fandomhigh | Inside Special Collections, Friday (Reply)

	The doors to Special Collections parted. They revealed... space. An incredible, nearly unimaginable amount of space. Stars, up and down, left and right. Step inside, if you dare.
	"Oh, whoooooa," Arden said, looking around at the vast...vastness of space. Look, she wasn't a poet, if she had been, she'd be busy being out there right now. "Are you sure it's--" She bit back the word 'safe.' Mr. Constantine had told her Special Collections had been dangerous even before all this started, so it was highly doubtful it was going to be safe now. "Is it always like this?"
	Dean was about to step through and stopped when he saw there was... well nothing but stars. "Uh. I wasn't under the impression there would be books?" Dean asked. "What kind of crazy fun house is this?"
	"Yeah, this is about right," Constantine said, his hands shoved casually in the pockets of his coat. "Special Collections will be what she'll be." "Sometimes it's book stacks, sometimes she's a murder labyrinth, sometimes we get all of space and time." With that, he strode forward, lazily pulling a hand out to wave them all forward after him. "Once more into the breach, and all that. Step lively."
	"Magic's going to magic," Margo added. She sauntered after Constantine, looking very much Done With It already.
	"Well, if that's how it works," Dean said with a shrug and stepped out... Or is stepped in? Look, either way he went through the portal.
	Vast...was a very good word for this. The Vast hadn't been as horrid to Jon as some of the other Fears, but that didn't mean he didn't have a bit of vertigo and dizzy fear. Eventually, though, he took a deep breath and followed the others.
	Well, other people had stepped in and nobody had started screaming or melting or turning blue (from freezing and/or asphyxiation), so Arden also walked in. She couldn't help but hold her breath when she went through, though, which...made no sense on any level.
	Jon looked over at her and offered his best encouraging smile. It was probably more of a grimace, but he was trying!
	"Keep up and stick together," John called over his shoulder with a grin. "You're not going to fall, unless you fall too far behind." Constantine. That was probably not as reassuring as you think it is.
	"I've worked in this library for years and I had no idea this was anything like this," Belle said as she followed along with the others. Well, maybe she'd had some idea but who could really be prepared for such a thing without experiencing it themselves?
	Yeah, okay, the holding her breath thing was stupid and Arden let it out in a deep sigh, doing her best to stay pretty close to Mr. Constantine. The idea of falling too far behind seemed bad and she had no desire to explore it any further than that. "How do we know what we're looking for?"
	"It'll probably glitter or shimmer or some shit," Margo muttered. Before her, just a little to the right and ahead of them all the stars abruptly swirled, turning abruptly around, as if circling a drain without ever dipping in. "Or... whatever that is," she muttered.
	"Or that's something we should avoid that will suck us in regardless," Jon suggested, terrified but resigned to it.
	When the stars started swirling around Dean started looking over his shoulder just to make sure that no one started to sneak up on them. "Maybe it's like the off color brick in a cartoon, right?" Dean said. "Or is that swirly thing X marking the spot?"
	"Well, one way to find out," John said, pulling a feather out of his pocket and tossing it in the air. "Invenire." The feather hovered in the air for a moment, rotating as if a compass trying to find True North, then zipped towards the swirling stars at top speed, not waiting for them to follow. "Looks like we found our rabbit hole," he quipped, walking towards the swirling stars with confidence. "Let's not keep it waiting."
	"Well when all else fails, follow the guy in the trench coat," Dean said, shrugging and following Constantine.
	"He's the one who signs my paychecks," Arden said. Also, you know, super-magical and in charge of the Library and the warden of Special Collections, but she was being quippy right now. That's how people could tell you were cool and not at all full of bees and inward panic. Being quippy.
	Some people could tell you were afraid regardless. But that just meant Jon would try to make Arden feel better. "Erm...He seems to know what he's doing?" Look, he was doing his best!
	"Oh, fuck, let's just go, Jon," Margo said, exasperated. She was moving fast enough to catch up with Constantine within moments.
	Was he the Jon she was addressing? No. Was that going to stop Constantine? Absolutely the fuck not. "Love a woman who knows what she wants," he said to her with a grin, "--and isn't intimidated by a wee bit of chaos."
	"I've been up to my ass in weird magic shit for years. If a library this small thinks it can scare me, it can fuck right off," Margo said, with a light shrug. And an elaborate series of hand gestures, which lit magical lights that hummed all around the dirty old shed she stepped right into.
	Within the swirl of stars, a door had opened. It swung open as if under the force of its own gravity, revealing, within-- a small wooden cabin. Twin round windows sat at the back, and you could just make out a desk between them with a typewriter on it. To the left stood an empty blackboard. To the right, a closed file cabinet. An owl hooted.
	Arden wasn't sure what where they were next or how she'd ended up in front, but she stepped into the room of the cabin and looked around. There were plenty of things to poke at, but Arden went straight for the typewriter. That's what people were doing a lot, right? Writing things, drawing things, all that stuff? So maybe this typewriter was a clue. There wasn't any paper in the front, but she knew of one other place to check. Grinning a little, she murmured, "Thanks, Duke," as she popped out the ink ribbon and held it up to the light. Maybe there'd be nothing. Maybe this was a magic typewriter that had never been typed on. Or maybe it typed with stardust and butterfly wings. Who knew? But she was doing something and that was better than just fretting about everything.
	"Smart," Dean said in a complimentary fashion as he went to took out the window just to get an idea of where the hell they were. Nope. No idea. "Anyone have an idea what this place is?" It looked like someplace Chuck would work out of. He was immediately distrustful of it all.
	"None whatsoever," Belle said ever-so-helpfully. "Except for it's somehow inside the library in some way." The library was way bigger on the inside. She peered around Arden to get a better look at the desk.
	"It could be any number of things. A manifestation of Special Collections, a liminal space pulled into the library's orbit when it came unmoored from its original reality, something connected to any of the libraries across space and time... if you can dream it, it can be true," Constantine said, striding over to the file cabinet to fuss with it. If it was locked, it wouldn't be shortly.
	"I don't know what it is," Jon said, "so it's definitely something powerful. Or connected to something powerful." He eyed the typewriter mistrustfully and moved to a corner to keep an eye on everything with his back to the wall.
	The ribbon in Arden's hands did hold words, if you looked at it properly, under the right light. ARDEN LIFTS THE RIBBON TO MEET HER GAZE, it reads. SHE FROWNS. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? THE FRUIT SHE SEEKS HANGS FURTHER. It cuts off there.
	Margo joined Constantine by the filing cabinet, squinting at it with her one eye. She gave one of the drawers a tug, too. Definitely locked. "Right, I got a paperclip and some magic," she muttered. "You?"
	Arden read the message and realized, belatedly, that she was frowning as she attempted to puzzle out the meaning. "Neat," she said a little lamely, raising her voice to be heard, not that this was a particularly large room. "Uh. So, according to what I'm reading on the ribbon, I think our princess - maybe just my princess? - is in another castle." She read off the message, slow and clear. "So, whoever wrote something last knew I was coming? Maybe? Or..." Dammit, she was frowning again.
	Did anyone see Dean twitch right now? Because he truly twitched. “Please tell me there’s nothing here referring to a Carver Edlund. Or someone named Chick.”
	"I haven't seen any names at all yet," Belle said, frowning at the desk and its random papers. "Why are those names an issue?"
	"Just an issue for me," Dean said with a scowl. "Just a guy from my past who was the worst." Dean looked around the room and thought back to the last few days. "Everything that's happened isn't his style though. He's too full of himself to keep it hidden."
	"Well I suppose we've narrowed it down by one then?" Belle said. "Though that doesn't do much to help us unless it makes you feel a little more comfortable?"
	Constantine smirked at Margo. "Don't worry, sunshine, I'm a regular delinquent," he drawled, pulling out lock-picks from one of his pockets. "Let me give it a go." It look only a moment for the lock to audibly click and pop out, releasing all the drawers. "Right then!" he exclaimed, immediately opening the bottom drawer. "Let's see what we have here. They always stash the good shite in the bottom." Which meant, of course, he was going to start pulling out the files in there, stacking them on the floor. "File, file...come on people, start grabbing shite and get reading, file...ah, hello there. You've got a fake bottom." Everything else was immediately tossed on the floor, files included, as nicely as he could manage in his haste to pry out the thin piece of metal and fling it to the side. A slow grin spread across his face. "Guess I'll start on this," he said, holding aloft a small book. "Anything they don't want us to find is a grand place to look."
	Margo watched him show off with the lock-picks and pulled a face. "Oh, please with the showy, who here hasn't robbed a bank?" she muttered. But it didn't stop her from leaning over to try and get a peek at that book.
	Jon, meanwhile, was reaching semi-reluctantly for the files. They ought to check them as well, and this was something he had experience in. "If I start monologuing, burn these and slap me out of it," he said to no-one in particular. Well, realistically probably to Margo. He could trust her to do it.
	Well, with folks handling the files, the desk, and the file cabinet, Arden was gonna toss the creepy typewriter ink ribbon and go see if the blackboard had anything written on it. She was hoping for 'useful,' but her money was on 'creepy.'
	Dean opened a folder and frowned. “Okay. I just found a bunch of Dungeons and Dragons character sheets. Let’s see… Aethelreda Northclyf, valiant paladin of the Order of the Golden Goddess. And she has a mystic bond with a horse. And Aaploe Egraa who apparently has every weapon known to man,” Dean closed the file and put it to the side. “That one goes in the trash can.”
	"Not even a decently balanced party," Jon scoffed. He waved his own folders. "I've got poetry. Bad, overly flowery poetry, mostly about 'burgeoning life' and 'dark inspirations'. Couldn't they just have written it plainly?"
	John was busy trying to play keep-away with Margo, because this was HIS diary, dammit. "If I start a monologue, will that keep you from setting-off?" he asked Jon over his shoulder. "I could do a dramatic rendition." He flipped to a random page. "Fandom, First Semester, March 1952," he began dramatically as he paced, "--The town devolves into havoc as the creations of the author continued to-- fuck me, this is actually something." John stopped his wandering, reading quickly. "The creations of this bloke named 'Alan' were going coming to life and going nuts...'We realized the presence was driving us towards something, some dark end; with every step we took, it grew darker still. The answer, then, was to change direction, and force it to change paths to meet us.'" "Fucking hell. We have to fight a narrative."
	"How very Taylor Swift of us," Margo sighed. "Great. How do we do that?"
	There was little on the blackboard of substance. Some scribbles about horror stories, the first two bullet points of a plot outline. And a single word beneath them, the only writing on the board that was a solid blue rather than white. Door?
	Arden was going to be very embarrassed about this if it didn't work (and possibly even if it did), but needs must and all that, so... "Um. Arden stood in front of the blackboard and, uh, knocked, feeling like an idiot but, um, how else do you get a closed door to open?" And after saying that aloud, she raised her knuckles to the surface of the blackboard and rapped three times.
	And, just like that... The blackboard parted in the middle, revealing a pathway forward.
	The path fit into a space where no path should be able to go-- mindbogglingly, it ran straight past the empty space behind it, ignoring the walls that kept them in. In the distance, there was the twinkling of stars. And trees, swaying gently in the breeze, some lining the path, some on a tall ridge far near the back. An empty well sat, barely visible, right before the ridge. The trees on the ridge were heavy with fruit.
	Dean was looking at one more folder as he went through the blackboard/door/portal. "I think I found a recipe for pie. Four cups of sliced peaches. Two cups of belladona berries.... Belladona?" He looked closer at the recipe. "Never mind. This was written in blood." He closed and then tossed the folder back through the blackboard/door/portal. No way he was taking that with him. Dean sighed and looked around at the new setting. "All right. What do we do here?" he pointed at the well. "Make a wish?"
	Arden shook her head, looking at those trees, that well. "This is some fairy tale bullshit and I don't like it," she said. Name one time when taking fruit off a tree without permission ended well, especially fruit that was meant to confer some kind of knowledge. Go on, she'll wait.
	"I've read a lot of fairy tales," Belle said. "I don't remember any of them going like this. But the well might be for wishing? Or there might be something in there that wants to eat us or drown us or maybe we're meant to drink the water for some magical effect..."
	"Or maybe the whole thing is just going to blow up in our faces," Margo growled. She was once again queen-striding into the area, her eye narrowed. (Wouldn't this have been a nice time to have a magic eye? It sure would.) She pressed a single foot against the stone of the well. "Seems sturdy."
	"Well, if it's a narrative we seek to rewrite, let's make a story," Constantine said, looking up at the sky as he followed Margo. "And lo, the brave band entered the Woods Beyond, seeking the answers that lay waiting," he proclaimed dramatically. "Where they came upon the well at the ridge, and looked for a sign." What? It had worked for Arden!
	Up on the ridge, a single apple fell from a tree. It hit the ground and rolled into the grass. Pinned to the bark of that tree was... something white? Small, but still.
	"That's rather ominous," Belle said. "I suppose we ought to look at that tree?"
	Jon already wasn't trusting any of this. Forgive him if he was sticking close to Margo as most likely to kick ass. "Sure. Let's let ourselves be led around by words. That never ends poorly."
	"I think...The ink ribbon said that the fruit I sought hung much further," Arden said. "Betting it's that one right there. If it involves eating anything, though, I'm giving it to Dean." With that, she jogged up the ridge to see what the note said, carefully stepping around the apple as she did. "ARDEN TOOK THE NOTE FROM THE TREE. WAS THIS THE CLUE SHE HAD BEEN LOOKING FOR?" she read aloud. "IT WAS SO CLOSE, SHE COULD SMELL IT. A SWEET SCENT, LIKE THE APPLE THAT LAID AT HER FEET." She frowned. "I find your use of apples as the fruit of knowledge to be highly derivative," she grumbled at whatever might have been listening. "We got over Biblical symbolism decades ago." That wasn't stopping her from looking down at the probably-metaphorical-apple resting on the ground at her definitely-literal-feet.
	"Supposedly it's a quince and not an apple but that's just details," Dean said following behind Arden. "What'd you want me to eat? This?" Dean picked up the apple and took a bite. "Ugh. Red delicious."
	Jon gave him an incredulous look. "Congratulations. What if it's poison?"
	"Then we hope the story doesn't want him to die," Belle said. "Though magic poison apples are more likely to curse you than truly kill you." Source: she came from a fairy tale world. With Snow White.
	John facepalmed. "Jon. Belle. Can we not give the narrative any Bad Ideas? We need to craft it to work for us, not against." "Like, say, focusing on how eating the apple could gain Dean the knowledge he needs to solve our current crisis."
	"Right." Jon took a deep breath. "I'm sure this is a good apple!" he said, overly brightly. "Nothing bad could possibly happen from eating the mysterious fruit. I'm sure it's just what we need!" Look, he was trying! He wasn't an optimist by nature.
	While everyone was paying attention to Dean eating the apparently-literal-apple, Arden was just going to duck down and pick up the folded piece of paper that had been tucked beneath it. "Umm, everyone? I think this is what we were looking for," she said, unfolding it. Sorry, Dean. Nobody deserved red delicious apples.
	The paper was way less likely to be deadly and honestly probably tasted better than the apple. "What does it say?" Belle asked, stepping closer to Arden.
	It was a page from a typewriter, with the name A. Wake in the upper left corner; the author, was Arden's best guess. There were only two paragraphs of text, which she scanned over quickly just in case there was something there she might not want to read out loud - thank you, radio, for that instinct. "A fictional poet once said 'Beyond the shadow you settle for, there is a miracle, illuminated.' I will not settle for a shadow. I will find the miracle, through the night. It's not just victims and monsters; I see now, there are heroes as well. We can find our way through the darkness. We will break through the surface and crash into the light," she read aloud. "It has taken so. Long. The process to change reality is so delicate, to be true in just the right way and still find a way past our flaws. So many drafts. So many photographs. And the music..." Arden's brow furrowed as she thought that over. "So, Mr. Constantine said that we were fighting a narrative, yeah?" she asked. "I think this is the how. It's not just like...firing a bazooka at it, we need a scalpel." She glanced around to see if she was making sense to anyone else.
	… “So we’re doing surgery?” Dean asked as he tossed the remainder of the apple on the ground.
	"Are we qualified for that?" Belle asked. She was eyeing the discarded apple suspiciously in case it went rogue.
	"No, no, I mean... whatever we do, we have to be precise about it. This is gonna take some delicate needle-threading here, we can't just throw shit at a wall and see what works."