fandomhigh | Library is open (12/7/05)

Oh, swerval. Hey, Parker, give Rory the map. See how she does for a bit.

Resigned, Parker gave Rory the map. "We either have to go around, or get really creative." She winked at Angela, who put hand over her mouth. "Let's see if you can find us a way to the magic books and back, okay?"

Rory frowned at the map, and bit her lip. "Okay. If we go around this way," she pointed to an opening in the shelves to their right, "and then wind around here," she gesticulated to the left, and behind her, "it should work. That's assuming nothing gets in our way, of course." She hesitantly stepped forward. "And if I lead us into a deathtrap, let me know."

"No obvious death traps over there that I remember," Parker said. "But you first, Gunga Gilmore."

The death traps are further in. Lead on, Macduff.

As they came out of the first row of books, the shelves and decorations changed to dark gold wood, with brass fittings. Hanging lamps with gas jets were suspended from the ceiling. A purple-and-gold Persian rug stretched between them an the next row of shelves, and a small stone fountain stood in between. The latest movable bookcase was as spiraling brass-and-ebony affair, with tiny gargoyle heads on the banisters.

"Nice," said Janet. "I haven't seen this setting before."

Rory arched her brow. "Pretty." She looked around, and spotted a way through to the path she had indicated. "I don't trust it, though. Too pretty."

"I think you're right." Parker turned around, looking up. "I remember this fountain, and it has a bad tendency to move-- you can't count on it for a landmark." She pointed off to the left. "That way are the chained-up books that bite, that I showed Angela last week, I think."

"Oh, do we want to go look at them, then?" Rory asked, gingerly poking the fountain to see what might happen.

A stone molding on the fountain gave way under Rory's hand.

And the floor beneath them suddenly dropped away--

--to deposit them on another floor, this one stone, with candles on the wall.

More shelves, with haphazard manuscripts and scrolls on every level, surrounded them.

*scrambles to her feet*

...Well. This is new.

*yells at ceiling* Very cute!

"Ow." Parker rubbed her legs, and staggered upright. "NOT funny!" she called upward, imitating Zero.

Rory frowned. "Okay, that's exciting," she said, dusting herself off. "Any way for us to maybe climb out? Or do you guys see stairs?" She squinted. "My eyesight's not that great in this light."

Angela spins around, inspecting the space. "Sometimes it does stuff if you just ask," Angela asks hopefully. "Library? COuld you show us how to get back where we were?"

A couple candles lost their illumination on the walls.

A few others, to the left, got brighter.

"Um. To the left then!" Rory said, trying to sound braver than she felt. "I wonder if we should take a candle with us. In case, y'know?"

"Unless Zero has a flashlight in that backpack, I'd say yes," Parker said, looking around, then checking one of the scrolls, very carefully unrolling it. "Cardenio? Okay, by... W. Shakespeare." She blinked. "Right."

Sorry, no, I figured if it went dark I'd be too busy runnin' to dig it out.

To the left they went, past several more ornately carved wooden bookcases, and several locked boxes painted with Christian religious symbols. Finally, they came to a large stone arch, and an open, empty room filled with tilted desks, and high stools. On the other, far side of the room, a staircase was carved into the wall.

"This looks like an old scribes' room, or something," Rory mused, holding up the candle she'd snagged. "I'm not touching anything this time." She pointed at the stairs. "Shall we?"

"Looks like the way up, if not out." Parker glanced around, then shook her head. "Inks, gold, vellum-- I think you're right about the scribes."

Before they could reach the stairs, someone coughed behind them. It was a self-important cough, more of a "A-HEM" than anything else.

"What, may I ask, are you young women doing in our monastery?"

Rory spun around, flailing her candle in front of her. "We're sorry!" she cried.

A monk stepped out of the shadows-- tall, with gold hair cut in a tonsure, and arms crossed over his dark brown robe. He might have been handsome, if the blue eyes weren't quite so cold, and the expression so forbidding.

"Women-- especially prostitutes-- are not allowed inside the grounds," he said, walking closer, and studying their faces intently. "I am at a loss as to how you arrived, however. Your names?"

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Re: SPECIAL COLLECTIONS - Broadcast okay

Re: SPECIAL COLLECTIONS - Broadcast okay

Re: SPECIAL COLLECTIONS - Broadcast okay

Re: SPECIAL COLLECTIONS - Broadcast okay

Re: SPECIAL COLLECTIONS - Broadcast okay

Re: SPECIAL COLLECTIONS - Broadcast okay

Re: SPECIAL COLLECTIONS - Broadcast okay

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