thegreatlibrary | Welcome to the Library

Entry tags:

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

Threaded | Flat

[The Dodger would not freely admit that he was not exactly the best in the world when it came to the reading and the writing. In fact, he could do neither though he could recognize his own name when written down and a few important words. Enough to get people to stop asking any sort of questions, at least. Still, that did not stop him from looking through the rows and rows of books as if he could easily pick one up and begin to read it]

[Honestly, he was just appraising the quality of the leather bindings as best he could; a well bound book could fetch a right nice price with the right fence.]

Edited 2018-05-07 10:25 (UTC)

[Truth be told? He'd much prefer wine to this... coffee he's been given, but he's been told it's too early for them to serve such things - which doesn't make sense. He supposes the coffee is not too bad, and it it a rather nice day.]

[All things considered, it could be much worse]

[There have, of late, been far too many words in Ophelia's life.

That, almost certainly, is why she wends her way out into the gardens rather than lingering over the rows of volumes long. The relief of fresh air and friendly green is much more of a comfort than the possibility of being lost in a world of fiction.

Reality is important. The flowers she kneels to examine are important. The dirt which inevitably clings to her skirts is important--because it's a sure sign she's somewhere real.]

[It's not the first time Eponine has seen books, obviously. Her mother had had books, cheap romances and the like, when times were better. Her father had had a big book in which he had scrawled the bills and takings of the inn. And Marius, of course, had books. But never had she seen so many, and such grand ones, all in one place.

Eponine wanders through the library, not really reading, but trailing her hands over the leather spines of the books. Part of her mind wonders whether they're valuable, worth stealing - how to steal them. Part of her wonders if she dares to slip one from the shelf to read herself.

It takes a while for her to settle enough to take one: it's a slim volume, bound in a pretty red leather. She traces the stamped gold lettering with her fingers, and slipping into a low chair close to a roaring fire, she begins to sound out the words.]

[Luna for the moment is quite happily trying to track down the mystery sound that lead her into the library (and escaping the manor) in the first place. Thankfully her ponytail, wand, radishes in her ears and a scarred hand from the manor are usually spotted before she is.]

Curious, but at least its not where I was.

["Prose" or [Action] is fine. Will match!]

Being in a place like this was strange, for one. It wasn't exactly like he had seen anything like it before. To be considered a story from a book felt strange as well, as after all he thought he was real. Though the idea that all reality was a story was strange anyhow. Wouldn't this place be a story as well then? Curious.

Abe wandered, mostly looking for someone he knew, but also just exploring to see where the trick in all this was. Was it a Vampire thing? Would this end in a vampire pulling the strings kind of thing? He didn't like it. He liked it even less that he had no weapons on him. All he had was his ray ban sun glasses and his wits about him.

The man didn't look like the old pictures of the President though. No, he had more of an appearance of his younger self. So much given to him to bring him back to life that his vampire form was much younger looking, which helped in some cases.

You can find him wandering around, either thought the gardens or through or checking out the edge of the woods, or much later, when he's stopped wandering, trying to sit outside a cafe and people watch, eating nothing at all. He had some concerns, that was for sure.

So intrigued! [This coming from the girl ankle deep in what she's found in a supply closet.] Granted anything is better than being on the run and the island. [Her subtle wa of trying to explain Olaf. But there's worry since she's without Klaus, Sunny and Beatrice.]

[Combeferre had told him to take a break.

In absolute fairness, Courfeyrac had told him to take a break first, but it was much harder to throw off the suggestion when it came from the pair of them in chorus. In even more absolute fairness, Enjolras was only somewhat taking a break.

He's browsing past the copies of Le Rouge et le Noir, looking for something more intellectually stimulating, when he first catches sight of Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamné.

Interruptions will be met with a copy of La Comédie humaine lobbed in their direction.]

[It was so beautiful, Phedre almost forgot she had been kidnapped again.

But awake, untied, and uninjured beyond last night's memories... Well. it was a much better kidnapping than any she'd had before.

She danced her fingers over the enticing spines. If one must be trapped, being trapped in research could be worse.]

What do you say, I wonder...

[1 - in the stacks]

[Unsurprisingly to anyone who knows him at all, Remus is a fan of libraries. He never thought he'd see one more impressive than Hogwarts' own, but he hardly minds being proven wrong. Although, his old school's library surely has it beat in non-fiction magical texts.

While he's getting his bearings, finding himself in the children's section oddly enough, he spots a book series whose titles all bear the same familiar name.]

What on earth? [He pulls out the first of the series, or so he judges it to be by its placement- it is also the slimmest book. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Curiosity piqued, he opens it to the first page-- it's blank. Frowning, he flips through the whole book. All blank.]

Interesting.

[2 - on the grounds]

[So, weird day. To chase away horribly existential thoughts and worries about the future, Remus has acquired a cup of tea from one of the cafes and come out to the gardens to enjoy it, claiming a bench under some shade for himself.

For now, he simply people-watches and sips out of his to-go cup. It's a lovely looking place, and there's no lack of interesting people wandering about. Still in his robes, Remus may well be one of them, though the worn jumper and trousers he has on under are decidedly muggle and ordinary-looking, at least by his world and time's standards.]

[The Stacks]

There's a number of books spread out, taking up nearly a whole table. It's mostly zoological textbooks, both mundane and fantastical, modern and Ye Olde Beestiary types. And then there's the whole quarter of the table devoted to one particular author: Lovecraft.

The Biologist hovers over them, flipping a page here, a page there. She can't even decide where to start. It's like being a grad student all over again.

[The Grounds]

The Biologist can be found outside in the gardens. It's the heat of the day, bright out. Blocky hedges have riots of flowers. That means pollinators: bees, butterflies, hummingbirds. In her system, The Brightness stirs, altering her scent, making her smell non-threatening to them. She wants to study them, to see if they're any different from bees, butterflies and hummingbirds back home...Or in Area X.

So if you're out there, or just watching through a window, you'll see a tall woman in a quasi-military jumpsuit walking through a cloud of butterflies or bees, letting one alight on her hand is she studies it.

[Stacks]

[It's not her world.

She hadn't expected it to be her world. The door she had opened had been one to Kade's room, and nothing had been unusual until she walked in until suddenly it wasn't his room anymore.

She'd hoped, for half a moment, but it was immediately clear that despite this being a world, it's not her world. Nancy would scream with disappointment if that weren't her way.

Instead, she's settling in a nook in the library. She doesn't bring a book. She just lets herself go still, trying to melt away as she tries to begin to understand why she would be in a world that wasn't the old one but wasn't home.

Passerbys may mistake her, at first, for a statue. If they take a few moments to look again, though, they'll see she's actually breathing.]

[Grounds]

[Nancy's pace is incredibly slow and methodical through the gardens, but it's got purpose to it. She's in no hurry, but she's clearly in search of something-- glancing down paths and looking up at trees.

If asked, her answer will be an entirely simple one.]

I'm looking for-- pomegranates.

[Georgia immediately finds the darkest corner she can and pulls out her laptop. She's still wearing her sunglasses, of course. Even the darkest corners are still too bright for her sensitive eyes, especially when her computer's on. But she doesn't care. This is the first time in ages she's had enough peace and quiet to write without anything being on fire. There aren't even any zombie outbreaks to worry about!

Which is to say, anyone who dares interrupt her will absolutely be getting a death glare. But if they wait, she'll eventually stand up, stretch, and head over to the cafe to get a Coke. Caffeine is a very important part of her process. She's also more willing to talk to other people when she drinks it. Even Georgia occasionally takes breaks. Short ones.]

[The worst part about this place is that it's got way more humans in it than Murderbot is comfortable with.

The best part? All of those humans seem just as unwilling to make eye contact or converse at all as it is. Murderbot still keeps its helmet opaque, letting others see it as a robot rather than having to deal with the awkwardness of looking like a human under all the armor, but most people aren't gasping and shrinking back or running and screaming about the horrifying murderbot in their midst. It's a nice change.

Actually, check that, the absolute best part is that Murderbot's just found a copy of the limited edition Phantom Moon graphic novel. It's rare enough that Murderbot's never been able to find it floating around the feed for it to download. But here it is. Just waiting for Murderbot to pick it up and....

Hm.]

I don't think this will fit into my dataport.

[If Faramir but knew how things progressed at home, he could happily spend hours lost in this place with a good will. Or days, perhaps, even weeks. Never has he seen so many books in one place. Never has he imagined so many books existed in the world. Had he his choice he might have been a scholar instead of a soldier, and the promise of wisdom this place holds is a mighty temptation even for someone who feels his duties as keenly as he does.

That sense of duty pierces him. But there is no way home that anyone knows, not any knowledge of what brought them here. So he reads and explores and studies, hoping that perhaps one of these tomes might tell him.

He can be found all over the library, reading in the Stacks or wandering the woods and gardens, observing those around him when he is not reading himself. Also the 'cafe' serves a drink called chai, of which he becomes very fond.]

[ There are worse places to be.

(Really, he doesn't want to be anywhere. Knows every place carries its own hurt, the product of what he's seen, what he's done. Memory. He remembers so much and so jarring, what he's seen and what he's done. The wonder is he doesn't walk a trail of blood behind him. The wonder is he should seem so clean.)

Though vaguely curious about the books - in better days, he would have gone to them, would have begun an immediate perusal of their spines and contents, would have remained far beyond the fade of day's last light - the thought of being caged by walls and stacks oppresses him. It's thus that he makes his way to the grounds, heading away from the bright gardens and toward the more palatable outskirts of the forest.

It's better out here, if only a little bit. Out here, he feels as if he can breathe. He's wary, but then he can't name the last time he wasn't on-edge. And he's muttering to himself, a low cluttering of words as he walks, focus kept primarily on the grass before his feet. ]

Threaded | Flat

The Artful Dodger | Oliver Twist

Benedick | Much Ado About Nothing

Ophelia | Hamlet

Eponine Thenardier | Les Miserables

Luna Lovegood l Harry Potter

Abraham Lincoln | Vampire Hunter/The Last American Vampire

Violet Baudelaire l ASOUE

Enjolras ] Les Misérables

Phedre no Delaunay de Montreve | Kusheline Saga

Remus Lupin | Harry Potter (pre-series)

The Biologist | Annihilation/The Southern Reach

Nancy Whitman | Wayward Children series

Georgia Mason | Newsflesh