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unfinishedlibrary2026-01-23 01:21 am
lightsgift) wrote in unfinishedlibrary2026-01-23 01:21 am
No Party She'd Not Attend [open log]
Who: Cinthe, and everyone who wants to be here!
What: Arrival and getting her bearings
When: Two days before the new Story starts
Where: yes
Content warnings: none atm, will add as needed
((Catch her anywhere in the Library, she's doing plenty of exploring! Or feel free to PM, Discord, or![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
brimstonemuse for plotting))))
There's a new face in the Library, a very blue face framed by long dark waves and a pair of curling white horns.
Cinthe has had a little time to adjust to the fact that she's been swept away by the universe's strange whims. Not much time, but this is familiar enough in both setting and circumstance that she's not panicking. Not yet, at least- she'll pencil it in for a possibility later if things change.
But it's a library. Sort of. Mostly. She can handle that, even if the books are all missing things and the people are weird and the halls are not to be trusted.
She's rather noticeable roaming those halls and rooms, dressed as she is in fine silk clothing and glittering, silvery metal. Bangles decorate her wrists, horns, and tail, and everything about her is quick, loose and flowing, down to the sinuous sway of her long tail. It flicks back and forth in a mix of feelings: wariness, interest, and a little straight-out confusion, an obvious tell of her emotions as she surveys her new surroundings.
Maybe it's a wizard's work? It seems very possible.
The Showers (cw: casual nudity)
It doesn't take long for Cinthe to figure out that the shiny metal levers produce a spray of hot water. She's seen such things in grand manors before, but this is simpler, tidier, and rather a surprise. No obvious magical works, no complicated steam-powered systems, just a blissful stream for washing off the road dirt. Convenient bottles that of course must be soaps, and partitions for at least a passing nod to privacy.
She feels a little like she should be guilty for taking advantage of it, but it's too much to resist and she's no stranger to public bathing. If someone comes in? She's half-stripped down and doesn't mind in the least. She pauses in her undressing at just her underthings, snug silk that highlights modest curves, taking a moment to unclip her long black hair and shake it out. Most of her jewelry has already been set aside, though a small diamond pendant and a gold amulet remain on delicate chains around her neck. It's a bit of brilliant red and gold encased in clear resin, a piece of brilliant fluff all but glowing in its gold setting.
"These are for us, right? The hot water. And, there are towels." Her accent is faint, musical, and mysterious, a soft lilt that would be hard to place even on her own world. Pleasant, but distinctly foreign.
Clearly, if there are towels they're meant to be used, right? With the water. The lovely, lovely hot water.
The Kitchen
The humming cold boxes clearly do their job of preserving the things inside them, but the rest is kind of a mystery to her. No woodstove or hearth or fire pit. Food packed in strange wrappings, if it's even food at all. Metal and glass boxes that might be stoves except they aren't. Cinthe picks up a plastic cup of ramen, shakes it, sniffs it somewhat suspiciously, then puts it down again.
Probably not food. Disappointing, but there might be other things. In the cold boxes? In the cold boxes, and some of it is even familiar. Cold cuts aren't common to her, but sandwiches aren't terribly strange and there's bread, and cheese, and apples, and...
She glances up from her work at any interruption, a little sheepishness crossing her features. She's making herself quite at home, but that's the Library's problem. If it didnt want her raiding the pantry, it shouldn't have kidnapped her. And given the option, she'll take fresh offerings over the last sad bag of dried apple bits in her scant gear. "Do you want something, too?"
If she's going to help herself, she can at least be gracious about it.
The Workout Room
There's not much to the gym, but Cinthe doesn't need much for her routine. The mats are enough for her purposes, and since she hasn't figured out the CD player, she works in silence broken only by her own occasional, musical humming. Cinthe has removed all her extra armor and jacket in favor of the simple, closer-fitting suit underneath, nothing scandalous but far better for moving unencumbered. Clearly, her outfit was designed with just that in mind, even the impossibly delicate chain mail shirt that hangs nearby.
Her shiny silver staff, the same light, flexible metal, is also propped against the wall for later exercise, but right now she's drifting her way through a routine of slow, flowing movements meant to work and loosen the muscles. Arm circles, side twists and pivots, all practiced and graceful for all their practicality.
A few moves, a warm-up, before she shifts her weight forward from her feet to the floor in a perfect front walk-over. Breathing steady and comfortable, tail curled close to preserve balance, she holds the arch for a moment before she comes back up to standing, clearly at home with the routine. If she notices an audience, it doesn't concern her, focused as she is on her movement in the sparse space. Until she pauses, rolls her shoulders in liquid motion, and lets out a long, quiet breath.
What: Arrival and getting her bearings
When: Two days before the new Story starts
Where: yes
Content warnings: none atm, will add as needed
((Catch her anywhere in the Library, she's doing plenty of exploring! Or feel free to PM, Discord, or
There's a new face in the Library, a very blue face framed by long dark waves and a pair of curling white horns.
Cinthe has had a little time to adjust to the fact that she's been swept away by the universe's strange whims. Not much time, but this is familiar enough in both setting and circumstance that she's not panicking. Not yet, at least- she'll pencil it in for a possibility later if things change.
But it's a library. Sort of. Mostly. She can handle that, even if the books are all missing things and the people are weird and the halls are not to be trusted.
She's rather noticeable roaming those halls and rooms, dressed as she is in fine silk clothing and glittering, silvery metal. Bangles decorate her wrists, horns, and tail, and everything about her is quick, loose and flowing, down to the sinuous sway of her long tail. It flicks back and forth in a mix of feelings: wariness, interest, and a little straight-out confusion, an obvious tell of her emotions as she surveys her new surroundings.
Maybe it's a wizard's work? It seems very possible.
The Showers (cw: casual nudity)
It doesn't take long for Cinthe to figure out that the shiny metal levers produce a spray of hot water. She's seen such things in grand manors before, but this is simpler, tidier, and rather a surprise. No obvious magical works, no complicated steam-powered systems, just a blissful stream for washing off the road dirt. Convenient bottles that of course must be soaps, and partitions for at least a passing nod to privacy.
She feels a little like she should be guilty for taking advantage of it, but it's too much to resist and she's no stranger to public bathing. If someone comes in? She's half-stripped down and doesn't mind in the least. She pauses in her undressing at just her underthings, snug silk that highlights modest curves, taking a moment to unclip her long black hair and shake it out. Most of her jewelry has already been set aside, though a small diamond pendant and a gold amulet remain on delicate chains around her neck. It's a bit of brilliant red and gold encased in clear resin, a piece of brilliant fluff all but glowing in its gold setting.
"These are for us, right? The hot water. And, there are towels." Her accent is faint, musical, and mysterious, a soft lilt that would be hard to place even on her own world. Pleasant, but distinctly foreign.
Clearly, if there are towels they're meant to be used, right? With the water. The lovely, lovely hot water.
The Kitchen
The humming cold boxes clearly do their job of preserving the things inside them, but the rest is kind of a mystery to her. No woodstove or hearth or fire pit. Food packed in strange wrappings, if it's even food at all. Metal and glass boxes that might be stoves except they aren't. Cinthe picks up a plastic cup of ramen, shakes it, sniffs it somewhat suspiciously, then puts it down again.
Probably not food. Disappointing, but there might be other things. In the cold boxes? In the cold boxes, and some of it is even familiar. Cold cuts aren't common to her, but sandwiches aren't terribly strange and there's bread, and cheese, and apples, and...
She glances up from her work at any interruption, a little sheepishness crossing her features. She's making herself quite at home, but that's the Library's problem. If it didnt want her raiding the pantry, it shouldn't have kidnapped her. And given the option, she'll take fresh offerings over the last sad bag of dried apple bits in her scant gear. "Do you want something, too?"
If she's going to help herself, she can at least be gracious about it.
The Workout Room
There's not much to the gym, but Cinthe doesn't need much for her routine. The mats are enough for her purposes, and since she hasn't figured out the CD player, she works in silence broken only by her own occasional, musical humming. Cinthe has removed all her extra armor and jacket in favor of the simple, closer-fitting suit underneath, nothing scandalous but far better for moving unencumbered. Clearly, her outfit was designed with just that in mind, even the impossibly delicate chain mail shirt that hangs nearby.
Her shiny silver staff, the same light, flexible metal, is also propped against the wall for later exercise, but right now she's drifting her way through a routine of slow, flowing movements meant to work and loosen the muscles. Arm circles, side twists and pivots, all practiced and graceful for all their practicality.
A few moves, a warm-up, before she shifts her weight forward from her feet to the floor in a perfect front walk-over. Breathing steady and comfortable, tail curled close to preserve balance, she holds the arch for a moment before she comes back up to standing, clearly at home with the routine. If she notices an audience, it doesn't concern her, focused as she is on her movement in the sparse space. Until she pauses, rolls her shoulders in liquid motion, and lets out a long, quiet breath.