Despite living in Delumine for what seemed like eternity (really, it was only a few years), Sloane had rarely visited the library the court was known for. She had never been the sort to read. It was boring and seemed to make her eyes feel cross-eyed. Why would she read a bunch of words when she could go out and experience the world? Then again, Sloane didn’t really like to experience the world either. In fact, Sloane simply existed. She was brash, blunt, and a sore on everyone’s rump. Ipomoea seemed to be the only one she could tolerate, and perhaps that was because he gave her a private island where she didn’t have to do a damn thing. The only problem was the fucking fire squirrels on the island next to hers. It was like a bonfire every night, but she digresses.

The point of that narrative was simple: Sloane didn’t like anyone or anything. So to see her pacing the isles of the library was an odd sight. In fact, it was such a rare occurrence that Sloane hadn’t even bothered learning about library etiquette. Perhaps it irritated many of the frequent library goers, but she didn’t give rat’s shit of care about what other people thought.

As she’s busy flipping through the old, worn book, she hears the approach of another. What about her body language gave someone else the idea that she might want to be bothered? It definitely wasn’t the way her ears lay so flat against her skull that it looked like she had no ears at all. It always wasn’t the way her body was stiff with agitation, her tail flicking aggressively at her hocks, or the fact that her hoof scraped the bottom of the concrete floor producing a sound much like nails on a chalkboard.

And yet, the individual approaches. She hears his question before she looks up to see him. Perhaps that was a good thing because if she looked at him before he spoke, she’d be too busy laughing at his appearance to listen to anything he was saying. "Unless you can put a damn table of contents into this book, then I doubt you can." Always the irritated girl, Sloane had never been one to make friends. It was a little strange that Ipomoea could still somehow tolerate her. Not many could.

It was then that she slowly drew her eyes away from the old, ratted book to look at the individual who had the misfortune of conversing with her on this delightful occasion. No sooner than she turned her head towards him did her eyes fall on his overly large ears. A laugh rumbled in her chest and left unchecked, it filled the library. It was not a soft chuckle, no. It was a loud, obnoxious laugh that echoed through the halls. "Jesus…who fucked up your ears?" Words were spoken through fits of laughs, rude as ever. But Sloane, unfortunately, didn’t care.

@willfur

In Sloane’s defense (as the narrator of this unfortunate piece of writing must do), she has never seen a mule, a donkey, or anything else with abnormally long ear aside from a rabbit. Sloane is not well traveled and never really cared to. She only recognizes what she’s seen in passing because the mare cannot be bothered to open a book and learn. Learning was for the sort of people who wanted to enhance their IQ or knowledge of the world they lived in. Unfortunately, Sloane was not that sort of person. This was the very first time she had seen anything like the mule before her. In a sense, he was helping her learn - even if she might not wish to call it like it is.

Unlike the mule before her, Sloane did not have a supportive mother. She was one of three born to her mother in one pregnancy. Such a rarity for triplets to be conceived, let alone survive to term and then to survive birth through weaning. Her mother had basically told her to fend for herself. From the moment she had been born, Sloane was very much alone. She had taught herself to survive. Perhaps that is why her skin was so tough and her words so hurtful. She had been denied love and affection and this was all she knew. She didn’t know how to be friendly or what being friendly even meant. She just acted as she always had: with the goal of survival. Soft, trusting, and naïve individuals never really survived.

However, nothing else was said on the matter and perhaps that was a good thing. Instead, he began to answer her question that was really more of a snarky remark than anything, Sloane started to listen in hopes that he might say something useful. However, his words were long and drawn out, clearly evident of some form of higher education. He was trying to make her look unintelligent and it was doing nothing but pissing her off. And so, she stopped listening to him ramble and didn’t even give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his stab at her. However, she had heard him say something about being in alphabetical order or some shit like that. She rolled her eyes. "Organization by alphabet is only successful if the topic you are looking for is labeled under a uniform title…which it isn’t." She rolled her eyes yet again, looking back to the book and continuing to flip the pages in search of the topic she was looking for. "I’m not a complete idiot - I looked alphabetically." While she might have looked under one name, it very well could be listed under something else entirely - thus a table of contents or glossary might have been useful. But clearly, he could not help her with that.

But when he speaks again, this time, he seems to be making some sort of sense to Sloane. He’s trying to be helpful, at least she thinks he is. But regardless of his intent to be helpful, he’s still asking her to divulge more information than she really cares to disclose. After all, it’s really none of his business what she’s looking for. "Is it not obvious that I am looking for a potion or spell?" After all, the book she was currently flipping through was filled to the brim with recipes and chants. Now, exactly which position or spell she was looking for was unknown to him and Sloane intended to keep it. "You don’t need to know exactly what I’m looking for. Mind your own damn business." She would not be sharing her life story with him nor would she be telling him exactly what she was looking for. However, if he wanted to suggest another volume on potions or spells, she might be appreciative.

@Willfur

Despite the fact that he is being the bigger person in this situation and choosing to apologize for his actions, Sloane does nothing of the sort. The idea of admitting that she was wrong is likened to weakness and Sloane will never admit to anyone that she is weak. Even if she might not feel at all comfortable here in the library, she would not show him, or anyone for that matter, that she felt uneasy. She had to make it look like she sort of knew what she was doing. Was that what her tough exterior and demeanor was meant to do?

But she is silent, using her magic to continue to sift through the book in front of her as he begins to speak. Who does he think he is? He’s assuming that she plans to use the knowledge that she’s after for some sort of evil. Evil ritual, poison, unleash a powerful curse. None of that is really what she’s after. What she finds strange, however, is that for someone who insists on being welcoming and unjudgmental, he sure is judging her motives. "Why do you assume I want to use it for some evil purpose? What if I wanted to shit glitter?" Her eyes stare at him sternly, even though she’s cackling inwardly. She was not the type who liked glitter, let alone wanted to shit glitter. Glitter was the one thing in this world that she hated more than anything. It got everywhere and it was nearly impossible to remove.

However, the next words that come from between his annoying lips are one hundred percent true. She is determined. She is so damned determined that she has already vowed to not leave this library until she finds exactly what she’s looking for, even if it might kill her in the process. She would let it slide that he still thought she was out to perform some sort of evil act when in reality, she was looking for something a little more sinister.

However, no matter how sound his train of thought is, Sloane refuses to compliment him. She refuses to acknowledge that perhaps, a cookbook might be what she is looking for. But then again, considering she’s looking for something between a harmless potion and creating matter, perhaps she is giving him too much credit.

But at this point in the conversation, the mule is beginning to talk way too much. His voice is starting to annoy the shit out of her. Not to mention, it’s starting to sound like the teacher from Charlie Brown “wah wah wah wah waaaaahhhhh”. His syllables are slurring together in her mind and it is making her skin feel as though it’s crawling with lice or some other evil sort of bug. Maybe it’s crabs, that’s sure as hell annoying. In fact, Sloane was sure that there simply had to be steam coming from each ear as the temperature of her blood began to reach boiling mad.

But just when she was ready to gather up the old book and let him talk to the wind while she went somewhere where she could actually hear herself thing, his volume suddenly grew loud with excitement. The quick snap of his ear to attention caught her attention and made her visibly jump. Head shot up as ears lay flat against her skull. What the fuck was this guy doing?

He was talking about some foxes, probably the same foxes that she had seen scurrying through the isles of the library. If there were anything like the fucking squirrels that lived on the island next to her own, she didn’t want anything to do with them. In fact, she had no intention of telling them what she was looking for.

When she looks over at him, she can only see that goofy, cheeky grin as he tells her that the foxes are very helpful and that his name is Willfur. Willfur. That’s a name she needs to put to a face so she knows not to bother him ever again. Already she’s lost a few IQ points while she’s been standing here. "Sloane." She supposed at the minimum, she could tell him exactly who he was talking to so maybe, like herself, he might steer clear of her. "Do you ever shut up?" As plainly obvious as it is, Sloane is not much of a talker in comparison to the mule before her. She only speaks when she has to and even that is not often enough.

Good god she had a splitting headache.

@Willfur