Library, Saturday

[snipsnspecks]

Ahsoka hadn't needed the radio to know something was up. The Force hung heavy and foreboding, and itched in her teeth and montrals, again. She was just glad that she wasn't having those kind of dreams this time. Yet.

She distracted herself by reordering the books, and refilling the caf.

Comments

Re: Special Collections (Dun dun dun)

[talentforlying]

Constantine stood at the entrance to Special Collections, shaking his head. "Well now, this is a new configuration for you. Normally you at least pretend to be a library." There was no answer from the void, not that he was expecting one. If there'd been one...well, it wouldn't have been unexpected, given the circumstances, but it definitely would have been worrisome.

Astronomy had never been Constantine's strong suit in school, mostly because he was a high school dropout. Being able to read them for divination purposes, however? Well, he was no Xanadu or Rose, but he could get on well enough at recognizing the major ones, and going from there.

With a glance at Aphra's notes he set off confidently, striding across star fields, appearing utterly unconcerned that there was nothing under his feet. These were the rules of magic, not science. And magic would do what he damn well wanted it to do.

He turned right at Cassiopeia and--

"Well now, what have we got here?"

On a pedestal sat a small, tattered, unassuming little book. More of a pamphlet, really, and Constantine carefully lifted it from its rest, mindful not to damage it as he cracked the covers open.

"Not much to you, is there, old girl?" he murmured, flipping through the thin volume. "'December 1768,' no wonder you're in rough shape, and look at that..." John poked at the spine a bit, and the few tattered, tell-tale bits of remaining paper. "Someone's gone and ripped a page out of you, too."

"Now, what have you got left in here, eh? 'Ritual that Desummoneth?' The fuck kind of word is 'desummoneth?'"

Place upon each corner the following items:

A single fork, of no great heritage;
A pumpkin, shining in its simplicity;
A daisy;
A writing implement containing no frills;
A strand of brown hair.

Then chant these words aloud:
Begone, foul thing--
Begone, foul thing--
We find you loathsome, revolting, and quite smelly;
Your tendrils strike us as outrageous.
Catapultam, turpi ilud!

"Your author's latin is shite, and their spells structure is even worse," he informed the book, slipping it into his inner suit pocket. "But you're the best lead we've got, and I've tried stupider. Let's go talk to the others."