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A/N: This story started out with the first paragraph. My family had just gotten new cupboards, and I took a short nap in one of the boxes. After that I just wrote whatever felt right, rather randomly. But now I know where this story is going, although I don't know how or when or what it'll look like when it does. Sooo...read and review, I guess!
(Note: There are several grammatical errors in this chapter. I corrected them, but then my word processer crashed and...eh, it's it's 9 at night, I spent two hours working hard outside in 90-degree weather, I woke up at 6:30 this morning after getting to sleep late and need to get up at 6 this morning to go to yoga. Plus I need to finish overdue library books and make some progress on the pair of socks I'm knitting for my cousin. That, and I'm lazy.)
Besides, I'm too cheap to buy an actual bed.
I fix myself breakfast. If your idea of breakfast is hot chocolate and a loaf of Avanti's bread, anyway. Still munching, I check my email and do the rest of my boring morning chores, which mostly consist of putting on some jeans. I'm not actually sure if you could get arrested for traipsing around in a t-shirt and underwear, but best not to risk it.
Now, off to the library to do research. Research on what, you ask? Anything, mostly. Maybe some physics, although the math makes my head ache. Not sure why I still read anything about physics, seeing as they must be the most complex thing in existence and tend to go straight over my head – way, way, over – but for some reason, I read physics books anyway. Must be some sort of lemming instinct.
Work, you ask? What's that? I'm unemployed, mooching off friends mostly. I do have a few things I do for money, but they're boring and barely make enough to live on. Not that most jobs aren't like that anyway...but mine are just little things, really. Spell checking and word misusage catching are, oddly enough, useful things to do for college students who have too much studying to do to refine the material they get from it.
Oo, look! Someone new has wandered into the library... little doth he know! Only library natives come in here much. It's boring and dusty, and most of us chase out newbies as soon as they arrive. Maybe I should stop them from doing that this time. Why not? It'll be fun to watch him blunder around. And should he ever actually succeed in learning a little of the Ways of the Librarians (okay, so I lied and am doing part-time work here, too) it'll be great to have new blood. Besides, if he turns out to be the wrong sort we can always just bean him over the head with one of the heavier dictionaries and drag him through the basement tunnels into an alleyway somewhere.
New Guy is a bit geeky looking, wearing glasses, and (best of all) NERVOUS. Heheheheheh... so he should be! Thou darest disturb our tomes of knowledge, thee shalt pay the price! He's giving me a scared look now because of the evil laugh I just expelled from my Vent of Knowledge (or 'mouth' if you're slow), but everyone else is just going about their normal business. Evil laughs are not uncommon enough to draw any attention here. Of course, if someone sneezes all eyes turn to glare at them.
He's moving slowly towards the English Language section... which happens to be where I'm hiding. Oh joy. New people may be lots of fun, but that doesn't mean I want to TALK to one. Are you kidding me? They speak in whispers! People shouldn't be speaking in whispers, this is the LIBRARY. People shouldn't be speaking at all! Writing notes to each other is perfectly fine, of course. So is instant messaging on laptops. Evil laughter and the noise of plotting is all the human sound that should be heard here.
So, anyway, here comes New Guy. Wonder what he wants.
It's a whisper, but closer to a normal voice than any whisper has the right to be. “I'm looking for a good book on English Grammar.”
I reach into my bag (which contains eight books from home, five pens, three pencils, one mirror, a comb, and eight tubes of lip gloss) and pull out my notebook. Right here. Three shelves to your left, fourth from the top is where the section starts. Eighth book along is my personal favorite. He nods, and kneels down.
Did you know there's a rumor that the founder of the library was mute, and that's why nobody ever talks here? Whether it's true or not, people just don't talk in here. Oh – except for New Guy. Doesn't that guy have any clue about how to behave here? Obviously not. Let's hope he can learn, or he'll be waking up one morning by being stepped on in an alleyway.
Maybe I should do a little to change that...
I tap him on the shoulder, and hand him a note that says: Unlike most of the visitors to our fascinating library, I don't hate you yet. So here's a hint. Don't talk if there's any way to avoid it. He reads it, and nods , he doesn't ask why. Maybe he'll survive here after all. Maybe. With luck. And tolerance from the others. Except maybe Marianne- she naturally dislikes anyone who isn't led here by someone else. Personally, I don't care. If they find their way in here, and don't make a total silverfish of themselves, then they have- not a right to be here, nobody but people who've been here for more than ten years have that, but they shouldn't be booted out on their asses.
I pass him another note, reading Are you finished here? He shakes his head, and I internally groan. Quickly, I skritch out another message. What else do you need? What the- Hey! He stole my pen! Now he's scribbling something. Great, it looks like he has messy handwriting too.
Machiavelli's The Prince, Pamela Dean's Tam Lin, and Stephen Hawking's The Universe in a Nutshell.
I inwardly groan again at the thought of dragging this newbie all over the library. The Prince and The Universe in a Nutshell aren't that far away, but Pamela Dean's modernish version of the Scottish ballad is almost halfway across the library, which is so large that people have remarked more than once that you ought to be using some sort of teleportation device to get around.
You wait by my table, I write, pointing it out about twenty meters away. Don't touch anything except one of the chairs, and don't go anywhere no matter how much time I spend getting those books. He nods again, and makes his way carefully around the piles of miscellaneous library-related items towards it. I go for about five stacks in one direction for The Prince, and then double back those plus two more for Stephen Hawking's book. What? I said this place was huge. It may look like a rickety house with the sign 'Library' in front, but it's one hell of a lot bigger than it looks. I've never been to the Library of Congress, but it's probably on a similar scale. Or maybe not. This place is freaking HUGE.
And now for the trek across the library for the urban fantasy section...
It's made even worse by the previously mentioned stacks of library-related stuff, which includes such things as date stamps, glue for bindings, half-filled notebooks waiting for their owners to come back and finish them, and book snacks. What, you ask, are book snacks? That's simple. They're snacks for books. No, stupid, not like that. They're a little like...post-it notes, I guess. You put one inside the front cover, and eventually it disappears. When someone next opens the book, all rips, tears, and stains will have mysteriously vanished. Hey, wouldja look at that. Someone's left a bracelet here. I scoop it up and clasp it on inconspicuously. I glance around. Nobody in sight, not that anyone would care anyway. And whadda ya know? I'm halfway there!
Actually, I suppose it's more of a brace than a bracelet. The '-let' means small, ya know? And this is bigger than those half-inch strips of metal most girls wear. Actually, it's about four inches long and tapered at the wrist end, with two metal tab clasps so you can actually put it on and not make some poor jewelry-smith weld it on your arm. Which would hurt. Ouch.
When I reach the section where Tam Lin is, I spend some time running my fingers over the spines of the books there. Many of my favorites are shelved here, tales of elves in New York, and the Wild Hunt on motorcycles. Finally, my hand comes to rest on aforementioned book, and I drift back to the table where New Guy is sitting awkwardly, trying not to touch anything and set me off. It is the most wonderful kind of peaceful here, and many of us spend our time blissed out on all the wondrous texts surrounding us. At least, we do until some outsider comes in and starts making noise. New Guy's been unusually quiet for one of those, although he's nowhere near us yet. Maybe in a few years.
He appears not to have touched anything. At least, none of the books are trying to smother him with their pages yet or slamming his hand. Not that he has any idea of what would happen to him if he did disturb one of them. I reach the table, and carefully hand him the books. He mouths 'Thank you' and takes them. As he reaches out, his elbow brushes one of the books. It's like one of those slow-motion parts in movies, where they're showing you that something terrible is beginning to happen. Such as the hero accidentally flicking the switch that activates the bomb, or tripping over a rock at the edge of the cliff. In this case, the result was not a huge explosion. Nor was it a fall accompanying an agonized scream. It was a book slamming shut on the arm of the New Guy, doubtless resulting in several bruises. I hurriedly grabbed one of the spare book snacks lying on the table and a pen, scribbling out He didn't mean to; it was an accident, so don't panic! I jam it inside the front cover. The book, titled Power Japanese: All About Particles, slowly relaxed off his arm and back onto the table, gently falling open to the page I'd been looking at before going off for a suplament book and meeting New Guy.
Taking out my notepad again – I really should just hold onto it all the time, shouldn't I? - I write more slowly ...and that's why I told you not to touch anything. He looks at me, frightened by the book's sudden violent movement and sentience. I sigh softly, and write Dude, this isn't just an ordinary library. You could have gone to one of those; you came here. I suppose, if you want, you can leave and never come back. But if not, then get used to it already. He still looks scared, but nods and hurries off to the front desk. Which, by the by, is where Chris works.
Her full name is Christine, but she says there are far too many Christines in the world and she'd rather not be just another one, thank-you-so-very-much. She's blonde, and hates people referring to her as 'dumb'. What happened to the last guy that tried that, again? Ah yes... I believe she hogtied him, spray-painted him purple, and glued him to the front of the university building. I wish I could do stuff like that when people insulted me. Usually I just don't do anything, and try not to react. It makes for less lawsuits, vengeful girlfriends, and/or relatives, but a more boredom.
What? You thought I didn't get bored? Not while I'm here, that's true. But I do have to do other things and go other places some time. (Okay, so I lied about the 'boring' part earlier...it's only boring to people who don't like spending their life in libraries.) As much as I love it here, I can't sit in this wonderful place every day. Twice a week, usually. You know the one thing I hated most when I was younger? Having to leave the library, being dragged home by my parents. There was never enough time just to sit in a corner and read, surrounded by all those books. Happily, I can stay much longer now. Unhappily, I still have to leave a lot.
Like now; it's lunch time. Happily, I can come back afterwards. Ah, hurray for not having a real job... I write up a little 'I shall return later' sign and put it respectfully on top of my pile of books. Then I take the leisurely half-hour walk home, avoiding teenagers on skateboards and other annoyingly loud people.
Lunch today shall consist of rice eaten with chopsticks, a mushroom dish reheated from yesterday, a tomato, and a single remaining brownie...also from yesterday. No, I don't eat entire pans of brownies in a single afternoon, but it's pretty damn close. I dislike exercise, but to keep from gaining ten pounds from said brownies, I am forced to do some of it today. Hurrah.
Hey, there's a new tenant moving into my apartment building today. I wonder what they're like. Hopefully not another rock-music-played-at-270-decibels and skateboarding-down-railings teenager. There are way too many of those in my immediate neighborhood as is. No, I'm not being unfriendly. Any more than usual.
They annoy me! Nothing wrong with music, I like music. Even some rock music. Just not louder than regular speakers play. As for skateboards- bleah. Like exercise, but you don't even get any of that out of it, and you're eight times as likely to injure yourself. Plus, I was knocked down by some jerk on a skateboard a few years ago. Hurt like hell.
Lunch and annoying exercise finished, I retreat back to the library.
On my way I spot New Guy (still don't know his name) sitting on a park bench and perusing Tam Lin. He spots me and waves. I tentatively wave back. Maybe it'll be nice to have him be part of the library after all.
I also nearly get mown down by another teen on a skateboard, this one female. She shouts “Sorry!” as she zooms past three inches away from my arm. I swear, what is it with skateboard users and me? It's like there's some sort of conspiracy! Not even cars have this kind of vendetta against me. And yes, I have nearly been run over several times- I suppose I'm just stupid about not seeing them even when I check both directions. But if it happens one more time I'm going to go hunting for a countercurse in the 'Ancient and Supposedly Arcane Texts' section. I swear.
Back in the library, I decide to go exploring again. I've been going here for six years and I know I still haven't seen all of it. I pick up where I last left off, by the 'Little-Known Periodicals from Two Hundred Years Ago' section. (Yes, that is the actual name. At least, that's what the little bronze plaque says.)
I wander off into the shelves beyond that seem to stretch out for eternity with such names as 'Magazines in Obscure Languages That Died Out Six Months After Said Magazines Were Discontinued' and 'Remarkably Accurate Science Fiction From 0-1500 CE'. Eventually I come across 'Relatively Unknown Yet Oddly Accurate Life Stories as Told by Seers Over 100 Years Ago' and skim until I find one I know. Evidently my cousin Sye is going to have a very interesting life indeed... who knew that some of those improbable fantasy manga got some things right?
I hear someone's heavy footsteps heading towards me. Too heavy for the usual library natives, but no one except us ever makes it past the 'Back Issues of Newspapers Far Too Old to Have Been Read by Anyone Living' part of the library. Which is incredibly large in and of itself- I mean, do you have any idea how many issues of the New York Times there are from before the 1920s? I tense, and reach into the shelf I'm sitting against for a heavy book. (I later noticed it was about Princess Diana- funny thing, life.)
The footsteps round the corner...
And I'm face to face with the most normal-looking person I've ever seen. Seriously. The guy was anywhere from 5'5 to 6'1, hair appeared all shades from mid-brown to blond, and he had no distinguishing features what-so-ever. He was...average. I doubt anyone could ever remember exactly what he looks like. (I've just noticed I tend to switch present/past tenses in my head...it's a wonder I haven't confused my inner voices to death.) He whispers – whispers! You've heard what we're like about that here! - “I'm lost. Could you help me get back home?”
“...”
...Probably not, considering the fact that being 'lost' in here is impossible. You're either a native like me, in which case you don't get lost, or a visitor, in which case you shouldn't be more than ten yards from the door. I've never been sure what exactly keeps them there, but none of them ever move farther away than that. This guy is obviously not a native if he's whispering, and since he's not glued inside said thirty-foot radius, neither is he someone from outside. That only leaves a) some type of Rip Van Winkle thing where he's a librarian who slept for a thousand years (doubtful, since he's clean-shaven and has neatly trimmed hair) or b), someone from elsewhere. Inwardly I sigh. This sort of thing happens more often than you'd think...
All librarians are required to carry a folder(slash backpack) of explanatory information in case something of this sort happens to them. It contains the standard package of: basic planetary and geographical information should the visitor be from another world entirely; a map of the surrounding area should said visitor be chased, a book titled An Overview of Modern Life for the Outsider(written and illustrated by Dominique Saren, an expert on inter-world and -temporal travel), and a book containing one sentence of every language and every alphabet ever discovered by any member of a library, in tiny print. The thing's a bitch to haul around, and we've all ditched it once or twice. But then something like this happens to one of us, and everybody realizes they're stuck with the damn things for a reason.
Like now.
Luckily, there's no need for him to spend half an hour flipping through the Book of Every Known Language(re-issued yearly) hunting for a word he recognizes, since he's already proved he can speak English. Unluckily, he'll have to do that anyway if he doesn't use Roman characters. Luckily, when I write Shhh; this is a library. on my notepad and shove it in front of his face he seems to understand. He grabs both pen and paper from me – I am startled by this, but not overly agitated. He writes My name is Adam. I would like to have somewhere to stay until I find my way home. I feel rather uncertain of him. Visitors from elsewhere are not always benevolent, and the fact that he said 'Can you help me get back home?' first and then later replaced it with 'Can you give me somewhere to stay until I find my way home?' makes me a little uneasy.
There are denizens of the library who deal specifically in this, finding the world travellers came from and then transporting them back. Normally, I would bring him straight to one of them. Unfortunately, my curiosity is stronger than my common sense in this. Telling the senior librarians will have to wait – I'm not sure I want this 'Adam' near someone with so much knowledge. Fortunately, I have their email addresses. I don't think I want this man out of my sight, even though there is not much I could do if he decided to go psychotic and do something like, say, knifing the nearest librarian. He will have to stay in my apartment, or at least in the building. This 'not letting the possible spy slash psycho out of my sight' thing is going to have a bit of a downside. Like, him following me everywhere. Oh joy.
I grab the notepad and pen back from him and write Here's the standard orientation package for people like yourself, visitors from elsewhere. It is said to help a great deal, although I am not sure how true that is. Honestly, if I have to communicate with people this much in the library I might just cave in and buy a laptop. It'd be a hell of a lot easier. I sit down and swing the backpack off my shoulders, unzip it, and dump the contents on the floor. Handing him the sheaf of clipped-together papers that contain the personal information of our planet and An Overview of Modern Life for the Outsider, I go back to searching through the 'Relatively Unknown Yet Oddly Accurate Life Stories as Told by Seers Over 100 Years Ago' shelves for a biography of someone I've heard of. His reading all this will probably take several hours, and I don't want something to happen while I go and fetch my research material.
He nods. I quietly sigh in relief; not having someone else to chop the vegetables is a real pain. Lentil soup is great, but with the amount of people to eat it there's nothing left after a few days no matter how big a batch you make. (Quadruple. Which requires a soup pot you're not likely to see the equal of in your lifetime, except possibly in vat form.)
The walk back home is a lot more fun than usual, as Adam evidently comes from a world without cars. The sight of him eeping and hiding behind me of all people (if you could see me, you'd understand...) is completely and utterly hilarious. There are skateboards, but none of them try to run us down, much to my relief. I am happy to see that New Guy is nowhere in sight, as I'm certain he'd be laughing at me should he spot us. I still don't really trust Adam, but it's a lot harder to think of someone possibly being a dangerous spy when he's meeping at everything and crouching behind me hugging my legs. It's easier to concentrate on concealing my laughter, which is no mean feat considering I tend to laugh at nearly anything.
When we get home (look! I referred to it as 'home' for once rather than 'my apartment') I get started with the lentils and rice, and then show him where the knives are and what vegetables need to be chopped. While said foods cook(I can't refer to them in any other way seeing as rice are grains and lentils are pulses) I pick the cilantro leaves from the stems and begin on the onions & spices portion of the work. Adam is left to sit with his hands in his lap...or is until I tell him to finish the cilantro.
Now it's time for the people who share my building to come mooch off my cooking!
...if anyone asks, he's my cousin's friend who needs somewhere to stay while he's in town.
I don't know whether my character is male or female. I'm not sure exactly how old they are. (Although, they are obviously old enough to have their own apartment.) I don't know what kind of name to give them.
As to that last, I just need a type of name.I've called a female main character in another story (which is kinda on the back burner right now) Alex, and a male character from that story Liadan, which is pronounced LEE-din and means 'Grey Lady' in Gaelic. I've also given female characters names like Ishtar and Chouko.
Help a poor, main-character-clueless writer out, yeah?
Better title suggestions would also be welcome.
