unfinishedlibrary | Careful of the stacks

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Careful of the stacks - LIBRARY LOG

Who: EVERYONE!
What: A bunch of Editors walk into a library...
When: October 31st - November 13
Where: The Unfinished Library
Content warnings: Please add them as needed in the comment titles!

Welcome to the Library, Editors.

As the new residents drop into the Library, they are bound to have questions. Unfortunately it seems no one (except perhaps someone on the phone) appears to have any answers. But there is a nice little cart with a carafe of too weak coffee, a pot of too strong tea, assorted creams and sugar packets, and what appear to be leftover boxed shortbread cookies. There’s a sign inviting people to help themselves but reminding them not to take any food or drinks into the stacks, or touch any of the books with their grubby cookie hands. But aside from this little display and the nametags they’re all given, which do reappear whenever removed for the first week (where do they keep coming from?), the Editors are more or less left alone.

The Library is eternal, or at least it seems that way, unbothered by its new inhabitants. It certainly does not seem like this is anything unusual within its operation. Are there other sections of the Library with Editors, tucked into a different part of the stacks? Have there been Editors here before, and the ones here are simply a replacement? It’s impossible to say, just that the Library seems quite prepared for them. The refrigerators are stocked with appropriate (if generic) foodstuffs, any tantrums in front of the circulation desk are completely ignored, and attempts to set the Library on fire fizzle out before anything can even catch.

However, after a few days, some of the scenery in the Library seems to be changing. Little singing bowls and white noise makers pop up on various shelves and counters, yoga mats appear tucked under the bunk beds (plenty for everyone, somehow), and some of the rooms have started playing relaxing, meditative music over unseen speakers. More confusingly, there are also small UFOs hanging by string from the lower ceilings of the contained rooms, which on closer reflection are revealed to simply be two paper plates glued together and painted silver. In the beginning they’re quite sparse, but by the end of the second week they are everywhere and impossible to ignore.

At the start of the second week, there is a possible hint as to why, for at least part of it. On the table by the circulation desk there is a sign: “This Week’s Recommended Reading: Invasion of the Body Snatchers!” Next to it, there is a sign up sheet: a waitlist to check-out the ‘reading.’ (There is no explanation or apology for it actually being a movie.)

[ooc note: The Library prompts from the TDM can be considered canon to the game. Remember any of the locations listed in the setting are fair game. Have fun!]

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Probably best Harker never knows. He was happier being oblivious and hoping to eventually get home to his wife.

Jonathan doesn't press when Night Haunter doesn't answer him. If the other ever chose to share, he would be there; otherwise, it was fine to not know. "No one should be paying that much attention. If they are, we may have bigger problems to be concerned with." Pushing himself to stand.

"I think I will do that. Would you like me to gather more paper as well?" Did he want more glitter on him? No. But if he had it, no one would know who left the trail.

"Oh, then there are bigger problems! I keep track of most of you." He says it like it's supposed to be a joke, but he really is. Not all of them, some were either beneath his notice or irrelevant, but others .. the aliens especially, he kept tabs.

And now he's going to be keeping track of Harker too. The man was refreshingly innocent. "..Mm, if you can find identical cardstock." One of hte pieces he can't use is offered for comparison purposes. "Variation in color changes the outcome. Perhaps I will see if Sanguinius will also wear the contagious particles as well. He will wear them in his feathers until his dying breath."

He should find that admission a little off-putting, but he doesn't; he smiles when it's said. Even if it's a joke, it doesn't matter. Harker feels that it is a good thing. "Well, at least I know if something goes awry, I have an ally I can depend on."

Taking the offending piece, he nods. "I will do my best to make sure it is a match, Night Haunter." He stops and looks back. "Hold that thought, please; I have more questions when I return." Because clearly he had to meet the other brother first, as bloody as his coat had to have been.

He hurries along, and of course it takes about 10 minutes before he returns with a small stack of cardstock of the same type, some glitter, and another knife. Even some glue, which he was a little confused by as he had not seen this kind before. Making his way back over with his spoils to return to the floor. "My apologies for the delay; I picked up a little more of our mess before finding what we needed."

Curze is endlessly patient when he had to be, or had something to keep himself occupied with; there's a short nod and he returns to what he'd been doing before. It's strange. It's been decades since anyone mortal had lingered in his presence without reeking of terror.

Not a bad thing. But strange.

He's still listening. The tread of Harker's footsteps is clear for quite a while, and when the man returns, he glances up briefly from his current card. Probably there were tables or something this could be done at somewhere, but he's perfectly content with the floor and Harker didn't seem to mind it much either. "The same servitors placing bowls everywhere could have handled that." The cleaning, specifically.

Presumably there's servitors. Something was putting singing bowls and UFOs everywhere. "But no apologies needed, we are ... not on a schedule." Well. He is. But that's only because he has things he wants to do, but it's not a need.

Taking a moment to remove his jacket, and place it aside on the bed, but not on his fur coat. Not that it removed much from the very Victorian suit, but it made sitting on the floor easier.

The papers are placed between them as he reaches for one of the perfect cards from the pile. To compare to the imperfect one. "I assumed as much, but I felt it was rude if I didn't at least try to clear up some of it lest any of the ladies see the blood. Despite coming into money recently, I have always had to handle such things myself. At least when not staying with others." He couldn't cook well, and his cleaning skills were novice at best, but he did the best with what he had. Mr. Hawkins raised him well, yet he never expected the man to leave him not only the house and fortune. But the company itself.

"It is still bad form to keep a friend waiting." He replied before looking up from his study of the papers. Reaching up to take the slate pencil from his journal to mark corners so his cuts would be more accurate. The journal is left open, but the writing inside is all shorthand symbols. "Oh, yes, please continue, I had met Sanguinius," His accent still catches on that name. "earlier this week. He, too, was drawn by my coat."

Edited (had to add a detail) 2025-11-09 22:25 (UTC)

"Are they so frail that blood on a rag might distress them?" He rather thought women were made of sterner stuff than that, but maybe in delicate, peaceful worlds things were a bit different and civilization could afford to be squeamish. "But self reliance is admirable."

He could take care of himself too. Granted, he didn't in some ways that made his own legion unhappy with him, but he could always find food and drink and shelter. The difference between the discarded card and a good one is a matter of texture, detectable even to ordinary fingers; when made, one bit of paper simply has a greater thickness, a different texture in the hands. Good for a marked deck, but not an honest one.

A marked deck isn't useful for what he wants. "You're a very peculiar creature, did you know that?" ... Says the ten foot tall vampire-alike. "Calling the Night Haunter a friend is a boldness none have claimed before."

People usually have more self preservation than that. "I'm surprised he didn't attempt to clean it himself. He's incorrigibly helpful even when he has no idea what he's doing."

"Honestly, I do not think it would bother them in the least, but etiquette says it is bad form. So, I must adhere." His wife had taught etiquette, at least before everything happened. Jonathan broke a few of those rules since his return, but he still aimed to be a respectable man as best as he could. "Well, when you grow up in the orphanages, you must be self-reliant. I have more problem asking for help than simply handling things myself." He admitted as he marked the page. Comparing the thickness, any that seemed off, were set aside.

"So I have been told of late." He admitted freely. Finally lifting the scissors to cut the card according to his marks, the pencil set aside for now. Looking to him then, mid cut, pausing the work. "Does it bother you that I would say such? We are in a strange world, and you have been kind and spoken to me for quite some time. I see no reason to think otherwise." Jonathan was a very loyal creature.

"I believe he may have wanted too. I might have distracted him. Are you two close?"

He huffs, a sound somewhere close to but not quite a laugh. Fulgrim had made sure he understood etiquette even if he didn't bother with it, and understood its place in most societies. "Fair enough." Did he bother with any such thing?

No, and that's probably why he hasn't washed the blood off himself in .. probably weeks at this point. "You had help dealing with your Count. Perhaps you simply need the right reasons to."

It sounded as if self-reliance won't be possible much longer anyway, given how he's pretty sure marriage works. Would this Mina actually allow Harker to do things on his own?

A moment is taken to count how many cards are actually left to be made, with possibly a couple of extras to test color fastness on. "I suspect you and I come from very different worlds, for you to be so quick to a decision. I could be manipulating you to my own ends." He isn't. But he could be.

"...We are not." There wasn't a single one of his siblings he could consider close. Did he wish it otherwise? Sometimes. But it's not meant to be.

Jonathan would eventually say something of the smell of the old blood started bothering him, but for now? He was fine, or simply too polite to say anything yet.

Working on cutting those perfectly straight lines. "Ahh, but that is the catch, my Mina figured out what was happening with the help of the professor. I returned home from work to find out the plans. I never had to ask for help, I offered to help the others. I knew Mina would want too, and part of me wanted to see the count suffer."

Harker knew he had a problem with not asking for help, and being a little stubborn. It was why he had a contingency plan to kill their friends if Mina couldn't be saved. They swore to kill her, and that he would never allow. Luckily, it didn't come to that.

Mina was the exception to the rule, she knew when he was keeping things from her or taking on too much. She could make him talk without making him feel chastised or a burden. The same as he knew when she was hurting and wore a smile and would do all he could to cheer her up. Despite the time, he saw their marriage as a partnership.

"Neither of us is home, and I tend to trust my choices." A terrible idea really considering what happened in the castle. "You could be, but somehow I do not think so." Making eye contact again. "I trust you. If that changes, I will admit my wrong." The way he said it spoke of his trust in the choice.

"Oh? Is he simply an acquaintance? You sounded as if you knew him well."

"The end result is the same, don't sell yourself short." He returns to making cards one by one, taking note of the ones Jonathan's making inroads on; they'll be compared to the others eventually.

There's not much to be done about Harker's boldness about trust. So long as the man broke no laws he'd be safe enough in Curze's presence, and maybe safer for it should anything suddenly go awry. "Hm. Should we win our way free, or my sons turn up in this library, I will see to it you are returned to your proper planet." Back to that clever wife Harker spoke of so warmly.

The topic of his brother draws a slight shake of his head, dark hair following the motion like a curtain. "I do. But we are not close. My brothers and I .. disagree on too much. They dislike my methods in many things. It leads .." he gestures a bit with the half cut card. "To some interesting conflicts, but there is no love lost."

He gives a nod but says nothing. It was another issue of his. Acknowledging things he has done. It's one he would have to work on, but for now he is fine with admitting he did it all mostly for Mina and her dear dead friend Lucy.

Jonathan was doing his best to make sure they were perfectly matched to Night Haunter's, even if they did lack some of the glitter smear for now.

He had broken no laws here, and the ones he broke back home he was educated enough to know how to make them look accidental and pardonable, more so with a lord's backing. The laws were only broken to ensure the death of the monster. His head perked then, waiting until the other finished before speaking.

"You have my thanks. Again, if I can ever be of any service, simply call upon me. Getting home to Mina is all I desire." He was very much a love fool, who was glad things had mostly worked out. "Oh, I am sorry to hear that. To have brothers but not be close must hurt." He didn't really know, again, orphan. Still. "But you are close to your sons, yes?" One day he wanted to be a father; he did not care if it was sons or daughters, as long as he and Mina chose to have them together.

Edited 2025-11-11 18:01 (UTC)

One day he's going to figure out how to get the glitter off. It has too much potential risk for revealing him when he's doing his best to not be seen, and adapting to sparkles is not really something he's ever had to do before. "Be careful offering anyone service, someone might take you up on it."

Don't join the Imperial forces, Harker. It's not safe or healthy. But Curze isn't going to, partly because what can a mortal do? Partly because this is so refreshingly bizarre he's reluctant to see it tainted by expectations.

It bothered him if he let it, having no relationship with his brothers. Will he admit that? Nope. "It is what it is. We all have our place." His is being the thing lurking in the dark. "My sons are disappointments."

Harsh. "..Not all," he amends. "Merely most."

That may take a few human lifetimes, but at least Cruze was immortal, so he had the time. "That is good advice, and I will say if I disagree with whatever I may be called on, I will let it be known." Questionable, but he liked to think so now. He had to bow and cater to survive in the castle. He was not the same timid man he had been months before.

But who knew until the time came? Luckily he would probably never have the chance to join.

"Truer words were never spoken." He replied with ease, holding over the four he had cut so far. "How are these?" Harker inquired as he let the rest of his new friends words sink in for a moment. Silent for a second as he put his thoughts together. "Is there a reason they are disappointments?" He could not imagine being disappointed in one's own children. But he was also very naive.

Glitter will still be on him when he's finally cornered by the assassin sent to kill him. She too will have to deal with the infection that is sparkles. "Good! There's much to be said for not letting others dictate your path." Not that it would do any good if that's what fate had in store, but there's something to be said for making an effort, he supposed.

Ideally Harker will just be dropped back off on whatever gentle colony world birthed him, safe and sound. They'll have to be sure these vampires are dealt with, of course, but the mortal could return to what's left of his friends and family. The cards offered are taken and added to the rest, fingers running along the edge in a patient search for defects, or any other way to tell one from another. "My sons are murderers, Jonathan Harker. They enjoy it, not for a purpose, not for a reason beyond their own entertainment. They are the worst of humanity raised up and granted power they should never have had."

One of the four is set aside, the others seem to pass muster! "You have a steady hand."

The glitter is forever. Harker's suit pants will have a bit of a shimmer in spots from getting some on him when he sat on the floor and his hands from passing items back and forth.

Still, better than Victorian glitter. Not that he knows yet. "Thank you, I knew what i wanted of life since my early teenage years, and even after everything, that has not changed." Clearly he means Mina. But his job was pretty good too. As long as no more vampires try to eat him, he would be delighted.

If all went how he wished, he would be home soon enough again, and he and Mina could start their new lives together. With the bonus of lifelong friends earned from blood, tears, death, and pain.

Blue eyes widen some as he nodded, idly wondering what kind of murder his new friend disagreed with. He knew Jonathan had been in a battle and seemed to approve, but enjoying murder was not okay? Which was fine, death was no laughing matter. "I am sorry to hear that; it cannot be easy on you to know your children have done such things." He wholeheartedly meant it too. Lifting another sheet with his template card and the slate pencil.

"Thank you; it is a point of pride to have a steady hand again." After his frights in the castle and the time recovering, he had had a tremble, at least until he found out he wasn't insane. The rest of it vanished when Mina was attacked, and he bought the knife at his side.

Hopefully Harker will get the future he wants! Libraries can't be forever.. can they? They'll surely be released eventually. "I see by your surprise that you wonder how I condemn my sons for what I condoned in you."

It's not hard to guess, morality is a tricky thing. "Even mortal life is too precious to waste on whim alone, for entertainment simply to listen to your screams. It is not justice. It rights no wrongs." Killing a vampire who's been spreading undeath like a plague is a very, very different matter. "But that will be my legacy now. Not that I and my sons fought to preserve order, that the lives we take are in pursuit of that goal ... but that we are torturers and killers. That we are beasts in men's shape, seeking only our own amusement."

Or could they? They could be; they would not know until it ends. If they remembered. "You can read me quite well already." It was a compliment, even if he was pretty easy to read unless he was in the Victorian version of customer service mode. "I admit I am rather curious about that."

The pencil was held still as he listened, nodding. "I can see where that would be deeply upsetting. Surely you cannot be held to blame for their misdeeds? It sounds like you do important work in your world to preserve order." Sure, some of what his new friend said sounded pretty alarming, but different worlds had different rules. "Are you alright though? It must be distressing."

For a moment, the proto-cards and scissors are set down, to pick a little at the sheen of glitter and dried blood between his fingers. "The devil-women who plagued you. Do you hold them accountable for their actions, or do you place the blame at the feet of the one who infected them?"

Jonathan looks apologetic then.

"Oh, I can see your point. That is rather unfair, though."

"Life is unfair, Jonathan Harker." For a moment, he looks strangely wistful, instead of bitter or sad. "I take great comfort in that fact, as should you. Consider the alternative."

He turns one grimy hand over, palm up. "Imagine your entire life from start to finish, in a universe which is fair." The long fingers curl inward, grasping nothing. "And every single terrible thing that has befallen you is because you deserve it." His eyes narrow, studying his own clenched hand as if it had personally offended him somehow. "How much worse that would be."

The hand drops, to pick up another piece of cardstock. He'll have all seventy plus tonight, at this rate. "And so we bear the stains of each other's decisions, the sins of the fathers cast unto the sons, and the sons' actions reflecting terribly upon their fathers. A vicious circle. Round and round it goes."

He wanted to argue it, but as Night Haunter went on, it was clear to see when he switched opinions.

"I want to argue against it, but you have a good point. It would be so much worse to know all of the pains we suffer are our own fault." Jonathan nodded at the last bit. "I had not considered that, but all the same, I am sorry you must bear that."

Well, that's gratifying. No argument against his ideas, just agreement. It doesn't happen very often, and he can't say he doesn't enjoy it. His Legion would of course agree with nearly anything he said but Harker is definitely not a Night Lord. Too old to even try to become one, by his estimate, were the possibility there to suggest it.

"My lessons on etiquette never mentioned what to say when someone expresses condolences," he muses. "Thank you, I suppose would be right.."

He's not sure. "Don't let anyone call it fatalism. It's practicality. No amount of hoping for a fair universe will make it so and I am infinitely grateful for it."

He would find the young man was easily persuaded, which unfortunately is why his wife didn't know the signs to watch out for when Dracula started feeding on her. Yet, here he is, still easily swayed by someone older's logic.

"For my time it is simply that, thank you, or I appreciate that. It never quite feels like the right words, if you ask me. But who am I to question etiquette?"

Nodding then, as he took up the scissors again. "Practicality is far more useful than hope for fairness; this is true. I will keep it in mind."

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Careful of the stacks - LIBRARY LOG

Oh please do share. I believe I shared Harker's with you.

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A tiny tag.

Another tiny one.

CONSUMES IT

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idk how I lost this, sorry! Want to end it here?