1stwitness | (no subject)

She pats the back pockets of her jeans, and comes up empty.

"No, sorry. What are you up to?"

"I thought we could make a map."

His coat has very voluminous pockets. After a little more searching, a pencil stub appears too.

She raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"Well, we entered from six o'clock on the hub, and we left it at twelve o'clock, only to emerge at three o'clock. Without making any turns."

"But", he says cheerfully, "we can mark the positions of the aisles and what is in them at this end. And perhaps it will be the same next time."

He likes maps, okay? They make sense.

She watches as he writes. "That sounds almost sensible."

Maps are incredibly sensible. She's just not used to Milliways behaving in a way that might be mistaken as sensible.

"I think we're leaving clay tablets and we're entering -- are these pictographs?"

"Indeed they are." He leans down and studies them. "...but I can't place the culture."

She rests a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll pack a picnic lunch next time. And bring string."

He glances up, laughing.

"Both seem very sensible precautions."

"Come on. If we're going to get this place mapped by dinner time, we can't stop and peer over every amazing thing we find."

"Plenty of time to come back to them later", Ichabod agrees, and adds another notation to his map. "Onwards."

She marks each of the pendant lamps they cross with a finger in the air, counting. Again, the illumination fades to something more appropriate for a monastery, not a modern library.

"You know, if the weather gets too terrible, I suppose I could just come run in here. It's not exactly an indoor track, but it would do in a pinch."

Ichabod eyes her.

"Running, in a library?"

"Well, yes. It's not as if we've run into anyone else in here. And I'd wear proper trainers, not my -- sorry, in my time, it's a type of exercise. And it comes with special shoes, and clothes, and such."

She does look a bit chagrined.

"It's better than running in the garage, with all the exhaust fumes."

"I suppose in a way it would be healthier", he allows. "But on your head be it if it turns out there are librarians."

"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."