damned_institute | Day 27: Library

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Day 27: Library

Libraries, he'd found, were rarely as dull as people made them out to be. Though he felt no magic in these tomes, they were still full of useful information. Maybe some of them could tell him a little bit more about this world he'd landed himself in.

For that matter, why hadn't he run into any of the others yet? They'd all been fairly close together when they'd left Rekord, but he hadn't seen a trace of any of them. He was able to communicate easily with the people here though, which led him to believe Mokona was within a mile or so. Unless the ones running this little game had some other way to let all these other-worldly people communicate amongst themselves. In which case, the others could be very far away indeed.

The library had that wonderful smell of old books, and Fai traced his fingers along the shelves, skimming titles and pulling books that struck his fancy. Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz, The War of the Worlds, and with a smile, he found Bram Stoker's Dracula as well. Raven had been telling the truth then, in spite of his own lies. Ought to be a good start. He sat leisurely at one of the tables and began flipping through his selections.

[waiting for Tamaki~]

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Saetan saw the walls go up. He'd thought Daemon's insecurities had been soothed by his months in Kaeleer. The father in him clawed to the surface--it was never very deep when he was in the presence of any of his children--and widened the smile he already wore. He reached to grasp both of Daemon's shoulders. "Of course, I would rather be with you. You have the advantage of experience here. Besides, you're my son."

"Are you certain your companions wouldn't mind me?"

"Of course they won't," Daemon replied, relaxing somewhat under his father's reassurances. "Everyone has secrets here. Everyone has something... different about them. What's one more oddity to the collection?" he replied with a faint quirk of his lips. "Besides, you've met one companion already, and if she didn't like you, you would have known it. And Ren... Well, I can see no reason why Ren would mind. I believe someone from his own world showed up shortly before you did, so he will be bringing someone new as well."

"Would her displeasure have involved pasta?" He hadn't missed that remark before. Amusement danced in his eyes and flirted with the corners of his mouth. Here he stood lost from the Realms in possible deadly danger without his Jewels, and it was a comfort to try to share a mild joke with Daemon.

He dropped his hands, sweeping his gaze across the crowded room. "Did you have a particular goal for your nocturnal plans?"

"No, she only dresses people she likes in their meals," Daemon quipped with fond amusement.

His golden gaze scanning the room like his father's, he shook his head, expression turning a bit grimmer. "Nothing concrete. Although Renji has mentioned that there is a patter to the darkness. Last night, there were those among us taken and manipulated, used to fight against us. Tonight he predicts there will be some taken above-stairs and tortured. He says it alternates with the nights."

"Tortured?" he asked, his gaze darkening. "And there's no predicting who is taken?" It went without saying that he didn't approve of torture when there was no sense to it. "Were any of your friends affected by this?" And how can we put a stop to it? "I like this place less and less with each passing moment."

"I know very little about it," Daemon answered honestly, shaking his head with a frown. "I only know that they are taken to the second floor and it is there that Renji is his group are heading. If Ren is amenable, we can make our way there, unless the passage proves to be too dangerous. Some of the things this place sets in the way can be quite formidable."

"As far as I know, no one I know has been taken, although River and Renji were both injured last night by one of the patients being used against us, and fairly seriously, despite the fact that they seem well enough today. There's also a creature here that can take another's form. It had taken River's appearance my first night here, which is partially how we met. This place is less and less likable with every minute that ticks past."

Saetan nodded to himself as he listened. Yes, Daemon's short time here had given the younger man a wealth of knowledge. And he marvelled a bit at Daemon's out-going attitude.

"Well, I should think trying to stop such things would be a high priority. Without our Jewels, are there weapons to be had?"

That same rueful quirk of his lips again. "People are making do with what they can find. There are some here who can craft weapons, and there are supposedly rooms where makeshift things can be found. I admit, I've still relied on my magic, despite the limitations I have here. It's exhausting here, but I'm more familiar with it."

That didn't completely answer his father's question, however. "Look around your room when they return you there shortly. Perhaps there is something you can break or find to use," he suggested. Oh, and beneath your pillow, there is something called a flashlight. If you click the button on it, they serve as our lights at night."

"I will look for them, then." Taking instructions from Daemon also wasn't usual. "For now, I'll have to trust to it as well. I feel half-blind though."

He wondered then if he should bring up the other thing he'd noticed. "Daemon, have you noticed anything different about me?" he asked gently, his tone entirely different as he made an effort to lighten the question.

Daemon glanced at his father in surprise, then paused to see what he meant. There had been something, but he hadn't been able to put his finger on it... Now he studied him closely intently, golden eyes missing little, and then widening in surprise.

You're no longer a Guardian, are you?" Daemon murmured, shock coloring his tone. He'd heard of this place changing people into something new, but this...

He didn't know if this was a good thing or not. Complications arose any way you looked at it.

Saetan hadn't had much longer, at most half an hour, to get used to the idea than Daemon, but he managed to keep outwardly calm as he said, "That's it exactly. There are few advantages to being a Guardian other than the extended lifespan." He grimaced because in his present form the idea was slightly nauseating even though even living Blood drank blood for ritual or Craft quite often, just not the quantities required by Guardians or the demon dead, and said, "The diet was quite limited."

He held out a hand again, palm up, hoping Daemon would take it. "I don't know of anyone powerful enough to reverse the process of becoming a Guardian, yet here I am, about as healthy as anyone can expect to be at my age. I thought you should know in case anyone here wanted to try to make an issue of it."

Looking rather stunned, Daemon reached out and took his father's hand. "Your diet would be rather difficult to come by here," he admitted, feeling a moment of relief. "I haven't noticed any yarbarah on the menu for meals, at least," he admitted, a flicker of amusement flashing through a golden gaze.

There was so very little to joke about here, after all.

"There is no one that would no, with the exception of those in charge. Who could make an issue of it, when it is not an issue any longer? I'm sure there are those that had lives just as different as ours."

"Did you know," he added mildly, as if it were a simple continuation of the topic, "that in some worlds they have carriages that drive themselves with no horse and no magic?"

"Rumors need no sensible reason to travel," he said with a frown. He grasped the hand in his for a long moment, savoring the warmth of the touch.

Carriages with no horses or magic? The frown transformed into something more puzzled, though his eyes blazed with the curiosity of someone used to knowing everything about how the world worked. New ideas, while daunting, were almost as much a pleasure as a good glass of wine. "Some kind of mechanical device?" he asked, trying to pursue the idea through elimination.

Thinking of the wine had been a bad idea. He felt almost childishly disappointed that an institution such as this would not likely allow its inhabitants alcohol. He would enjoy a glass or two of wine or good brandy without the resulting headache his former condition forced upon him.

"No, but there is usually a cause behind the start. However, being different is normal here, so get in line," Daemon amended with a chuckle. "As you could tell from River, it can fall easily into an introductionary statement. How many Witches do you know that introduce themselves with the addendum that they can explode things with their mind?"

"From what I've heard, yes. There is a motor that runs it, and burns fuel for power," Daemon answered, knowing how fascinated he'd been, hearing about the strange things from other people's worlds, everything that was so different from everything he knew.

"And just wait till you taste waffles."

Saetan glanced back toward where the girl had gone. It seemed his frowning muscles were going to get plenty of exercise today, though again the tone was slightly altered by his eyebrows rising toward his hairline. "She wasn't joking?" But of course she wasn't.

"I suppose it would be appropriate to treat her as a Witch. Would you consider her Broken?" None of them could use Jewels here, so the idea was somewhat moot. Her apparent madness had nothing to do with her capabilities. He'd simply assumed the boast was idle, meant to shock, as young people liked to do.

The explanation of the motorized carriages almost dulled in comparison. "What is a waffle?"

"It's difficult to tell with River. You could always try asking her," Daemon remarked mildly, arching an eyebrow in an unconscious almost-mimic of his father's expression.

"She refers to herself as a teacup," Daemon answered, his gaze seeking out the young woman. "I'm not sure if she means it in the same sense as Jaenelle always referred to the chalice, but it could be. At first I thought it was like being Broken, and yet... It's different, too. One moment she will remind me of Tersa's disjointedness, and another... I don't think she's lost in the Twisted Kingdom. She just dances along paths no one else can see."

Daemon smiled at his father's question, a hint of mischief creeping into his golden gaze. "You'll find out, I'm sure. At the very least, the cuisine experience has been fascinating. Mrs. Beale would be in absolute bliss with all the strange recipes."

"It's good to see you less worried," Saetan said quickly. He pulled his hands free and turned slowly in a circle, looking over the entire room, trying to sense the currents and scents here with the new insight of River's presence. It was still far too muddled, with nothing clearly powerful except Daemon, who was now at his back.

"Should we ever have a lengthier discussion, I will ask her," he threw over his shoulder. "If it is true, shouldn't she be keeping it more of a secret? Especially here. I can't imagine all the other prisoners being friendly, even if we're all taken here by the same power."

But he was largely speculating out loud. "That dance along the edges of the Twisted Kingdom are what make Black Widows so... well, you should know. It isn't a gift to be trifled with, nor should it be feared as much as it is. I think that girl can see farther than most here."

"I'd give half of SaDiablo Hall to have Mrs. Beale. She'd make that nurse who escorted me here run and hide in a closet." He and Daemon may have worn Jewels daker than hers, but no one crossed that woman without regretting it.

"It's not that I'm less worried," Daemon answered, shaking his head. "There are just... different things to worry about here. And little can be done about them till after dark. Daylight grants a short reprieve and a chance to rest."

And Saetan still hadn't answered his question about Jaenelle. He wondered if that meant there'd been no change? Or if there was just something Saetan wasn't telling him. Neither option would bring much relief, and again, he felt the urgency to break free of this place, leave it in a smoldering ruin, and return to Kaeleer to... to what? Was she waiting for him.

Turning away to hide the sorrow that spasmed across his face, Daemon took a moment to compose himself before turning back, calm facade slipping easily over his features once more.

"Some things are secret, others are not. People exchange information about things that are common in their worlds. Dragons. Demons. Gods. Magic. Something that might be a secret to us may be commonplace in another's realm. It's hard to judge what should remain quiet and not."

"There are none here who know of the webs, but Renji speaks of something similar that he knows of as 'spirit threads', that connect every living thing. Others come from worlds with no magic at all and never knew it could exist before coming here."

Saetan didn't have a chance to see Daemon's sorrow directly. The emotional currents in the room seemed to be in constant flux too, with so many people. A taste of anger here, frustration there, even loneliness and sorrow. Very little lighter, happier emotion. There was a dark well of grief at his back, and Saetan turned back to see the mask his son's face had become.

"How do the prisoners communicate? Is mingling like this commonplace?" He could see little supervision in the room.

"Even our webs connect everyone and everything. It's simply that the ones connecting the Blood are so much stronger, they drown out the rest." He used his didactic opportunity to cover another scrutiny of the facade Daemon wore. "What is wrong, Daemon?" he asked, when he was fairly sure there was something still eating at him.

"During the daylight, it is commonplace. We are shuffled from location to location. Two meals, two "activities". It seems to vary with the days. At night, people break off into smaller groups to travel, explore, and fight. There is also a board in the lounge where people leave messages for others, and there are often conversations exchanged this way, when you can't find the other person in person, or if you are looking for information as a whole."

At his father's intent look, he arched an eyebrow, knowing he wasn't fooling the older man a bit. Debating for a moment, he finally asked quietly, "There's been no word from her yet, has there?"

"I would like to see that board," he said, but his tone was almost absent as he focused more on Daemon's distress.

This was about Jaenelle again? He hoped his confusion was as plain to see as he felt. "Why should there be any word? There was nothing wrong with her last I saw. Why are you so worried?"

"You've seen her?" Daemon jerked to attention, his eyes going wide, hope and uncertainty flickering across his face. "Is she alright? Is she well? Ladvarian and the Kindred succeeded? She's healing?"

Saetan reached out to grip Daemon's shoulders again, though he resisted the urge to shake him. "Daemon, calm down," he ordered, trying to keep calm himself. Something was definately wrong here, but he couldn't put his finger on what.

"Why should she be healing? What do you think has happened?" The mention of the Kindred was alarming, especially in the context Daemon seemed to be using.

"What do you mean 'what happened'?!" Daemon's voice cracked, an almost wild light in his eyes. "She spiraled. I've been waiting for months for word if she's alright, if she's healing, if she's alive. You've seen her? When? Where was she?"

Saetan shook his head in confusion and stepped back. He didn't snap. Mother Night, he'd hate to snap at Daemon on so sensitive a subject. "Draca said she'd always spiral in the Abyss." But that wasn't what Daemon meant, was it?

"Perhaps you should start from the beginning. What do you remember?" He was afraid to answer Daemon's answers directly. Of course, Jaenelle was alive, working hard as usual. But that wild, fragile hope in Daemon's eyes didn't seem to connect to something so ordinary. Oh yes, the situation was getting bad, but nothing to warrant this reaction. Nothing he knew of.

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