What's this? What's this? There's weird shit everywhere | Day Four, Morning [OPEN]

[justbeclaws]

No one not intimately familiar with the library would notice, but there have been some rearrangements of furniture in one particular out-of-the-way corner. Said corner, and the burnished oak desk inside it, are screened from the stacks even more than they already were, inaccessible to anyone unwilling to climb over some extremely uncomfortable-looking chairs.

Or crawl under them, of course.

Her den arranged to her immediate satisfaction, the typewriter makes her way forth in search of something less immediately satisfying: the lay of the land. She wants to know where things are, including people (and people who are also things). And who knows, perhaps there will be information hidden somewhere about the house and its Keeper, secrets not even Mason knows.

It seems right to her that a moderately stealthy expedition (there's no reason to be stealthy, particularly, but she doesn't really trust anything around her) should take place in the morning. Whether or not she's right about this remains to be seen.

Comments

[crabhammer]

"What–?" He pauses, and frowns, but from the way he looks at her, searching, the possibility of a memory is one he's more than willing to consider.

To his disappointment, though, no recognition dawns.

"... I don't know," he says, still suspiciously, but nonetheless kind of hopeful. "Is it?"

[justbeclaws]

"I'm not surre," she says frankly. "I know someone, but I don't know who. And you and the man who's the firre, you look so similarr...Purrrrhaps I'm imagining things." She's almost completely sure that the person she knew had only two eyes, but she's also fairly sure that her horns haven't always made noises, so that's no help.

[crabhammer]

"Oh – right. The hearth guy. We have the same face, except for ..." He flexes his mandibles. "I don't know why," he admits, "but we must have some kind of, you know, connection, right, so ... maybe you know both of us ..." He looks at her helplessly. "What do you remember?"

[justbeclaws]

It never occurred to her that it might be both of them she's half-remembering, two people who overlap so much she remembers them as one, perhaps? She can't remember anything that would help her tell, any more than she can recall a way of telling which is which. One older, one younger - but neither the age of the person she remembers.

"I was with thrree people, orr I think it was thrree. We werre talking and laughing." She misses that, so fiercely it burns. She wants it back. Considering who's asking, she goes into more detail. "We were all similar, the same kind of skin and hair, but there was one who looked like you, with small round horns and red in his eyes, and one in yellow with...I think he had four horns, not two, and the third, I haven't seen her or anyone like her, but she was older, and she was in green, and one of her horns had this little hook at the tip." It's hard to put everything into words, and some of the details she guards jealously. They're all she has.

[crabhammer]

He nods, listening keenly. None of what she says means anything to him, but the idea that it could...

"I remember I had a group of people," he blurts out. "I was – I was their leader. I helped them ... get along with each other, and stuff. But I don't remember who any of them were."

[justbeclaws]

It's something. Or it might be something? That doesn't ring any bells, but it doesn't not ring any bells, either.

"It's like putting togetherr a brroken image assembly activity, only most of the pieces arren't even therre and you've lost the box too!" she exclaims, her horns dinging irately. "...Hang on a meowment." She walks over and kicks the table leg. It hurts her toes but relieves her feelings.

[crabhammer]

"Okay, but I – whoah," he says, lifting one of his big ungainly monster hands as if he was sort of about to put a hand on her arm to hold her back, except she's already done it; he drops his hand to his side. "You could have been one of them," he says, his brow furrowed in frustration. That is, he decides, enough for him.