Not in All the Many Books

[Hart]

21st Cylus, 721
16th break

It was bitterly cold, and Wren wouldn't believe that Hart didn't need a coat. "You do need a coat," Wren said, frowning at him, and Hart said, "No, I don't."

Hart removed his coat, Wren scowled, and Hart hung his coat over Wren's head. "Hart!" Wren said, indignant, but by the time Wren had pulled the coat off his head, Hart was down the street, pretending to jump in a snowdrift. "Hart!" Wren said again, attempting to sound as indignant as before, but he was smiling. He ran over, and Hart pretended to jump. "No!" Wren laughed.

"Do you admit that I don't need a coat?" Hart asked, smiling, and Wren said, "No!"

"Oh? And you won't let me go in the snowdrift?"

"No!" Wren smiled.

"Well, I guess you'll need to go in the snowdrift then," Hart said, and lifted Wren up.

Wren screamed, laughing, and Hart swung him, once, twice, like he was going to toss him in the snow. "Admit I don't need a coat!" Hart said, and Wren said, "No!"

"Admit it! Or you go in the snow!"

"No!" Wren laughed, and Hart pretended to toss him.

Wren laughed, grabbing him so that Hart couldn't let go, and with one last swing Hart set him back on the ground. Wren looked up at him, his cheeks pink from the cold. He was smiling, but he said, "You do need a coat, Hart."

"No, I don't," Hart smiled, but he slid his coat back on and Wren looked happy.



They'd been walking to the Scholar's Nook, and so, with the snow falling slowly from the darkening sky, they made their way to the cafe. The cafe and book exchange towered amongst the other buildings, the windows bright with warm light that seemed to welcome them in from the cold.

Despite how welcoming it looked, Hart stopped a moment outside the door. He breathed, slowly, and, thinking of the biting cold he could no longer feel, he adjusted his senses. He decreased his sense of smell as best he could. With his sense of smell decreased, his other senses, like his sense of touch, increased. For a moment, Hart thought he could feel the cold again. But that was silly, and he smiled at Wren, who was standing by the door.

Wren pushed the door open and they walked inside.

It was warm inside the Scholar's Nook. The tower-like building murmured with the sound of conversation and the clinking of tea cups. Hart removed his coat and pushed his sleeves up to the elbow, aware now of a stray thread that scratched at his arm. Wren pulled off his coat, putting his scarf and hat in his coat sleeve. The boy's eyes looked to the cafe in the middle of the room, curious, but glanced off the cafe when he saw all the books.

He looked overwhelmed by them all; maybe he hadn't been expecting so many books. Then his dark blue eyes seemed to light.

"Be polite, and ask an adult before handling the books," Hart reminded him. "I'll be getting a book looked at, but if you need me I'll be nearby."

Wren didn't respond, but he walked over to the nearest alcove and sat politely in an unoccupied chair. He gazed around, overwhelmed. The look in his eyes reminded Hart of how the Scholar's Nook had looked from the outside, the absolute enchantment lighting Wren's expression like the warm, welcoming light they'd seen before.

Hart didn't have words for it; there weren't words to describe the feeling, not in all the many books in the towering building, and there were many, many books.

But, Hart loved him.

He reminded Wren once more that he'd be nearby. Then Hart gazed around the building, though his gaze was different than the boy's. He didn't look at the books, or the cafe. He was looking for an employee.

There was a young woman, a number of years younger than Hart, with long dark hair. She seemed distracted by something, and so when Hart walked up to her, he made sure that she was able to see him, so that she wouldn't be surprised when he spoke. She seemed to be working. "Excuse me," he said, polite. "My name's Hart. I'm sorry for the interruption, but do you work here? Are you very busy?"

Depending on her response he would say, "I have this book. Just a moment." He rummaged through a bag he was holding that seemed, from the outside, to be a backpack. But it was a domain bag, and Hart felt the book he was looking for appear in his hand. "This is the book," he said, and offered the book to her.

The book appeared to be quite old, though it wasn't; it was just well-worn. The cover was a lovely ocean blue, but seemed to have been bent a long time ago, and the binding of the book was getting loose. The book had no title; rather, there was a girl's face etched on the front. The pages, in contrast, seemed almost new.

"This book is... important to me." Hart said, though he didn't know where the book had come from, or why it had been written. If the young woman looked through some of the pages, she'd notice that the book seemed to be written about Hart. "I'm afraid the damage will make the pages come loose. But I don't know how to mend it."

"I know the Scholar's Nook does exchanges," Hart said. "I admit that I... don't have much money." He couldn't help how he looked away. He looked at the book in her hands, not at her face. "I guess I was hoping there was some sort of exchange I could do, in order to have the book looked at? I could work, or, maybe exchange something I own?"

"Do you think that would be possible?"

notes

1. When Hart was saying he didn't need a coat and didn't feel cold, he was referring to the mark ability winter's warmth.

2. Hart has the ability deprivation acuity. He doesn't much like the smell of coffee, so increased his sense of touch and decreased his sense of smell.

3. The book Hart is inquiring about contains his memories of his sister Jovy, and so the book is written about the two of them. The book itself is not very old; it's about two years old. But it's a replica of a book Jovy had when she was young, and so it looks old and is coming apart and shows the wear that Jovy put on it, despite not being an old book.

4. I'm absolutely awful at describing what Hart looks like. The marks of Gwelliph and Vinyza are visible above his eyes and in his hair, respectively. The mark of Bellinos is visible on his fingertips and nails.

[Perdita Westcott]

itting in her usual place at work, Perdita had a good view of outside. She'd discovered that it helped her to focus, to get the job done. She was very lucky, she knew, because she also had a small cupboard / room where she was set up to do the more serious, concentration intensive work. Of course, the down side to that was that she was more easily able to be distracted by the goings-on outside or a glimpse of an animal here or there. Indeed, on the top corner of her notebook, there was a doodle of a dragonfly. Carefully penciled in, it had been a welcome distraction and Perdita looked up as the man approached.

"Hello," she said with a smile and nodded. "I do," work here, that was. As she spoke, of course, Perdita blushed but she was so used to it that it was almost not something she noticed any more. "No, I'm not," very busy and so, she asked. "Can I help?" He rummaged for the book and she watched him do so. As she did, she tidied the desk she'd been working on, and Hart might notice a few sketches of a dog and what would be a finished piece showing his very blue eyes. When Hart handed her the book, though, Perdita took it with the sort of reverence and care usually shown to a newborn child. "It's beautiful," she said and nodded. "Please, sit down."

Perdita carefully assessed the book - first a visual inspection and then a more careful one. "Yes," she said. "The damage is external," she said, nodding "The pages, intact." It was like she was ticking off a checklist in her mind - because she was. Her focus was on the book far, far more than it was on him. It might seem strange, but she put her finger gently between the pages and the spine, checked the bend in the cover, that sort of thing. She made notes as she did - careful ones about types of binding, that it was an eight-fold folio-style book with hand-sewn headbands and a saddle-stitch bind.

She didn't rush, she was slow and careful in her appraisal. Then, eventually, she lifted her head. "If we don't have it," she said, gesturing around the room. "Caz will pay you to let me copy it." She smiled. "The repair is included in that." After all, if they did not repair this book and it was, as it seemed to be, unique - then they were allowing it to fall into disrepair and, ultimately, to be destroyed.

"Would you like that?"

[Hart]

Hart sat in the chair when the young woman asked him to please, sit down. He glanced at the papers on her desk, curious, when he handed her the book; she was an artist.

Her drawings were very good and Hart said, when there was a moment where it seemed she wouldn't be distracted by the words, "Your drawings are very beautiful." She was looking at the book, and, Hart thought with a smile, she was paying much more attention to it than she was to him.

He relaxed in the chair, a bit.

For the most part Hart looked at her hands as she worked, curious as to what she was doing. Like the sure linework of the drawings on her desk, she seemed assured when she looked at the book, bending the cover just a bit, looking at the pages, the binding. Hart guessed that she saw more about the book in the number of moments she looked at it, than he had seen in the two years it had been in his possession.

She made some notes, and he almost asked to read them. But, he decided, it was better to let her work.

When she eventually looked up at him, Hart smiled. She said that the Scholar's Nook would pay him to let her make a copy of the book, and that they would repair the book for him. He looked at her, surprised.

"I don't believe there is a book like it in the Scholar's Nook," Hart said slowly. He very much doubted there was another copy of the book in existence. "But are you sure it's worth so much?" They would pay him to copy it? "I'm afraid it's not an important work," Hart said. He'd said that was book was important to him; but he doubted its worth to the proprietor of the Scholar's Nook.

"If the proprietor would like a copy of the book, I wouldn't say no," Hart said, just as slowly. "But, please understand."

"This book is about me, and about a girl, my sister. It's written like a biography, and it details events in my life." He frowned. "But it's not about my life, because the girl in the book doesn't exist."

Hart had been reading the book quite slowly, much more slowly than he read other books. He couldn't help but linger over the stories, the details. The more he read it, the more important the book seemed, to him.

But, "I would guess that this book is not of academic importance. And I would guess that it's not of literary importance. It's just... stories. Some of them are dull, to be honest."

"There's a story in the book, for example," he said. "The story is about my... my sister and I doing chores. We're on my mother's ship; I lived there until I was in my late teens. In any other book, I would say that the story was mostly dialogue. But the writing doesn't read like dialogue; it reads like two people having an argument, word for word."

"In the story, we're arguing about the chores, about who has to do what. She's trying to get me to do some of her chores because she wants to go swimming. And that's it. That's the story."

"I don't know who wrote the book,"

if he'd had to guess, he would have said that he'd written it,

"but it's just... it's just stories."

"Like I said, I wouldn't say no to having the book copied. And I do want my copy repaired. But I just... I don't know if the proprietor would like a copy of a book like this. I don't know its value."

[Perdita Westcott]

hen he said her work was beautiful, Perdita flushed deeply. "You're very kind," she said, softly. She focused on the book and checked it thoroughly. When he said it wasn't an important work, and then said that it was about him, Perdita wanted to ask him why he thought he wasn't important. She didn't though, because she simply never would be so pushy.

He explained about it, and Perdita listened. Carefully, intently. She didn't speak for a moment, and then she breathed in and looked at him. Her hand was on the book, almost protectively. "Twenty fourth Ymiden," she said, her voice soft and quiet. "Cassion's trial," she explained. "Where Scalvoris celebrates stories." Gesturing around the room, Perdita's blush had not abated, but she was so used to it that she could - at the very least - function.

"Every story is worthwhile," she said. "Unique ones, especially." Her expression was kind as she met his gaze. "It has worth." She considered it and nodded. "It will take a trial, maybe two." That was just how it was, she would need to repair the book, then copy the book. She wanted to make sure that she did as good a job as she could. "Is that alright?"

If he was happy to do that, then he would get paid when he left the book there. It wasn't a massive amount, but it was indicative of the fact that this was a unique tale, but with money for the repair deducted. As she held the book and examined it closely, Perdita briefly lifted her gaze up. "I will illustrate a second copy," she said, quietly. "If I sketch, will you assess them?" Her cheeks flamed, but it would be a nice thing to do, Perdita thought. "It would help me," If he could tell her if what she drew from her minds' eye was a good representation or needed work. "If you would?" If so, Perdita determined that she'd make two additional copies. One for the Nook and one for him. But, that was only if he wanted it.

Holding the book reverently, she ran a hand down the spine. "Would you like to see it be repaired?" Some people enjoyed that kind of thing and more than one person had asked to watch her, since she started working there. So, now, she always offered. "Only if it interests you." She smiled and then turned her attention back to the book, while she waited for his answer.

[Doran]

Perdita:

Knowledge:
Appraisal x2
Art x2

Loot: -
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

Hart:

Knowledge: -
Loot: -
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: -
Points: 15

- - -

Comments: First of all, the city in Hart’s post template looks familiar. Is that Hallstatt?!

With that being said, the scene at the beginning of the thread, with Hart and Wren and the snowdrift, made me smile. I always enjoy reading posts with the two of them in them!

At first, I was confused why Hart decreased his sense of smell when he entered the Scholar’s Nook, but then I remembered a certain incident in Melrath. That scene was well-written, and I like how you described the Scholar’s Nook – and how much that book means to Hart!

Perdita was adorable, as always. I’m impressed by the way that you write her dialogue. It is obvious that she is a little shy even though you don’t explicitly tell your reader that she is. Besides that, I like that you include her actual art rather than just describing her sketches!

I loved her statement that every story is worthwhile!

It’s a pity that this thread was abandoned and thus ended so soon; I enjoyed the few posts that you made though!

So, enjoy your rewards!

P.S.: Hart, if you unretire your PC and want knowledges for this thread, let me know, please!