1stwitness | (no subject)

"Hm." He glances back. "I could go and fetch one? Of the safer kind, no open flames in such a place."

"Of course not."

She pauses, thinking about it. It's not that bad. It's just not the modern illumination she's used to.

"I'm fine to go on, if you are?"

"It is not overly dark", he agrees. "Let us go on, then."

She nods, agreeable. But she's hanging back to walk beside him, not walking ahead.

"I count fourteen lamps in." She points up.

"Agreed. And it seems for once, things are not moving around when they are not observed."

"Shh. Don't give it ideas," she teases. They come to an intersection, and a round table piled high with books. She walks around one side.

"No dust..."

But... the aisle they've emerged from is one of many. They're at the hub of a wheel, it seems.

"Perhaps whatever unseen thing does the housework in the main bar, also takes care of this room", he suggests, looking around at each aisle. "...and it appears there are many ends."

She glances around at their options.

"Surely there must be a boundary? I mean, the building is finite."

Her gaze moves back to him, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps there is something in play where it... telescopes."

"Oh that would be just my luck. Shall we proceed, or would you like to head back?"

"I have never in my life refused a challenge. We proceed."

She chuckles, grinning. "Fine. I think we can orient ourselves by that."

She points up to the large pendant lamp overhead, in the shape of an eight-pointed star.

"If we came from the 'South', say? Keep going 'North'?"

"Yes", he agrees. "Until we reach a dead end and must turn back."

She sets off again, staying a companionable distance from him.

"So you were at Oxford?"

"I was, and subsequently taught there. Like my father before me."

"Me, too. Well, my mother anyway. My father went to Cambridge."

She cuts a glance at him, curious to see his reaction.

He stops in his tracks, startled, but there's a smile starting to appear.

"Your mother went to Oxford? Well, finally."

"Yes. And I did as well. Sorry, didn't make that clear."

"Not before time. I always disliked their policy of refusing entrance to even the most able women."

"Well, it's still very much an Old Boy's Club. Sometimes it felt like I had to prove myself twice over just to get the same respect, but that only prepared me for my career at the Met."

The shelves have changed again. This time into an array of tiny slots containing four inch long cylinders of what appears to be glass. And they're all glowing slightly, in various shades of blues, greens, reds & yellows.

"But you were given opportunities women of my time could never hope for, however hard they worked." He stares at the cylinders. "Do you know how these might be read?"

"Oh I know. My mother was a very vocal advocate for equal rights."

She pauses to examine the labels on the shelves.

"These are apparently data crystals? Colour-coded for -- I can't even read that script. Someone's handwriting is terrible."

"...apparently some things never change, even in the distant future."

She laughs under her breath.

"You'd think this place would have librarians, wouldn't you?"

"But who in the world could ever keep up with such a task?"