*We have a roof on our Library now!*
The construction in the Library finally seems to be finished, and the results are amazing. A simple, graceful geometry of metal and wood struts arch across the ceiling, forming a semi-geodesic dome structure which supports translucent, pearly white panels which serve as the roof. They are apparently not glass, but something at once lighter and tougher than glass, with something of a seashell sheen to them. The lighting in the library is brighter than electricity during a sunny day but soft; the opacity of the panels seems to protect the books from the harm of direct sun.
The bookshelves have returned to their proper places along the walls, also forming proper stacks, but they are still mostly empty. Piles of books, stacks of books, ramparts of books are everywhere upon the glitteringly new-varnished wooden floor. Two ancient book-trolleys-- one freshly painted an incongruous canary-yellow, and the other sporting a cheerful coat of candy-apple red-- are also loaded with books.
To the left as you enter from the front door stands the Librarian's desk, polished to a reluctant gleam, with a few patched comfortable chairs in front of it. To your right is the card catalog, the little drawers neatly labeled.
On the tripod, just in front of the door, is a large piece of paper reading:
"Please Be Patient While The Librarians Reorganize Our Books. Isn't Our New Roof Wonderful!?!?!?!!?!?!?"
Did someone call for 'tall, dark, and handsome'? Well, dark's fairly well covered, at least. Jet-black hair's pulled into a long, loose tail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands about the face occasionally drifting into his almost equally dark eyes, the irises of which are a brown deep enough that one needs to look closely to find the pupil. Nut-brown skin that sets off the white of his teeth and eyes -- it could just barely be mistaken for a very deep tan, if one really tried. Tall is a miss; he's still several inches off six feet, and he probably won't ever get there. Handsome... well, not a classic beauty, to be sure, but well-proportioned, with a stunning, frequent grin and deeply expressive features. Slim, but in perfectly good shape.
He's clad in... well, black leather pants. Somewhat faded, well broken in, but nicely cut and really =quite= nicely fitted. A simple cream shirt is tucked into them at the waist; the collar of it's left mostly unlaced, the ends of the cord hanging down. Over that, he wears a decidedly well-worn old black trenchcoat, almost too big for him -- the cuffs hang down half-over his hands, when he lets them, and the hem hangs perilously close to his heels. Scuffed black leather boots with worn soles adorn his feet; there's a seemingly random collection of bracelets, all on one wrist, and several piercings along the upper section of each ear -- little silver hoops.
This young man is obviously a traveller, and most likely a rogue, of some sort, with the too-frequent calculating glances he sends around himself, and the easy, unconscious grace of his movements. Probably in his mid to early twenties, nature seems to have favoured him with height (6'3"), a decent build, and looks to match. Dust and grime sit on a sharp, well-tanned face, with relatively few lines. Short, thick black hair hangs over a faded, dirty red head-band.
A long-sleeved shirt that might once have been white (but would now settle quite happily for 'cream') covers his body, with the sleeves rolled up. A brown leather vest hangs open, over the shirt, with numerous pockets visible on both the inside and outside. His pants appear to be a very dark grey, and woven very tightly in some unidentifiable material, not unlike canvas. Heavy black leather boots bear all sorts of dark stains and dust - they've seen a lot of use, but also look strong enough to see quite a lot more.
The man carries what are obviously long, projectile weapons on his back - slung in leather cases with straps over his shoulders - and he has the look of someone ready to use them. A couple well-placed, faded knife-scars on his face lend a little weight to that assumption, and a little age to the man's obvious youth.
Unruly black hair, long enough to nearly reach the girl's waist, falls in tangles around a gypsy's face. Both the shade of the girl's skin and the cast of her features speak of a Mediterranean heritage: her nose is a little long, her cheekbones high, her complexion a mild olivine tan. Her eyes are not dark, but a peculiar shade of hazel-green. She is of a middling height for a woman, perhaps five and a half feet, lithe and lean, all whipcord muscle with barely an ounce of softness.
She wears a simple tunic of undyed, soft-tanned deerskin: a single hide with a hole in the center for the neck, belted at the waist with some sort of woven fiber; it hangs in a ragged, uneven fall that barely covers her thighs.
The most obvious sign of Serendipity's presence tonight is his coat, draped over the back of the biggest, cushiest chair in the place. Given the right angle, one can also see him -- curled into the seat of it, apparently engrossed in a particularly thick and heavy tome. There's a small bottle on the arm of the chair, and every so often, he absently flicks it open and takes a sip.
Safi comes in still wet from a recent bath, her hair clinging in serpentine tendrils to her neck and shoulders. Her skin is flushed, warm from hot water and reddened by the contrasting chill outside. She paces over to his chair without a sound, and leans up against the back of it to peer at his book. "What is it?" she asks.
Serendipity yelps, startled into a near-upright (though still seated) position, and then relaxes with a little laugh of relief as he recognizes the voice -- and face. "....oh, heh. Hiya, beautiful," he greets her a touch sheepishly, and holds up the book so Safi can see the cover. "Dorland's Illustrated Medical Dictionary."
Safi pokes her chin over the chair back, and props it there, frowning. "Why do you read zis?"
Serendipity glances down at the book -- the current spread appears to be an intricate diagram of the circulatory system. "...I dunno," he replies with a little shrug, "I figure it never hurts to know how shit works, for one thing..." Is he looking a little pinker in the cheeks? Hard to tell, really, with his colouring. He shrugs, and relaxes a little into the chair, more sprawled -- nah, he looks fine. "You here for more Shakespeare, lovely?"
Safi beams, straightening again and looking around. "I do not know. I will find, somesing."
Serendipity flips the book closed on his finger, to save his place, and grins at her. "You gonna read to me again, cutie?"
Safi steps to the side of his chair and looks down to him, blinking and serious. "To you? If, you want...or maybe I just let you to read your... medical sing."
Serendipity nods, looking back up at her. "Yeah, to me. It was nice last time, 'n' all. Plus, I got plennya time to read this thing by myself as it is...."
Safi glances away, toward the crowded shelves. "What shall I to read?"
Serendipity stretches a little, making a note of his page and setting the book aside, on the floor. "I dunno. Still into the bard? Or maybe somethin' with swashbuckling and romance and stuff?"
Safi lifts her shoulders in a gesture copied from humankind. "I do not know. I like... stories, the kinds of stories that are not true."
Serendipity hesitates a moment, then sits up, swinging his legs off the edge of the chair and standing. "A'ight, hold on." He strides into the stacks, and is gone for a few minutes before he emerges again, book in hand. "Here, try this one. It's got pirates and breasts on the cover; can't be all bad."
Safi eyes the lurid cover illustration with some skepticism, and looks over to Serendipity guardedly. "Zis is... you are making a trick, on me."
Justin's rich, well-trained voice is on approach to the library, lifted in an old ballad from hundreds of years ago. "Deeeesperado, you ain't gettin' no yooounger, your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you... home..." He trails off just before the library door opens to admit the wizard, who looks composed and slightly snowy. "Hi."
Serendipity blinks at Safi, and looks at the book again, "...What?" he starts to protest. "My ma useta read these to me alla time when I was-" He trails off, hearing the song, and glances to the door a second before it opens. "...'lo, handsome. Nice pipes."
Safi turns--and the book is forgotten, as she steps toward Justin. The green eyes are wide and worried, searching his face and more. "I did not know, you sing like zis," she says lightly.
"Thank you sir," Justin says to Ren with gravest courtesy and a subdued merry spark in his eyes. "I was trained as part of my apprenticeship," he explains to both Safi and Ren, although more to Safi, since she asked. "How does the evening find you both?"
"It follows the sounds of joy 'n' merriment," Ren replies cheerfully, leaning himself against the edge of a bookcase. "How's it going?"
Safi steps close to Justin, bringing up a hand to touch his cheek. "I want to ask, how are /you/, Justinn?"
Justin allows both Safi's entrance into his personal space and the touch, bowing his head a little to meet her eyes. "I'm fine," he says. "Bryce was upset and ran away, but we found him and brought him home, and he's okay."
Concern kindles in her eyes. "You should to ask me for help, when zis happens," she scolds gently. "I will always help you." A fragile smile, then. "But I am glad, you are happy again."
Serendipity wanders back to his chair, and drops inelegantly sprawled into the seat again. The novel comes with him, and gets set atop the medical text, freeing his hands to open the little bottle there for another little drink.
"I know you would have helped, Safi. If we hadn't found him I would have asked, but all's well that ends well." Justin smiles down at Safi and takes her hand to squeeze it affectionately, then let her go. "What are you reading today?"
"I do not know, I have not-- I have not found, yet." She flashes him a smile. "Maybe, you help me to find?"
A hmph floats up from Ren's chair, and his hand drops down to pick up his books, pulling them up and into his lap.
"*He wanted me to read something," Safi adds, slanting a look toward Ren, "but it is, mmm. Has breasts."
"What's wrong with breasts?" Justin asks with supreme innocence. "What book is it, Ren?"
"Shakespeare's =full= of breasts," Ren points out, as he picks up the book in question again, peering at the cover, "... Under Crimson Sails. 's got pirates. =And= breasts."
Safi snorts lightly, and crosses her arms over her own luscious lean curves. "Mmm. I think I find somesing else, maybe." She looks at them both, narrowing her eyes.
Justin grins, giving Safi a look which says how much he appreciates said curves. "The Kama Sutra, perhaps," he suggests, blandly.
"It's not much of a reading out loud book," Ren replies dismissively, "...more a do-it-yourself manual. Though hey, if you guys aren't busy."
Safi wets her lips, catching a hint of the undertone and tipping her head--her posture is guarded, but her cheeks are bright. "You are making anozzer trick."
Justin chuckles. "Maybe. I didn't know you were supposed to be reading aloud, though. Ren's would be better, I think. Simpler language."
Safi's brow furrows slightly. "What is zis book?" she asks, curiously.
"Which one?" Ren asks, tilting his head back over the arm of the chair.
Justin vanishes into the bookstacks, where the only signs of life are the quiet rasp of a book being removed from its place, and the whisper of turning pages.
Safi looks after the mage, then glances to Ren. "Tell me, about zis book," she says quietly, wariness in her eyes.
"Which one?" Serendipity repeats patiently, "...the one I broughtcha, or the Kama Sutra?"
Safi's brow furrows. "Zis... Kama Sutra. It made Justin... mm. Wanting."
Serendipity grins crookedly, and sits up, then stands. "Do better'n that," he replies, "...I'll show ya." He disappears into the stacks himself, but there's hardly any pause before he reappears -- apparently, he knows where this one's shelved. "C'mere," he invites, dropping back into his chair and pulling his legs up indian-style.
Safi narrows her eyes at him, giving him that guarded look--but she paces over to his chair again, circling around to the back of it to look over his shoulders. "Zis one has breasts, too," she says. "Why do ze people look so ... strange?"
"Old paintings," Ren explains. "...I mean, the other one's old too, and all, but these're, like.... thousands of years old, I think. And yeah, it's got breasts. Lots of breasts. And everything else. Just, not much in the way of story. Here, look." He flips the book open to a random spread, which happens to feature some interesting contortions. "It's famous. Or infamous, depending who you ask," he adds, and then grins broadly. "Kinda like me."
Safi blinks, drawing back the slightest bit in startlement, a frown coming to her face; then she leans forward again, one hand poised on the high upholstered back of the chair. "How do zey---mm, balance, like that?"
A heavy footfall is much closer than it should be, the clink of metal and a sudden warm scent springing almost out of nowhere. Things that aren't really normal for someone already so many yards in through the door. "Like him... Must mean there are at least a few who haven't heard of it."
Safi's face lights up, and she turns with bright eyes, question and pictures forgotten. A grin lights her face as she throws herself into Jack's arms, serpentine hair getting water on his shirt and neck.
"See, he's got his hand down under here," Serendipity starts to point out, "and then she's leaning so mosta her weight's over =here=..." He trails off at the new male voice, not Justin's, and twists to look toward the door. "An' they're the more deprived for it, too," he replies cheerfully, by way of greeting.
The Brit catches Safi, embracing tightly heedless of the dampness. "Ullo gorgeous." An eye strays sideways to the occupant of the chair. And it's not a friendly eye at all. Happily, the Garou turns his attention back to Safi.
Safi kisses the side of Jack's neck, and catches at it with her teeth. "Ze boys are telling me thing to read," she says lightly.
Serendipity doesn't pay much attention to the eye. He flips idly through the book, instead. "...'s an interesting read," he grants, "but like I said before, short on plot. Not so good for readin' aloud."
Another sideways glance, and then Jack's tilting his head back, offering it to the girl while he runs a hand through her hair. "We may have to borrow it, later. Unless you need it for yourself." Straightening a little, Jack rumbles lowly, "What /else/ they been helping you read?"
"Some pirate book," she says lightly. "I think zey just want to read somesing wis' breasts on it. You tell me a book, to find?"
The Garou actually smiles a little, nodding and 'mm'ing in thoughtful agreement.
Serendipity rolls his eyes. "You just don't appreciate the swashbuckling. And by the way, I don't think you're allowed t' be a lit snob 'til you've been reading at least five years or so. Shakespeare wrote pirates. And breasts." Pause. "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, coral is far more red than her lips' red. If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun.... So there." He grins again, and offers the book -- closed -- up over the back of the chair. "Borrow away. Got it out for Safi, after all."
Safi draws away from Jack the slightest bit, looking up at him for a moment; then she turns and snatches the book with a grin. "I want to see."
"Aw." Jack's voice is heavy with absolute, dour sincerity when he adds wryly, "You shouldn't have." He is, however, distracted quite quickly by the girl's actions.
Safi turns to look to Jack, blinking. "You do not want me to know more? How to make love better?" Her brow furrows in faint confusion.
Serendipity grins crookedly, and shifts to sprawl comfortably against his chair, picking up the little bottle of whatever for a sip. "Hey, anytime, handsome. Far be it from me to disappoint a lady."
"More questioning the source, baby," Jack informs Safi. "I don't like him thinking about you like that. I know you'd feel guilty if I had to kill him." The statements are delivered lightly. He does, however, peek at the book. "Gimme a look? S'been a while. Gotta check which ones are left."
Safi hands it over with innocent eyes. "Ze people are funny looking."
Serendipity looks remarkably unconcerned by the implied threat, picking up his original book and flipping through to find his place again.
Just as well. The Brit's hands are wandering slightly, as he reviews the book she's holding open - imagination's taking over. He 'mmhmms' noncommittally, at her comment.
"Thank you," Safi says lightly. She steps over, reaching out with one hand to muss Ren's perpetually perfect hair; then she walks toward the door with a spring in her step.
Jack's left rotating on the spot to watch her, and starting to query, "Where are yo-- oh..." and following without thinking.
Serendipity grins again, reaching up to free the ponytail and straighten the hair back up, giving the girl a light wink. "Anytime, beautiful," he murmurs, and then rather louder and more brightly, "Have fun, kids! Don't do anything I wouldn't do."