un: someday, life will be fairer (open)

[untamedantinous]

The library is currently occupied. To be more precise, it is occupied by one young blond man, settled in at a large table with books spread out around him. Off to the side, there is a glass of wine, half-drunk. He looks much better than he had upon his arrival, no longer dirty and bloodstained, but still a bit fragile. Some of the marble that usually adorns his countenance has been chipped away, and he is not certain if it will come back.

He is not certain of many things, here in this strange new not-afterlife, but he is certain that both the writings of Rousseau and Voltaire exist. He has the proof, right here next to him, old friends that he is relieved to have in hand. (Someday he'll find his own copies of them, maybe.) The young fellow that had healed him -- Magnus, wasn't it -- had mentioned France becoming a republic. So in lieu of talking to people, Enjolras has chosen to dive into history books and catch himself up on the last 200 or so years.

(He'd rather read than face what lies before him here. He's not sure what to do, and he doesn't like being purposeless. There is yet time to talk, time to find Grantaire, eventually, but he doesn't want to think. Not right now.)

Comments

[onthewillowsthere]

Another young blond man enters. He doesn't have to talk to anyone to use the library, probably. It's fine.

When he sees Enjolras he stops and looks at him, a long, expressionless look as he absorbs him.

[untamedantinous]

He certainly doesn't. Enjolras didn't, after all, just skulked around various hallways and poked about until he figured out which one was the library.

He looks up and regards Galahad as well, long and careful, before he gives him a brief nod.

[onthewillowsthere]

Finally he looks away (no nod back) and goes to the shelf to look. He's not actually sure how the books are arranged. In the nunnery they had illuminated books from their brother monastery, mostly practical things, like histories or science (like Claudius' books of herbs) or bestiaries (all right, the bestiaries weren't practical, they were fascinatingly bizarre, full of carefully rendered art of things Galahad was confident couldn't actually exist). Once he came to Camelot books were rarer and mostly religious in nature, and thus somewhat redundant.

He recalls that he was reading everything as Laurel, and he misses that. If he takes a stack of books back to his room and reads privately, somehow it feels like it would be more acceptable.

Again, the arrangement of books in here is bewildering, but he gathers four or five, holding them in his arms. As he goes back past Enjolras with his collection one slips, and all of them fall.

[untamedantinous]

"Be careful," it's mild, and he moves to help Galahad, the same as he would help any of his amis in the library at the university. Kneeling, he gathers the books up and offers them.

"What have you got here?"

[wickedwit]

The newcomer looks familiar, but not overly so. Wistfully, Claudius thinks the gold of his hair resembles Galahad's -- with warmer tones more like the sun, than like Galahad's pale moon-brightness. This unfortunate love affair, Claudius thinks, really does threaten to turn him into a poet. But the longer he lingers on melancholy lines, the more likely he'll be to do something self-destructive and foolish. Claudius needs the company.

And so he approaches the stranger¹. "Hello, there," he says, summoning up a casual smile. "I don't believe we've meet. I'm Claudius."

¹ As the typist pulls back from the dramatic irony lever.

[untamedantinous]

This man, too, looks familiar to Enjolras. Perhaps he saw him when he arrived, but the of unaccustomed alcohol and then the sadly necessary laudanum has turned most of that day into a haze. (The laudanum, thankfully, is now set somewhere safe; as Enjolras did not quite like how it made him feel, nor did he trust himself, really, to dose himself properly without Combeferre's advice.)

"I am Enjolras," he replies, with a brief, courteous smile. "And I am ...new, I suppose."

[wickedwit]

Claudius takes a moment to consider the state of Enjolras, with his wine half-drunk and his adrift look, and the faint flicker of his smile. Perhaps God (he thinks wryly, because Claudius can't keep the thought away) has stopped talking to this man, too. But he has to stop making comparisons, and focus on the person in front of him.

"It's a disorienting experience," Claudius says with some sympathy. "Temeraire and I have been here the longest, and every time I think I've adjusted to this place, some fresh absurdity or bewitchment happens. How are you taking it so far?"

[futaille]

Time to find Grantaire, sure, but then, no time like the present.

Very much not a hallucination, he walks into the library, spares a single glance at what books Enjolras has sprawled over the table, rolls his eyes, unsurprised, and makes a beeline to a chair along the closest wall where he sits, saying nothing, but watching.

[untamedantinous]

He is aware that Grantaire isn’t a hallucination, however, yesterday had been a …day of recovering from hangovers and trying to not have panic attacks, and as such he did not feel particularly coherent. He still doesn’t, in fact, now that the man in question is sharing space with him once again.

Enjolras is, for once in his life, surprisingly speechless. He does take a quick swallow of wine, though, and settles in to watch Grantaire just as attentively.

[futaille]

Grantaire leans back a little and inclines his chin towards Enjolras's table. "Don't let me keep you from Voltaire."

[az_fell]

It will most likely surprise no one to know that Aziraphale is a frequent visitor to the mansion library. It's both mildly discomfiting and a pleasant surprise to find himself sharing the space today. (This is not his bookshop, and he probably can't start trying to divert all visitors from its doors.¹)

He pauses and takes note of the rather industrious pile of books on display. "Well, hello there."

¹Or can he...?

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras looks up from whatever history book he’s currently deep into, unable to hide a smile. The truth about the future of his country that Magnus had given him, now that he’s had time to process it, is practically making him radiate happiness every time he thinks of it. A pleasant enough distraction, indeed, and he’s glad to have any distraction these past two days.

“Bonjour,” he replies, amiable. “I am sorry to take up all the table space.”

[az_fell]

"Don't be sorry," says Aziraphale with sincerity. He comes closer, inspecting the open pages. "I wouldn't dream of discouraging a reader.¹"

¹Unless he were specifically discouraging that reader from purchasing books from him.

[timebethine]

Today, Laertes has set aside all of his recently-acquired pursuits in search of stories. He's observed that his diction is out of joint with everyone else's here--even Claudius has been here long enough that he chooses his words in an easy, casual way that harmonizes with the speech of a Janet or a Nina or a Sagramore. Perhaps, if he makes a study of how authors and playwrights compose ordinary speech, Laertes will develop the same careless facility with language.

He nods to the blond man as he pokes through shelf after shelf of flimsy paper books, their covers depicting men and women caught in fraught erotic clinches. These, he discards immediately; surely the dialogue will be no more natural than the poses.

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras is watching from his corner with some amusement. Sadly, his reading choices wouldn't be much good for what Laertes is after, but perhaps a certain poet Enjolras knows (knew?) might enjoy laughing at them. "What exactly are you in search of?" he asks after a few moments, standing to help.

"I may have disorganized some of the shelves, if they were in any order at all."

[timebethine]

"A play," says Laertes simply. There, that felt natural enough. Brusque but not harsh. "Or a story with lively conversation." He glances over the titles arrayed before Enjolras, taking in the author's names with interest. "French philosophy?" he asks.

[rememberettersberg]

A teetering pile of books enters the room, followed shortly by the man transporting them. Nightingale nods a casual acknowledgement in the direction of the newcomer and sets to reshelving.

"If this place didn't continually twist itself into new shapes, I'd begin to worry that we'd run out of bedrooms," he remarks.

[untamedantinous]

That is certainly a pile of books. He's doing his best to try and hide a smile, since the reminder of friends who are not here still causes an ache that he doesn't quite have words for.

"You have been busy, I see," he nods. "The rooms move often, then, I take it? I have only been here some two days."

[rememberettersberg]

"The basic shape remains for the most part, but new branches seem to crop up with alarming regularity." Nightingale slots another book into place, then glances back over his shoulder. "Where did you arrive from?"

[ravkanwitch]

Nina peeks into the library and is surprised to see him upright and reading. He was in a terrible state yesterday.

"Hello," she says, stepping inside. "Enjolras, is it? Are you feeling better today?"

[untamedantinous]

Oh, he's in a slightly better one now, largely due to the fact that he's slept and been healed. (Let's ignore the panic attacks that were happening yesterday, another good reason why he stayed in his room.)

"Hello," comes his abstracted reply, until he turns and sees who exactly it is, and then he warms a little. "Ah, yes, Nina, correct? I am certainly more well than I was, thank you."

[ravkanwitch]

“You certainly look well. Though I think the grime and the grit brought a certain heroism to your look,” Nina says brightly. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. What are you reading?”

[sporesprouter]

Tress has wandered into the library with a systematic plan to find something, but that something wasn't exactly another person there, especially one she hasn't yet seen, so her train of thought gets temporarily derailed when she sees Enjolras there.

"Oh. Hello. Welcome?"

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras looks up and gives her a brief nod, an abstracted smile. “Hello, yes, I am a new arrival.”

[sporesprouter]

"Well then, yes, welcome." She looks over the books on the table curiously. "You look like you're settling in well."