thechanged | Gun Show in the Library with the Rifle | Day 4 - Morning/Day

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Gun Show in the Library with the Rifle | Day 4 - Morning/Day | Open

[Scenario A: Only those who have had previous positive interactions with Zoe, please!]

A person can only spend so much time staring at books she can't read before the urge to do something that feels marginally more meaningful - and physical - takes over. Lights had said the Keeper wasn't there anymore, and Mason had confirmed he'd gone walking out in the world some time ago. The questions of where and why and for how long eat at her. The not knowing seems almost as bad as knowing might. If she is only going to have herself, limited as her memories of who she is are, for another few days, she wants to know it.

She has those she would think to call on. Ones that seem ready enough to go looking, too. She has a few ideas about where to look - the Keeper's bedroom - and how to do it, but a part of her knows that one head can hold only so many thoughts on where to stash a diary, date book, or whatever else the white creature in her dreams and nightmares uses to plan his schedule.

The library is her domain now, or as near to it as can be said. She begins to search for her allies, thoughts of a brigade scouring the Keeper's bedroom in her head. There might not be that many, but she'd take what she could get. When she happens upon one, her greeting is simple: "Goin' huntin' for things we ain't meant to have. Interested in comin'?"

[Scenario B: Anyone who would like to have Zoe prod at their possession form like the possession prodder that she is can tag into this one!]

The library is enormous and its inhabitants and transient visitors scattered. Even with a focused intent, her gaze is drawn to the myriad objects and books the Keeper has in his possession. She has yet to grow tired of her returned senses, though she's learned to curb her apparent enthusiasm since her initial exploration of the shelves in the Hearth Room. Still, a particularly interesting book, statue, or other item may pull at her to go touch, smell, experience it. Her stance from the first day remains: If it's a person and they don't like it, they're welcome to say as much.

[Scenario C: Anyone who would like to have Zoe approach them as a person can tag into this one!]

As for anyone physically there for her to see, she nods politely at them. Potential allies lurk in the most unassuming of bodies sometimes, after all. Her gaze is calculating on these ones, searching out hostility before she approaches. She has no desire to start a fight. That would be counterproductive when she's seeking extra pairs of willing eyes and hands. Her greeting is more weary for those she does not know, but it's still friendly enough: "You find anything you can read in here, I'll find a hat to eat. Reckon the Keeper's the finest linguist in the 'verse or don't get to readin' but a fraction of what he steals."

Her stance is guarded, arms crossed over her bare chest and head cocked to one side. Her polished body shines faintly in the library's lights, and the smell of gunpowder hangs heavy in the air around her.

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She's not the only one so polished, and there's something rather radiant in the luster of this Fairest's armor-- although possibly only because of the aggressively crimson hue of so much of his plating.

"What's a hat?" he asks absently, knife-sharp and scalpel-fine fingers delicately turning one more page of the volume he's perusing... Ah, but hopelessly. This one's as incomprehensible as the last, and every other one he's opened, no matter how familiar the angular sigils on the cover looked.

He shuts it with a snap and slots it back into place on the shelf, sighing-- a sound that emerges not from his nose but the slats on his belly. "And don't you think 'steals' is a bit... harsh, hm?" He looks over at her for the first time, optics black and glowing red in a white face that's just as polished as the rest of him (and her, for that matter).

"Oh yeah? What kinds of things?" Lights asks, forgetting to turn around to face her. He's floating somewhere in the lounge at present, legs tucked up beneath him.

She notices her approach out of her periphery, but doesn't focus on her until she's addressed. That isn't a dialect she's familiar with. She repeats the other changeling's words in her head in an effort to understand.

" 'Steals'?" is her reply, slow and thoughtful, as she glances up from the indecipherable pages to the changeling beside her.

The smell of gunpowder bothers the hydra not a bit, though she isn't self-aware enough to realize why, or that it might be unusual at all.

A boy with hair so red it almost seems alight is angrily mumbling to himself as he yanks books off the shelves and shoves them back. He barely acknowledges the lady's initial nod and continues scowling at each squiggle-infested book he pulls down.

Once he takes a second to register her little speech, the page sighs and says, "I guess you're right." He closes the book in his hands and shoves it back on the shelf.

As he turns to face her, the page grunts and scowls a little. "You're shiny...what brings you to this part of the mansion?"

There is a large green book lying invitingly open on one of the library's polished tables. It's text is as incomprehensible to the gun as most of the other volumes she's seen, though it may feel frustratingly familiar despite that fact. Still, there are illustrations to peruse, of gorgeously colored if anatomically improbable beasts.

Her other form has wandered some aisles away, searching for anything interesting in the stacks. The use of her hands had been momentarily pressing when another volume catching her attention. By the time she'd decided it was useless, another shelf had caught her attention. The need to watch over her book form was forgotten.

[She isn't written in Japanese, but in something that's very reminiscent of it, just fyi.]

A man-beast, covered in wildly striped hair and absolutely disinterested in the unending sea of unreadable literature, paces near one of the largest library shelves.

Tirelessly he has spent the past four days prowling up and down the House corridors. There are two sorts of creatures he seeks: First, those who will join his efforts to organize the Keeper's things, preferably individuals that he can recall as members of the Inner or Outer Guard; and second, those rulebreakers and displaced Things who have abandoned their stations and contributed to the chaotic atmosphere in the halls. If he does not have the manpower or the means to round the disordered Things and set them back to their tasks, he shall at least keep a running list in his mental filing cabinet of what sort of creature he is dealing with. The Guard must be ever-vigilant, even though -- or rather because -- Master remains mysteriously absent.

This morning, the acrid and intoxicatingly familiar stench of Gunpowder lured him to the Library. At the sound of that firm, almost feminine greeting, he raises his ruffed head and flashes a toothy, terse grin.

This one. She is what brought him here, he notes with a pronounced twitch of his nose, with that thick gunpowder cloud she carries with her. He recognizes her vaguely. That could be either good or bad for the gunpowder girl, depending: the only scents and faces he remembers belongs to either other Guardsmen, or to creatures he once herded when he was put to task.

"Unlikely." His proud voice probes like a sharp growl, abrupt and sudden, from the corner of his stretched lips. He gazes at Gunpowder Girl steadily. "You are asking the wrong Beast. I do not read. I've got no use for that."

Edited 2013-09-03 03:56 (UTC)

Here is another one that reminds her of Spots. His questions do not endear him to her nearly so much as the snow leopard, though. The first one does give her pause to think. She knows what a hat is, but why she offered to eat one should he succeed is beyond her. It seems nonsensical.

"Hat's head-covering," she answers simply, leaving it to him to inquire after the odd idiom should he desire. She hopes he doesn't, though. "And I think pullin' me here to be a gun from my world was harsh. Don't see a reason to think the Keeper needs any kindness from me. He ain't here to appreciate it none."

Her shrug is noncommittal as she takes a moment to look over the creature before her more closely. She wonders at his purpose in the Keeper's entourage. He's handsome enough to be a plaything like Pink and Blue, she supposes, but those razor edges on his fingers would seem to indicate another function. There's also something vaguely familiar about him, though she can't place what that might be.

"Were you close to him, the Keeper?" she asks. Perhaps he was a fellow weapon or guard?

She doesn't take it as an insult, at least. Talking to someone's back while they're focused on something else is familiar in its own frustratingly vague way. "Keeper's notes, diary, day planner. Had a talk with the house, stupid as it might be, the other night." Her smile is honestly amused as looks up at him. "Also had cause to listen when he was yellin' at other folk. Seems he don't want us knowin' where his master's run off to. And don't have a notion how long it'll be 'til he returns.

"Wouldn't mind knowin' some of that. Helps plannin' if we know the timeline we're workin' under."

She looks over the scaled woman, sizing her up. This one, she thinks, could be a threat if she took a notion to be. As they're hardly at hello, though, the metallic woman simply inclines her head.

"You got a better word for takin' a body from her home and stickin' her in a mansion filled up with everything a ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng could want, I'm all ears." She smiles, the expression tight. "You don't look like the kind he would've kept inside, though."

Her brows rise slowly. Both the smile and her last comment go unacknowledged because holy balls, what the hell did she just say?

Once again, she repeats the sentence, but to no avail. At length, she says, "He didn't, I was out--"

Her brows furrow. " 'He'? You've met... him?"

His ears twitch, and he shifts so that he can hear her better, if nothing else. His empty eyes blink heavily, like he's trying to process what she's getting at.

"Well...fuck. Does someone like her even need notes?" He hesitates. "I mean like...would she tell the house if he's going to be in charge?"

He runs the fingers of one hand thoughtfully over one of the crests of the helm he's wearing, and decides to leave the question of hats at that. He doesn't know why she'd offer to eat one either, but frankly, he doesn't care.

"A gun, hm?" He turns away from the tall bookcase he'd been patronizing and glances up and down her smooth, metallic body. His first instinct is to be dismissive-- she doesn't look much like a gun currently, after all-- but even as he opens his mouth to say something cutting, he remembers viscerally the feel of four tires eating pavement and it stops him dead. His mouth closes with a clack.

"Now," he says instead, to cover for the fumble. "Ey're not here now. You might want to reconsider that stance before ey returns."

The question makes him shift his stance slightly, drawing up proudly even as he nods. "As a matter of fact, yes. I was part of eir personal guard."

Edited (icon misfire /)__(\) 2013-09-03 13:23 (UTC)

For a moment, his comment confuses her. Shiny? The word means something beyond the metallic glint off her skin, but she can't place it. She shakes it off and focuses on his question. "Lookin' for folk interested in findin' somethin' to read that might answer some questions we got," she replies. The boy looks as frustrated as she often feels. She doesn't mention that she's usually lurking about the library. It doesn't matter all that much and he doesn't need to know that at the moment.

"I'm headin' to the Keeper's bedroom soon enough. He's gone somewhere, and I mean to find out where and when. Might keep a diary or planner. Not sure if we'll be able to read that but I don't like spendin' my time page through books I know ain't useful. Interested?"

Perhaps it's the almost-recognition of the symbols held within that cause her to begin paging through the book. It's the closest she's come yet to feeling as though she might be able to read something. And yet, it's still incomprehensible. When she flips to a page with the improbable breasts, she can't help a bark of laughter escaping.

It's brief as she clamps her mouth shut and covers it with her hand. Has she found some sort of foreign erotica? Or perhaps the very hopeful musings of a young artist and writer? Whomever might be responsible for the thing, it's amusing enough.

A smile tugs at her lips as she continues to look through, bent over the book. She runs her hands along the smooth pages every now and then, traces along the outer binding for the texture. The smell is like most things in the library: old pages and wood. The crinkle of each page as she turns it and smooths it out distracts her, as well. She has half an ear out for anyone who approaches, but she is engrossed.

His eyes widen slowly over the course of the rifle's proposition. "Lady, you don't know how interested."

The page starts walking in the direction from which the woman came, and waits briefly for her to fall in at his side. "So, you look familiar. At least, your bearing does. Inner guard?"

The tiger man is familiar after a fashion, though she can't place why. Some vague sense that they've met before prickles at the back of her mind. Such things, like most, have no substance, the ghost of fingers along her spine. He is an unknown, a willfully ignorant unknown so very proud of his station. Everything about that makes her straighten her back, and square her shoulders. She keeps her expression carefully neutral, though, not returning the smile.

"No use for knowledge and intelligence, sir?" she asks, the title coming naturally. "Most people'd question a man stalkin' a library if he ain't got cause to look in on the inhabitants."

The library clerk's commentary about the kingdom of books has stuck with her to an extent. She is the 'ambassador,' after all. "What're you doin' if it ain't lookin' for somethin' to read?"

She looks to one side. "Yes." It isn't nearly as simple as that, though. The metallic woman taps her head for emphasis as she continues, "Can't remember much, though. Ain't met him recently if that's what you're drivin' at."

"It's a place to..." She trails off, brow furrowing. "Her? You sure we're talkin' 'bout the same Keeper, Lights?" Her memories of the Keeper are, at best, murky, but she's fairly certain it had been a man's voice that called her to attention. The being of white wrapped in dark clothes that dances at the edge of her thoughts is a man, too. Isn't it?

"Thought he was a man."

Edited 2013-09-04 01:57 (UTC)

Her other form has found something of her own to investigate - an ornate clock with hands that don't seem to move in any pattern she can discern. She's trying to open up the back when an odd feeling ghosts over her and she nearly drops it on her toes. It isn't an uncomfortable sensation, in some ways it's even pleasant. It's how she's meant to be used, after all. But if someone's turning her pages, they're alone with her defenseless self and she doesn't trust them for a second.

She shoves the clock back onto a shelf at random and races towards the table where she'd left herself. It doesn't feel as though she's being carried anywhere, but she has no interest in having to track her own damn self down should they decide to. Best not to give them the chance.

It isn't far too sprint and in no time she's rounding the corner on the intruder. The woman doesn't appear to have any malicious intentions, no more than she's had with every other book she's picked up, but that doesn't stop the girl from snapping, "Don't touch people without asking." She reaches to pull herself away, the text scrawled over her bare skin matching almost seamlessly with that of the open tome.

"Huh?" His ears flick upwards in confusion as he focuses on her voice. He...honestly hadn't really thought of that part too hard before. "I dunno, maybe. I just...remember them as being a chick," he says, uncertainly. "Like...the times when she would talk to me. Or whatever."

The memories are hazy, and he finds himself flinching slightly when he focuses on it too hard. He recalls a feminine voice, soft but cold.

"I couldn't see her face very well, but I know what she...they...sounded like."

"I'll reconsider what's deserved when I know more about him," she replies simply. "At the moment, all I got in my head is bein' used. As a personal guard." As she pats the rifle in the holster at her side, she thinks that's still something she isn't sure how to feel about. The raw sense of purpose the vague memories of the Keeper holding her brings are comforting, but another part of her rebels at being used like that for a creature of light, apparent gentility, and grace. The Keeper is unearthly and it's not half creepifying.

"Take it you're content to wait around 'til he shows up again?" Her tone is neutral, but as she crosses her arms over her chest and raises her chin, she makes it clear she has little respect for that kind of position.

The terse grin stretches into a pinch, his sharp eyes taking on a new meaning. Her directness appeals to him. She is not a girl to beat around the bush; a rare thing, among confused and delusional changelings. He watches her intently through half-lidded eyes.

"Hunting," he says smoothly, and the gold in his irises twinkle with a secret, savage light. There is a chuckle hidden somewhere beyond that indifferent expression. He offers no further explanation than that. He rakes an extended claw along a shelf within reach, pauses, and plucks out a volume at random. He pinches it between two fingers like it were a filthy rag covered in feces and vomit, and sets the book down on a nearby table. He leafs through it at about arm's length, leafing through it and glancing hard at the symbols written there as if to test himself.

"You mistake me. I make plenty use of intelligence. And I am a quick enough learner," he explains firmly. "But I cannot recall being taught to read." He raises his square jaw and his chin to the girl, his shoulders squared. "What business does a Guard-Beast--" his cold stare and pregnant pause seems to add silently, or you?-- "got with books?"

Edited 2013-09-04 03:28 (UTC)

She admires his eagerness, though, she can only raise a brow in amusement as he charges back the way she'd come. Eager and direct. The metallic woman steps forward on light feet, joining him and carrying on, trusting him to follow. She can at least show him where she has in mind for a meeting point once she's wrangled a few more to come searching.

The boy seems familiar after a fashion, but only so far as anyone she's noted has been. It's a simple enough question. "Near as I can remember, which ain't much. Keeper kept me close, but I couldn't tell you how close." She raises one hand in a gesture of frustration. She glances back and over at the red-haired boy. "You in the Inner Guard, too?" The implied question of Doing what? hangs in the air. She isn't one to judge entirely on appearances, but the boy looks more suited for fetching things off tall shelves than acting as a guard.

"Yes, milady - my work was as a page, and what little I remember seemed to mostly involve serving food and fetching things." At this his eyes flash purple - something layered over the violet pigmentation already present. He casts his gaze up about half a foot to try to get another read on his new companion.

"Do you have a particular plan of attack here, or shall we mostly just be praying to find something?"

He eyes her again, following the movement of the hand to her rifle, and notes the moment of deja vu that the sight of it triggers in him. He's growing used to them, as he's been roaming the house, looking for answers.

"Fair enough," he concedes with a shrug and a wave of one hand. It's not his business to police how the others feel about their master. His own conviction in the Keeper is enough for him.

He does snort again, though, turning away with a toss of his head. "Please. My time is more valuable than to waste it waiting around--" A pause, because what gives his time value but service to the Keeper, and how can he serve em when eir not present? But he bulls past it. "I've been keeping myself occupied, thank you."

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Gun Show in the Library with the Rifle | Day 4 - Morning/Day | Open

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