1stwitness | (no subject)

"Oh there you go. Maybe I could flush them out?"

"But you don't know what they might be, or how they would chastise you."

She grins, and chuckles.

"They'd have to catch me first, wouldn't they?"

"A fair point." He grins back. "Now, let's see what we have here..."

The answer is... wax on wood tablets, Roman style.

"You know, I'm surprised they've found a way to preserve those. I mean, while letting people still touch them with their bare hands."

"Perhaps some form of stasis?" He considers it. "Allowing them to be lifted and moved and studied, but freezing the natural processes in the wood."

Her brow knits, and she frowns in thought.

"That would make sense. Wait, did you hear that?"

"...was that metal moving?" He peers down the aisle, suddenly mildly alarmed.

She takes a few steps further down the aisle.

"It sounds like chains."

The closer they get, the more agitated the sounds become. They've come to another small space, this one lined with tables, each table with multiple pedestals and a book on each one. The books are chained to the dais, and it seems, they're the source of the noise.

"Oh, this must be the Restricted Section."

"...what kind of Restricted Section has books like those? Did you know about this?"

He's a little reluctant to go anywhere near the books.

"Well, there were a series of books about a group of wizard children who went to a wizarding boarding school, called Hogwarts. I'd heard that there was some overlap between universes, that what was fiction in one universe was actually real in others, but I've only experienced it a few times."

She's approaching the books, fearless but cautious, nonetheless. One of them coughs and belches a lick of flame straight up.

"That must be Famous Fire-eaters. These are books of Dark Magic, ones that are too valuable to destroy, but that warrant being kept under lock and key. Literally."

"The words 'books of dark magic' and 'too valuable to destroy' do not go together in my world." He eyes them grimly. "If they belonged to me, I would burn them on the spot, never mind their age."

She glances up, one eyebrow raised.

"It's not just that they're historically valuable. In the world of Hogwarts, they're fighting a cadre of dark wizards, who call themselves Death Eaters. Sometimes you need to know what weapons your enemies are using against you. That way you can train and prepare to face them in battle."

"By learning to use those weapons against them in turn?" He shakes his head. "That way lies no good."

"No, I said no such thing. But it does pay to understand their strategies, and know what they have in their arsenal."

"Know your enemy. Isn't that what Sun Tzu said in the Art of War?"

"He did", Ichabod agrees, "although I doubt he was speaking of dark magic. That sort of thing has a tendency to corrupt."

"I would suspect you're right. But apparently, the librarians here don't agree."

She eyes the small reading area, and gestures to a clear path around the outer edge.

"We can get through there."

"And hope the chains hold", he says with dark humour. "I would assume they will, but..."

He'll be staying as far as possible from the books as they pass through.

"Oh, don't be such a pansy," she teases.

"Come on. I think there's a holographic section up ahead." She waits for him, and keeps her body between his and the books.

He notices, and appreciates it even it makes him feel guilty.

"...holographic?"

"Uh, right. It's a technology from my future. Coherent light, portraying actual recordings of people speaking or acting. Here."

She skims the shelves and pulls down a disc. "Hold it like this." She takes his hand and places it flat in his palm.

"Activate holo-recording."

A three-dimensional figure made of light appears on the disc, about six inches high. It's clearly not human, with long hair and beard, dark features with deep brow ridges, and a martial demeanor about him. The recitation has a certain lilt to it, as the figure holds forth, passionately, the voice low and gravelled.

"I've been told Shakespeare is better in the 'original Klingon', but I'm not sure I agree."

"...I assume that's a joke, but one I'm afraid is lost on me." He's staring at the figure. "That is a ... Klingon?"

"Yes," she grins at him.

"It's a quote from a film. And they," she indicates the figure expounding in his palm, "are from another planet. They appropriated the Bard, and claimed him as one of their own literary greats. It's really quite ridiculous."

"Well, it's a compliment to him, I suppose, that they esteemed him so highly as to want to claim him... if they were not fictional creations."

"Don't be so sure you know what's fictional and what's not, at least not here under this roof."

She turns back, skimming over the shelves again.

"You'd think the name Ichabod Crane would be unique, but -- in my world, I know of at least one other. He was a jittery, superstitious school master who was chased by the ghost of the Headless Horseman, who was most certainly someone playing a prank on him. And his mad pursuit happened more than a hundred years ago."