is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
The library felt endless, all those rows and rows of books, all that was held within each one; Lasairian could only imagine how much was really there. The idea of reading all of them sounded grand, but it was much more reasonable that he would be long gone by the time it might take to get through them all. He had started to read quite a lot where magic and medical matters were concerned, but there would always be more to read, more to learn. Lasairian was ever so interested in all the different areas of each subject there were, and even getting through all of those seemed daunting. But he still wanted to do so.
He still pushed himself to read more, seek out more that had anything to do with the subjects that he was interested in. Going through the rows of books, checking the titles for something that screamed out at him. He wanted something that just called to him for today. It could be anything, Lasairian wasn't passing up anything that just reached out at him right now. Maybe he was just looking for a sign, for something, anything, to direct him on a path that was outside of his norm. Lasairian felt like there was too much that aligned with this place, and wondered if it meant something more, somehow.
He had given up so much getting here, and he ached from those losses, from all that had been lost along the way. He didn't like talking about it, didn't want to go there, but it was constantly lingering on his mind. That much couldn't be helped, no matter how much he had been trying to push it away. Lasairian didn't want to dwell in the past, did not want to be so caught up in what had been that he couldn't see all that was now in front of him. He was worried that was how it would be, how he would keep going. So he tried to throw himself into what he could be here, into trying to be better all around.
On and on he went, searching for that one book that made him feel a certain way, something aside from what he felt in general looking at all the rest of them. Lasairian already had a deep love and respect for knowledge and the books that contained it, so it had to be something that really pulled him in, something that outshined everything else. It could be just a word, or the way a book looked; anything that caught his attention in a way that the others weren't right now. Not that quiet interest he regarded most with, but something more. He had to find that, even if it took all day and all night. So he kept going.
tag — any
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Mateo thought intention was a fine thing. Much to his shame, he lacked it in most aspects of his life. The problem was not that he did not have the energy for it, but that he simply did not know what to throw himself into.
When the southern sky bloomed in colors of gunmetal and charcoal, Mateo did not go to investigate. Mateo retreated to where it was safe and quiet and there were answers to every question you could think of, if you only have the patience to search for it-- and patience was key. Sometimes the searching took a very long time. The sky was on fire(-- no, the sky was already burned) and while others danced and stomped and bared their teeth for war (what war? who are we fighting?) Mateo retreated and armed himself with the only weapon he ever wielded successfully- knowledge.
His favorite desk, in the quiet room where Ipomoea sought him out not very long ago, is covered with books. The Destruction of Islas is open to a detailed retelling of a volcanic eruption on an island-- Islas (a horribly uncreative name for an island, in his opinion)-- and its aftermath. Birds refused to fly overhead for months afterward, and it was said that all who stepped foot on the isle would be cursed. The author leaned too heavily on superstition and heresay and so Mateo had abandoned it in search of another, more informative read. (From the abandoned book’s introduction: “The night before the eruption, a cardinal rested outside my window and tapped on the pane three times. I should have known, then, how doom approached swiftly on hooves of black death”… blah blah blah)
He has his nose in a scroll of Warden Thurisson's when someone else walks in, peering closely at the library’s vast collection. Mateo peeks at the other man to see if it’s someone he knows (he knows most Deluminians, on account of his sociable– borderline nosy– debatably not borderline at all– nature) but it isn’t. The pegasus returns to his scroll but the stranger intrigues him. All intent beings do.
After a few minutes he looks up. The scroll does not have the information he had hoped for anyway.
“Hey,” he says, quiet but friendly. His eyes are fuzzy with sleep and his short mane tousled. A few feathers hang loosely from his wings, a sign that he has not flown in days. Days-- has he been here that long already? Regardless, he is able to smile sweetly despite his exhaustion. “What are you looking for?”
is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
Finding something worthwhile to throw oneself in was not something that should be done without thought, but Lasairian had felt too deeply about his studies at a young age to be able to see past it. He had known quickly what he had wanted to do, what he wanted to put his time and effort into. Maybe being here had wasted a lot of that, simply because Lasairian had lost the magic he had once held and honed, but the knowledge of it was still something that couldn't be taken away from him. He would always have that, and he would keep building upon it. That wasn't something that he meant to change. It was a part of him.
Yet he also had the medical side to fall back on, and the basics of it that had very little to do with magic. That was why he had gone for the position of medic, why he took that option here. Because he knew what he was doing at that non magic level of things, and it had been very much a part of his studies before, too. Yes, a lot of it had been magic infused and all, but Lasairian had still learned about all the helpful types of plants and herbs, how they should be prepared and applied. Things that did not need magic to work, just were helped when enhanced by it if need be. That was something Lasairian could do here, now.
And it held connections to his past that might be painful, but it was also a way to honor the good parts of that past; to honor the mentor that he'd had. It made sense to do this, go this route, for all of those reasons. So, that was what he had thrown himself into. What he researched the most these days, because he did want to get better at it, did want to reach for something above what he was now. There were different branches to choose from once he got to a certain point, but even here and now he had not decided which would be best for himself and others. But he would get there.
Just not today, while he was going down the shelves, looking up, down and across, seeking out that one book that would call to him above all others. There were several interesting titles that he would have to eventually come back for, but nothing that really jumped at him yet. Lasairian was always looking to expand his knowledge, but there were almost endless books here in this library, and he felt that it would take years and years to get through half of them. How many shelves were just dedicated to magic or medical subjects? Enough to keep him busy with those for a long time, no matter how fast he read.
Still, he had taken his break from that for this, because it did feel like there was some sort of guiding force there with him after coming to these lands, and he wanted to see how far that could go. So Lasairian kept looking, going down the line, the rows and rows upon books. No, nope, nope, he would come back for that later, no, not that, nope— Wait. Someone had spoken, quiet as it was, and it had Lasairian pausing in step to glance towards the sound of the voice, seeing the shadow shaded pegasus there, hearing the question posed to him. What was he looking for. Lasairian smiled warmly back, "something that calls out to me. Something unlike the rest," he responded lightly, looking at the other curiously.
tag — @Mateo
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To be honest, Mateo had expected a more concrete answer from the other stallion. Something like Ardgo's Fourth Century Deluminian History or The Epicurean Gardens of Terrastella or even something as vague as folklore texts. Something Mateo could work with.
"Oh." A small, disappointed frown colors his expression. "I probably can't help you then." He replays the other man's words-- "something that calls to me. Something unlike the rest." and he tilts his head curiously. "Although... aren't they all unlike the rest, sir?" He is not searching for a philosophical argument, and it shows in the politeness of his words, but for Mateo each book had a magic of its own, a certain uniqueness, be it in the topic or the tone or the language of the writing. It's what made reading so wondrous, because each time it made his world feel just a little bigger. Every sentence made him think something differently, feel something differently.
"I think I know what you mean, though," he says quickly, lest the stranger take offense. God knows the winged stallion has gotten into terrible moods where he wants to read so many things at once that he does not read anything at all. The same would happen with songwriting, or singing itself. The pursuit of perfection, and the impatience to achieve it, so often swallowed itself whole, leaving one with nothing at all but the sense of having wasted precious time.
"Sometimes you just need to get through a few rotten apples before you find a peach, you know? I mean," he takes a quick breath, clarifying his statement before the pale stallion even has a chance to respond to it,"sometimes we don't hear the books that are calling to us, until other books show us how to listen."
Mateo grins then, as if to say but what do I know and flutters his wings in greeting. "I'm Mateo. Or just Teo. Or whatever else you'd like to call me, really." He was quite proud of his many nicknames-- he liked thinking he was someone different to every person-- but most just called him Mateo, and he was proud of that too because it was the name his mother chose for him. And a damn fine name it was, in his opinion. "Anyway, I hope you find what you're looking for."
is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
In most instances, Lasairian would have had a more concrete answer. Or at least one that would have pointed in a specific direction as to where he meant to look. Right now, however, he was letting himself just roam for it, no direction, no particular end in mind save for something that stuck out from all the rest to him. His answer did not seem to make it easier for the other there, as much as Lasairian appreciated the fact that he seemed to want to be helpful in the search. This just wasn't something that he could be helped with, and that was okay. Lasairian did not expect it, though he wasn't so hard-pressed to find such a book that he couldn't hold a conversation first.
He gives a subtle shrug at the first few words, "no worries, though I appreciate that you were willing to try to help," he responds to that bit. At the other words that had been spoken, Lasairian chuckles softly, "you're right, of course. In their own ways, yes, they are all unlike the rest," he admits with a faint smile, amused at the fact the other has said these things, but also while knowing the meaning behind what Lasairian had said as well, concerning the comment of the other saying he knew what Lasairian meant. There was obviously no offense taken over what had been said.
Lasairian gave pause as the other continued to speak, head tilted ever so slightly at the way it was said. It wasn't lost on him, that meaning -- he had lived much of his life with his nose in books, after all -- though he understood why the translation of it was given. Not all would get it, and the other did not know how much that Lasairian did, and if it would make sense to him or not. But he nodded to all of this, looking fairly glad to have such interesting company. Perhaps, at the moment, it was more important to have that than to find a book that was different enough to make him look more than twice.
It was in this mindset, combined with the introduction of the other, that had Lasairian responding as he did -- without thinking about it, really -- "Peach, then?" Lasairian's expression was amused and good-natured, and it was his turn to grin. A new nickname, maybe, if Mateo did not mind it. It could always be denied as one, and Lasairian would respect that if so, but he hoped it was seen as something good, regardless. With what was implied earlier, there shouldn't be an issue with it, right? When it was Mateo's words for the better of books, the ones that stood out among the others.
While Lasairian implied that it was a book that he was looking for that should stand out, he hadn't said book in name. Of course such a thing was not really all that within the norm of how he responded towards others, but everyone was allowed a little slip now and then, so long as it was still genuine, right? It was still his turn, though, to give his name, and so he did, "I'm Lasairian, sometimes Lasair or a variant of that," were his words, offering more than just the nickname, if only because he had taken the liberty of calling Mateo 'Peach'. When Mateo said he hoped Lasairian found what he was looking for, Lasairian held his tongue on his initial commentary reaction to that, and merely went with a nod of his head.
tag — @Mateo
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Mateo is a man (boy? man-boy?) with many smiles. A sly smile for a pretty lady (or gentleman) far out of his league, a coy smile when he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing (which he won't get in trouble for, anyway), a sad smile for those rare days where the rot of the world has soured his mood and the world seems a sea of colors in shades of only blue and grey. When he grins now, absolutely peachy with this new nickname, it is the sort of smile that lights up the room. Moths draw closer, shadows cower, etc. A small planet could be powered by that smile.
"Peach!" he exclaims with delight. "Most would go with Rotten Apple," his voice swells with just-contained laughter, although this playful self deprecation is more lie than truth-- at least he thinks it is. "I like you, Lasair. You seem an excellent judge of character." he ruffles his feathers, only half pretending to be vain.
His thoughts do not linger long on himself or his new nickname. Though, they did not tend to linger much on anything, ever. Like a hummingbird's wings or the great wonderful sea, they are constantly in motion.
Where oh where could his new companion find something... something different... something special?
"Have you been to the room of lost things?" His eyes turn pure silver in excitement-- all the green in them has run away to the leaves of the great copse of trees which make up the library. "I think," he says with a smile that is almost shy, "it is a good place to find a thing that is not like the others."
is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
Lasairian wished that he had more smiles to give -- aside from polite or friendly, or maybe something more rare than those -- but he seemed to be more on the serious side of things, not all that sure on how to have fun in the ways that maybe he should be. Too often with his nose stuck in a book and learning, perhaps. He isn't sure he was ever really much of a child, though.
He'd had his impulses and everything, but he tended to take things in with careful observation more often than not. Sure, he'd had his bouts of sass and flirting, but he had never really committed to that sort of thing. He didn't think he could, all things considered. Even now. Maybe more now than ever. Yet he was still not far off from flirty with the peach comment, though he might not want to admit it.
Lasairian wouldn't blink twice if it was tossed aside, because he thought of it as friendly -- protecting himself, of course, because there are reasons to be in denial -- and that was where his mind rested on it. He's amused at the banter back, though, and is warm enough in responses to chuckle at the Rotten Apple comment and shake his head, "I haven't noticed a rotten thing about you," he responds lightly.
An excellent judge of character. Well, he hoped that he was, but whether or not he was, he didn't always use that good judgement when he had it. He tried, he really did, but there were times when even he, himself, could not talk himself out of something that just wasn't all that practical. He was still internally beating himself up for such things in his past. But for now, he just shakes his head at that and shrugs.
At the question on if he had been to the room of lost things, Lasairian's brows went up at that. He had not been there, nor had he heard of such a place! He was sure his expression explained that well enough without words as he listened to Mateo go on, curious about this room and what might be within it, "I did not even know such a room existed here! Can you show me where it is?" he asked, some excitement nudging into his voice.
tag — @Mateo
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"I haven't noticed a rotten thing about you," Lasairian says simply. Mateo snorts. "Neither have I," he says innocently, laughter in his voice and something gleaming in those silver green eyes, something like mischief.
Mateo loved surprises, and he took great joy in surprising others, although this was not always well received. He had learned over the years the qualities in a person that made them likely to react in delight and awe instead of annoyance and anger. Put most simply, it was only the most arrogant of creatures who did not like to be surprised. A surprise was a reminder of all the things one did not know, things one could not know (if the surprise was a good one), and things that were out of one's control.
Lasairian seemed open-minded and far from arrogant, although Mateo could not say for certain that the man was humble-- not that this was a bad thing-- true humility was hard to achieve, and it was frankly quite boring. The surprised look on Lasairian's face is pleasing to the black pegasus. "Most don't." He grins, not a little arrogant. "Come on, I'll show you." He waits only a moment for confirmation before leading the way to the room of lost things.
Mateo steps lightly (an easy task, when you're as small as he) through the library, weaving from room to room with an ease that suggests deep familiarity with the place. He leads his companion deeper into the grove that makes up the library. It is difficult, at first, to realize which way is deeper. The structure of the library was a curious thing that could not be thought about with too much logic, or else the threads of reason would simply become a tangled, confusing mess. It was an organic thing, a building that was grown and not built, and as such it did not follow the rules of construction that one was used to.
Eventually they step through a small passageway ("watch your head," Mateo murmurs, a little jealously. He doesn't have to worry about hitting his head, short as he is.) into a large, circular room. It seems as though they are on the inside of a massive, hollow tree, for the ceiling is-- well, there is no ceiling, just a dappled light streaming in from far above. The walls of the room are rough like the texture of bark, at least the walls that can be seen. There are hundreds of nooks and crannies, all different shapes and sizes, cut into the walls. Most are crammed full of scrolls and papers, although there are other oddities to be found-- trinkets and babbles, some of them seemingly very valuable, most of them surely sentimental in nature. All the things that had no other place in the library eventually found themselves here.
The room of lost things.
"Here we are." His voice is hushed, almost reverent. The room has the atmosphere of a church; even the dust motes, hung in the lazy sunlight, seem like they are in prayer. The place demands respect-- all lost things do.
A library helper suddenly scampers in, swaps the scroll in its mouth for another, and stares at the stallions with an icy "I'm watching you" sort of glare before scampering back out. "Never take anything from here you don't need." It was a rule that until now went unspoken and so he did not know if there was any truth to it. But Mateo felt responsible for bringing the other man to this secret place so few knew about, and so it only seemed right that he shared his personal rule with the other.
With not a sound other than the soft shuffle of feathers, Mateo steps out and leaves Lasairian to himself and the mysterious room.
