debate over.

What hope is there for the rest of us, then?

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