He was convinced the universe had it in for him.
People coming back from the dead, the loss of his eye, his father turning up. Now, his “home” had been destroyed by the walking and talking clockwork that now suddenly had magic. He couldn't blame the Coterie man entirely, magic didn't always present itself at the most convenient of times, but the sight of all the painstaking restoration of some of the more fragile books turned to embers was a bitter blow.
He had still to move what little belongings he had left to Nairn's residence, but Ruth continued to linger in the Repository for some days after. The comfort of the parchment, the books and scrolls, even the dust, had made better company than familiar faces. While it reminded him of the healer's own copies lost, it was some relief that he could copy the relevant ones again. Mercifully, his journal had been with him, the one key possession that he kept with his satchel at all times.
He'd found the satchel easy enough, safely on his desk in the Refectory, but his journal was missing. Misplaced? Accidentally catalogued? Ruth had no idea, confused at first that one was without the other. Agitation quickly replaced it. The space soon looked like it had been ransacked, every drawer and cubby had been opened, the contents rummaged indiscriminately. When his search turned up empty, he moved on to the nearby stacks.
Precariously, Ruth stood on a stool searching the shelves near his claimed corner. One foot planted on a shelf, the other teetering on his toes the vertically challenged elf scoured the spines, some tossed down for later reading, while others he’d shoved aside haphazardly.
A chorus of mild cursing and grumbling came from the stack, concealing the growing anxiety and panic building. “UGH! This is not what I fucking need! Where the fuck are you?! Who has been touching my shit?!”
People coming back from the dead, the loss of his eye, his father turning up. Now, his “home” had been destroyed by the walking and talking clockwork that now suddenly had magic. He couldn't blame the Coterie man entirely, magic didn't always present itself at the most convenient of times, but the sight of all the painstaking restoration of some of the more fragile books turned to embers was a bitter blow.
He had still to move what little belongings he had left to Nairn's residence, but Ruth continued to linger in the Repository for some days after. The comfort of the parchment, the books and scrolls, even the dust, had made better company than familiar faces. While it reminded him of the healer's own copies lost, it was some relief that he could copy the relevant ones again. Mercifully, his journal had been with him, the one key possession that he kept with his satchel at all times.
He'd found the satchel easy enough, safely on his desk in the Refectory, but his journal was missing. Misplaced? Accidentally catalogued? Ruth had no idea, confused at first that one was without the other. Agitation quickly replaced it. The space soon looked like it had been ransacked, every drawer and cubby had been opened, the contents rummaged indiscriminately. When his search turned up empty, he moved on to the nearby stacks.
Precariously, Ruth stood on a stool searching the shelves near his claimed corner. One foot planted on a shelf, the other teetering on his toes the vertically challenged elf scoured the spines, some tossed down for later reading, while others he’d shoved aside haphazardly.
A chorus of mild cursing and grumbling came from the stack, concealing the growing anxiety and panic building. “UGH! This is not what I fucking need! Where the fuck are you?! Who has been touching my shit?!”
03-15-2024, 06:32 PM
