unfinishedlibrary | for all the world's a stage

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for all the world's a stage - LIBRARY LOG

Who: The Editors
What: The Library changes once again...
When: January 9- January 22
Where: The Library
Content warnings: Please put them in the comment headers!

The Assistants have vanished into their backroom once again, leaving only the increasingly unbelievable “Back In 5” sign on the Help Desk, but at least they have attempted to impart some knowledge on the Editors before departing (or… attempted to do anything but, depending who you ask). The customary tea cart with drinks and increasingly stale biscuits is parked in its usual spot, though it seems that the quality of the tea at least has improved some. (Still waiting on coffee improvement.)

There’s a new crafting setup in the Maker Space, a table with an iron and machine for making vinyl designs, along with the instructions on how to use it, and a stack of t-shirts in various sizes. Usually there’s something in the correct size, but, well, mistakes happen. While this addition to clothing is a boon, there is the problem that the t-shirts can’t be taken out of the room until some sort of design is put on them. Get creative! Show off your style! Or maybe just steal one of the shirts that are there for display purposes. It’s fine, the Library can make more.

In the second week as the Library begins to change once more, the Lobby’s wooden floor shines with extra polish. The walls make an odd creaking sound as they shift, warping into brick covered with velvet drapings in a rich, dark red. Gold thread twinkles in the stitches, a sense of opulence woven through. The sound of ballroom music drifts by and, while in the Lobby, characters will be taken by the unusual impulse to dance.

Outside, in the Garden, the day/night cycle has paused firmly on a cloudless night. A full moon hangs in the air - literally. About the size of a basketball, it follows the first person who enters the Garden; hovering a couple of meters above their head. A white aura spreads from them, powered by the moon, and those who are caught in its light will find themselves unable to speak anything but the truth.

When the person to whom the moon is attached leaves the garden, the moon and its aura will leave them; and the moon will attach to the next person to enter instead.

On the circulation desk, there is a sign: “This Week’s Recommended Reading: Twilight!” The accompanying sign up sheet waits next to it for those wishing to check it out- though some will receive the movie instead of the book, with no particular rhyme or reason to it. Periodically someone might also receive something else entirely. Whoops? The Assistants at least will fix that quickly. ~~Richard will be embarrassed, while Phillip will be trying not to cackle.~~

While not advertised, various iterations of different stories will be available throughout the Library. In particular, someone seems to have left the projector in one of the meeting rooms running, with a variety of different recorded plays. These range from professional productions, to parodies, to what appear to be high schoolers (of which one production features a sixteen year old version of Phillip running around being an absolutely nuisance.

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Guilliman tends to eat while he works -- well, when he remembers to eat. He has found that is not an option in the Library, which means he has been forced into the occasional break.

Poor little workaholic.

Slipping into the kitchenette for a quick snack and something to drink, he sights the little blue xenos.

"...t'au? Hello. Forgive me for interrupting."

There's a slight twitch to Nine's expression that would suggest that interruption is not something he easily forgives— at least not when his focus is something that's making him angry which those bowls being just out of reach from how he's using his rifle to try to nudge them toward the edge very much is.

The irritation disappeared almost immediately though as his brows instead raised because hello sir, you are very tall. That seemed to be something that was going around, really given that he had seen more than one person here who would make even the tallest of the Sith Lords he knew look like a dwarf in comparison.

"... What in the world are they feeding you people wherever you come from to grow you to that size?" He asked before he could stop himself because honestly. The size was comparable to the Massassi perhaps but the Massassi weren't so— well— human-looking.

He dropped his rifle back into a more horizontal hold in his hands and then slung it over his shoulder. He slept holding the thing like a lifeline but he'd rather not make any of the other people in the library twitchy by holding it in a way that could be interpreted as a threat while he was awake.

"... You're not interrupting anything other than an awkward moment due to the fact that nothing in this place comes in pint-size," He said with a dismissive gesture. Then a pause, "... Well, it does for you, I suppose."

Oh, hm. Not a t'au? This xenos is the same shade, yes, but it's missing some of their other defining features. Pity, he thinks; he's wanted to speak to those creatures since he woke.

Still, it is sapient, it is not immediately violent (though he would love to see that weapon in action!) it is well-spoken.

He lets himself huff a laugh, lets himself flash a smile that humans find quite charming. "I have no control over that, I fear; much to my parents' dismay. I would be happy to get you what you need, however, if you do not mind my assistance."

Whether or not Nine finds it charming too is difficult to tell— now that his immediate irritation has gone, his expression settled into something more neutral. Not directly friendly but not unfriendly either. Still a little off from how his species typically emotes but like all Chiss, he was hard to get a read on when he didn't want to be read.

"I suppose it's the same for me— my parents didn't expect me to stop growing at twelve either. If they'd known I'd get stuck like this," He said, bringing his index finger and thumb together to indicate small, "They might have kept the milk stocked up in the fridge a bit more often."

It was difficult to tell whether that was a joke or not.

"... Sure. Not much I can do to repay you for the help though unless you'd accept payment in the form of bobby pins."

A shrug of a shoulder, "Or food. I'd have to make more for myself too, but it's not like I've got anything better to do."

What he'd prepared so far would be enough to feed five rather easily but Chiss did have quite high metabolisms. Sometimes it was unfortunate that he burned through calories at such a high rate.

"I have apparently offered to braid the hair of half our fellows." He is, of course, exaggerating, but he has made it public that he can braid hair, and is willing to. "No payment necessary. It is not a hardship for me. What do you need?"

"I can assure you that I won't need your assistance there at least— though I suppose if someone asks you and you're in need of a bobby pin to secure it, you can actually have one of mine. I've got about three dozen or so tucked away in here," Nine said, gesturing up at his hair that was currently done up in a pair of neat hair bows at each side of his head with loose strands like ribbons falling over his shoulders. It was quite disconnected from the uniform he wore that very clearly cried not only military but also officer rather than grunt.

"If you'd get those bowls up there down for me?"

Normally Nine would worry about what he would owe but he supposed he couldn't quite afford that level of paranoia here. Much as he had spent nearly a decade trusting no one further than he could throw them.

While he waited he did look a tad thoughtful and then, "So... Offering to help if people need it, huh? Just the helpful sort or are you restless?"

There were quite a few people in the same situation and offering to help seemed like it was something that could make one very very busy. Which was why he hadn't, himself. Much as all this downtime was bad for his mental state. Putting himself out there wasn't how he'd been trained.

Edited 2026-01-14 09:50 (UTC)

"It is an impressive construction. Who assisted you?" Because if he did that all on his own? As an individual with a presumably near-human range of movement? Holy shit.

"These -- here." It's not even a stretch, to grab a stack of bowls and set them down on the counter. (Should the shelves be reorganized? Would a stool be useful?) That done, he grins down at Nine. "Am I so obvious? Both, if you believe it. I am accustomed to much higher demand on my time and attention. And I do prefer being useful."

"Given that I'm protective of my hair— me, myself, and I. Plus a whole lot of time and patience. And a bit of colorful language."

And his droid's camera to see what he was doing, too. But it wasn't too difficult to fiddle around with his hair when he could see what he was doing and had so much time in which to do it. A pain in the ass, but that was how Nine thought of most things. And at least when it came to pinning his hair up in cute styles he got to enjoy the results in the end.

"Thanks," He said, taking the bowls and moving to continue what he was doing now that he was no longer stuck trying to figure out how to get them down.

"Less obvious and more familiar, I suppose. I'm part of the military at home and you see a lot of people there who suddenly find themselves with time off and then start going around looking for work to do," Nine said, with a shrug of the shoulder, "Knew a few officers who went so far as to get implants to deliver incident reports directly to their brains, too— and being here I'm starting to think that they might have had the right idea. Doubt an implant like that would work across dimensions, but... A girl's allowed to dream."

A vague gesture then, "Of course I'm less of the helpful sort myself and more the restless type or I'd probably offer my services to people too."

He whistles. (That's the appropriate reaction, right? Casual, humourous surprise?) "That is impressive. You have a great deal of skill."

His part done, he settles back to watch Nine do whatever he's going to do. The details of the conversation do bring a smile to his face, though. "It is not uncommon in the Imperium, either. The lack of augmentics here has been surprising. I did consider implants myself, but I did not want to be locked in to specific hardware, if enemies ever discovered exploits. All I have here is a servo-skull. Which is still quite useful."

Well, that and the silvery interface ports that run up his arms and down his spine... but he doesn't mention those.

There was slight twitch at the corner of his lips at the whistle— not quite a smile but amusement all the same. And though he didn't voice his agreement about having a great deal of skill he did think that he did indeed have it.

He did move to prepare more food to go along with what was already cooking— salad to go alongside it, even though what he'd made so far would indeed feed at least five.

"Considering this place seems happy to pull people from a lot of different worlds, I would not be surprised if most people here are from places less technologically advanced. I've visited cultures in my own where if it hadn't been for other people finding their planet, even something as simple as space flight would have been hundreds— if not thousands— of years off."

He gave a half shrug, "And some people also just prefer to keep anything unnatural out of their bodies for a lot of different reasons. My own concerns about implants are similar to yours... Plus I wouldn't be surprised if the Empire riddles their official tech with spyware and loyalty assurance protocols."

Given that the Empire had been content to brainwash him, Nine didn't want to think what they could do if he went to them for implants. And he didn't want to think about the risk associated with the implants you could get on the streets in Hutt space either.

"Nothing quite like the idea of questioning your superiors and getting zapped into submission for the disrespect."

Like getting electrocuted wasn't already a massive risk one took by working for the Sith.

"I am thankful to have my datapad and one of my companion droids here with me though," He said, gesturing toward a tablet that laid on a nearby table— with the only program currently open being the direct camera feed from his droid as it zipped through the library, "Without them I might actually have lost my marbles and started a conspiracy board or drawing on the walls or whatever it is crazy people usually do."

He glanced back at the man then, "What sort of tech is this servo-skull of yours? I admit I am curious about any technology that I'm unfamiliar with."

"Aye. There are planets enough that we allow to exist at feral or feudal levels as well, so long as they pay their tithes. It would be cruel otherwise. To believe that their sun is a god, then learn the full scale of the galaxy? It ends poorly."

Oh, he likes this young man. (He might not he young, in fairness.) Is he xenos or is he abhuman? His metabolism seems extreme, if his food prep is any indicator. But whatever he is, he's clearly a clever, forward-thinking member of his local military.

"Compliance routines are not uncommon for us either," Guilliman agrees. "Especially for menials, ship's crews, or anyone in the MechanicusThough for them, I believe removing those routines is a rite of passage. One of my brothers had a substantial interface, but the entire apparatus and the Logos it interfaced with was all of his design. He did not trust anyone else with it," he says fondly. "And I enjoyed making adjustments to my armor and weaponry, as I saw need for it, but I was not as proficient as he."

His attention being drawn, he fixes it helpfully on that tablet. "A dataslate, we would call that. It is receiving a pict-feed, I see? I will show you a servo-skull." He clicks his tongue. "1L. Come."

The soft, smooth hover of very good antigrav engines, and a heavily augmented and quite decorative human skull floats into the kitchenette.

"Abominable intelligence is banned in the Imperium. Biological computing strata, however, are permitted." He taps at the skull's 'cheek,' and it bobs in place and trills agreeably, the red lights of its eyes flaring. "1L-0N4 is an artificer grade scriptorum-focus servo-skull. She was one of many in my service on my flagship, but here, she has been promoted to primary assistant."

"That's... Nicer than what my Empire usually does to planets like that."

Nine did think that the kindest thing to do would be to set surveillance and then leave such planets alone. But what this Imperium did was better than the Sith Empire's policies on undeveloped worlds whenever they got there before the Republic did.

"If its inhabitants are humans they're worth being educated and added to the Imperial fold, but I suspect the transition is rough regardless. If they're not..."

He didn't think he needed to say what happened to worlds where the inhabitants weren't human. The implication was enough. And honestly he'd rather not think on it either.

Planets where humans had gone backwards rather than forwards after ending up stranded on some backwater were likely fairly rare but not a statistical impossibility. Nine couldn't say he'd ever personally dealt with any stray pockets of humanity but it wasn't too long since he'd fought his way through savages on Rakata Prime and if it could happen to the Rakata then it could happen to anyone.

"Not trusting anyone else with gear or implants is a wise choice. I've always been rather protective of my own gear and if someone tried to adjust anything about my rifle for me I think I'd probably bite first and ask questions later."

It was a little fascinating how different but also how similar an entirely foreign world from his own could be. Similar words. Similar-ish tech. And similar cultures too from the sound of it. He would wonder if that said anything about sapient creatures as a whole, but he had never been much for pondering on those sorts of questions. Maybe people were just going to be people regardless of where one went.

His brows rose at the appearance of the servo-skull, and while his expressions had been fairly reserved so far there was now a rather clear look of interest and more than a little curiosity.

"Fascinating," He said, turning more fully to look at it, "Don't think I've ever seen anything quite like her."

He could think of more than one Sith Lord who would love something like that though. The aesthetics alone would draw them in like moths to a flame.

"Can I take a closer look?" He asked, and then held his hands up in a disarming sort of way, "And I do mean only looking. I imagine biting me would be out of the question but considering the size of you I suspect it'd be easy enough to punt me across the room for touching something of yours."

"The similarities are fascinating," he says, unwittingly agreeing with Nine's silent observations. "And there is a small xenos empire near my own holdings, actually, with a species that is not dissimilar in appearance to yourself. I want very badly to meet with their leaders one day. But the Imperium, as well, is unkind to xenos and those who affiliate with them." His smile is wry and apologetic. "And even I am bound by our laws, to some degree."

There is a private joke in that, the crinkling at the corners of his eyes suggests.

"You may look," he grants, clicking his tongue and gesturing with a curved finger. Obligingly, the skull drifts closer. "I would not bite you. But they can be temperamental, and there are no tech-priests here to perform advanced maintenance rituals. If you would like to view it from a different angle, you may direct it to move or rotate."

"Strange how often that happens," Nine commented, looking vaguely curious, "In my own world, a Chiss is easily mistaken for a Pantoran too— two separate species having evolved to be similar in appearance and equally adapted to frigid temperatures."

He tilted his head then, "Of course the Pantorans are significantly more sociable than my own species given that the Chiss would much rather scramble back down into the ice that spawned us like hermits and pretend like nothing from outside our borders could ever be a threat."

He gave a vague dismissive gesture with a hand, "The Empire I speak of is very much a majority human one. I'm just fortunate enough to be a member of the one alien species they decided to ally with rather than the alternatives."

Nine was still amazed that some of their diplomats had managed to talk the Sith into that one. Not that it seemed to have changed the stance on isolationism.

With permission he moved closer to the servo-skull— though rather than direct it to move or rotate he himself circled to get a good look. It really was fascinating. The only thing he could think of as being similar were the abominations the Sith sometimes made but those were a whole lot less obedient and more likely to bite anyone who got too close. And they weren't tech either. If they could make something like this and have it actually obey he imagined that Imperial aesthetics would take another turn for the more macabre.

"Are these tech-priests the only ones capable of it?" He asked, lifting his gaze from the skull and to the man instead, "We don't have those where I'm from which is why I'm asking."

"There are heretek observations of similarities in the design of sapients through out the galaxy. I am certain I could ask my consultant Archmagos, and he would tell me more than I would ever wish to know." That statement, too, is dry humour. He would absorb every bit of it like a dry sponge. But baselines seem to not like the idea of getting too much information at once??

"They are courageous to openly ally with any xenos at all. They have not had the experiences that my own Imperium has had, I must assume." The weight of dozens of millennia of history sit behind those words.

"Debatable," he grants, as 1L-0N4 hovers steadily in place. Every part of the device is old, incomprehensibly old. While the circuitry is well-maintained, the bone and the decorations bear centuries of polished, oiled patina. How old is this one device? How old is this technology...?

"The Adeptus Mechanicus guard their knowledge jealously. Without initiation into their brotherhood, or discovery of an STC, one would need to begin from first principles to understand the knowledge they preserve. At least --" Oh, he has to take a second to think, "two dozen millennia, perhaps. The earlier records are uncertain, naturally."

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for all the world's a stage - LIBRARY LOG

Very much so!

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