5 hours ago
Amusement glimmered, though beneath the layers of her scarf only the eyes showed it. She was grinning though. “Don't usually get turned down when I offer a back door,” she said, and slipped her arm free with a low laugh. By the time they made it through the line her feet were starting to feel numb inside her boots, and the snow was still falling. Maybe that was normal for Moscow; this was her first winter here, and nobody seemed alarmed by it. Inside it was warm at least; Nesrin pushed back her hood and loosened her scarf as she let her attention wander. It had “slipped” her mind to mention there was a small chance she’d be recognised, but she didn’t expect Lucien to be circulating amongst the masses. In fact she didn’t expect to see him at all.
She watched her surroundings the way practically everyone did when they first stumbled into the Hall of Stars, face slightly upturned to the domed ceiling and its shifting celestial galaxies. The walls were obscured by the crowds, but she already knew their depictions: the Ascendancy and his miracles. The Luminar and his visions. Her expression was a perfect softness of swept-away awe, lost in a sea of similarly seeking souls, but inside a knot twisted and pulled itself tight. She couldn’t exactly say why, and she didn’t linger on the feeling. But this place felt like the bad kind of lie.
Jaxen remained in her peripheral while he scoped everything out. No one was watching him, and when he slipped down an arterial corridor she followed.
It was only because she’d been watching that she even realised what had happened in his subtle turn. Wicked's gossip had spoiled the surprise of him being a “god” (not her words), but nothing prepared her for an application of power she’d never even imagined possible. She didn’t school the astonishment from her expression, nor that the gleam of her interest was very quickly the hungry sort for the glimpse of a secret laid bare. Not that she could see the threads he’d used. He (she) winked at her, and with a smirk Nesrin reached to boop his (her) nose, curious to see if the illusion held. It did. She felt the gloves still on her hands, but she saw a white, masculine hand brush that cute little button nose.
Other circumstances, she'd have plenty of questions. But not on a job. With a brief smirk that said as much, she simply adapted. Her mind was whirring.
If Nesrin walked like she knew where she was going after that, it was because she did. She even gave a grave nod to someone similarly dressed who passed in the opposite direction, and did not have to reach for the power to smooth her passage and convince them she belonged here. What a welcome novelty. Ahead would lead them to the main elevator bank, which could conceivably take them all the way up to the atrium, or down to the subterranean levels (which housed the vault, and was therefore not actually a listed option). It would require more clearance than they likely had with the swipe badges, but she didn’t think that would be a problem for Voxel. With enough time, anyway. And that would have been where she led them, except he’d chosen this day, and revealed this neat little power, so instead she took another direction entirely.
The library was about what one might expect: fancy shelves filled with scrolls and leather-bound books, shadowy nooks perfect for some extracurricular distraction, all blanketed in the heavy, silent feel of a mausoleum. A large stained glass window might have bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of colours but for the mute of heavy snow beyond. A curved desk lay beneath, dotted with neat piles of books and other curios. There was no computer, no screen – nothing she could see at least. The space felt timeless, like it had always existed. Like it always would.
As though summoned, a man drifted towards them from the stacks, dressed in robes similar to their own. His lips parted in greeting, only to pause in recognition of their stolen faces. Nesrin had no idea whether that was a good or bad thing, and she didn’t pause to find out. “Relax, we belong,” she told him under her breath. Beneath the heavy drape of her sleeve she placed a subtle touch on his arm. Contact wasn’t necessary, but it usually helped. The familiar faces helped more though, because the weave slipped in as smoothly as a knife in butter. She could see it sometimes, the way the light in someone’s eyes adjusted, accepted, trusted. Then, at a normal volume, she added: “We could use some more help in the Hall of Stars. This weather, you know? So many new seekers. We’ll see you out there.”
She dismissed him with a glance, utterly confident that he’d obey, though when he nodded and headed for the door she turned to watch him leave. “Well would you look at that white male privilege,” she said with a laugh. To say nothing of a little magic, obviously, but Jaxen didn’t need to know about that. Still, she was grinning like a devil when she rounded the desk. Lucien’s dreams were often prosaic, and he dreamed of work often enough that she had no problem slipping her hand underneath to negotiate the hidden compartment. No fingerprint scanner, just a puzzle of touch. For a man with gifts as Lucien apparently had, of course he was entirely analogue minded.
The key was for a door, a bronze plaque screwed to its surface engraved with the words: “The Librarian.” Inside was an esoteric, intimate office space. Windows looked out onto the library, and Nesrin twisted the privacy shutters after she closed the door behind them. She’d been in here before, but in the dream the papers all fluttered and merged and faded, unreadable. At a glance most of it seemed historical research. The long dead sort. Lucien had been employed by the British Museum before he’d inexplicably left for the Brotherhood, so none of that was surprising (or of interest right now). Yet nothing in Lucien’s background had really explained his apparent wealth, at least until she’d unearthed who exactly had paid for his education. Disparate puzzle pieces clicked, and suddenly his confession about once touching an object tied to her made sense.
“Vault’s below us,” she said to Jaxen conversationally. “That should take us down.”
The private elevator door she pointed out was an incongruous modernity, nestled amongst the bookcases along the walls. She had no idea what security would need circumventing to allow them access, and it would be beyond her abilities anyway. Unlike the other, this one only had two floor options, each labelled only by direction: one, an arrow up, the other an arrow down. Meanwhile, Nesrin turned her attention to riffling through the room. Her movements were quick, practised, capable, as though the gears inside her had shifted once again. She wasn’t sure she’d find anything here, but it was probably the best chance she’d ever have to look.
She watched her surroundings the way practically everyone did when they first stumbled into the Hall of Stars, face slightly upturned to the domed ceiling and its shifting celestial galaxies. The walls were obscured by the crowds, but she already knew their depictions: the Ascendancy and his miracles. The Luminar and his visions. Her expression was a perfect softness of swept-away awe, lost in a sea of similarly seeking souls, but inside a knot twisted and pulled itself tight. She couldn’t exactly say why, and she didn’t linger on the feeling. But this place felt like the bad kind of lie.
Jaxen remained in her peripheral while he scoped everything out. No one was watching him, and when he slipped down an arterial corridor she followed.
It was only because she’d been watching that she even realised what had happened in his subtle turn. Wicked's gossip had spoiled the surprise of him being a “god” (not her words), but nothing prepared her for an application of power she’d never even imagined possible. She didn’t school the astonishment from her expression, nor that the gleam of her interest was very quickly the hungry sort for the glimpse of a secret laid bare. Not that she could see the threads he’d used. He (she) winked at her, and with a smirk Nesrin reached to boop his (her) nose, curious to see if the illusion held. It did. She felt the gloves still on her hands, but she saw a white, masculine hand brush that cute little button nose.
Other circumstances, she'd have plenty of questions. But not on a job. With a brief smirk that said as much, she simply adapted. Her mind was whirring.
If Nesrin walked like she knew where she was going after that, it was because she did. She even gave a grave nod to someone similarly dressed who passed in the opposite direction, and did not have to reach for the power to smooth her passage and convince them she belonged here. What a welcome novelty. Ahead would lead them to the main elevator bank, which could conceivably take them all the way up to the atrium, or down to the subterranean levels (which housed the vault, and was therefore not actually a listed option). It would require more clearance than they likely had with the swipe badges, but she didn’t think that would be a problem for Voxel. With enough time, anyway. And that would have been where she led them, except he’d chosen this day, and revealed this neat little power, so instead she took another direction entirely.
The library was about what one might expect: fancy shelves filled with scrolls and leather-bound books, shadowy nooks perfect for some extracurricular distraction, all blanketed in the heavy, silent feel of a mausoleum. A large stained glass window might have bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of colours but for the mute of heavy snow beyond. A curved desk lay beneath, dotted with neat piles of books and other curios. There was no computer, no screen – nothing she could see at least. The space felt timeless, like it had always existed. Like it always would.
As though summoned, a man drifted towards them from the stacks, dressed in robes similar to their own. His lips parted in greeting, only to pause in recognition of their stolen faces. Nesrin had no idea whether that was a good or bad thing, and she didn’t pause to find out. “Relax, we belong,” she told him under her breath. Beneath the heavy drape of her sleeve she placed a subtle touch on his arm. Contact wasn’t necessary, but it usually helped. The familiar faces helped more though, because the weave slipped in as smoothly as a knife in butter. She could see it sometimes, the way the light in someone’s eyes adjusted, accepted, trusted. Then, at a normal volume, she added: “We could use some more help in the Hall of Stars. This weather, you know? So many new seekers. We’ll see you out there.”
She dismissed him with a glance, utterly confident that he’d obey, though when he nodded and headed for the door she turned to watch him leave. “Well would you look at that white male privilege,” she said with a laugh. To say nothing of a little magic, obviously, but Jaxen didn’t need to know about that. Still, she was grinning like a devil when she rounded the desk. Lucien’s dreams were often prosaic, and he dreamed of work often enough that she had no problem slipping her hand underneath to negotiate the hidden compartment. No fingerprint scanner, just a puzzle of touch. For a man with gifts as Lucien apparently had, of course he was entirely analogue minded.
The key was for a door, a bronze plaque screwed to its surface engraved with the words: “The Librarian.” Inside was an esoteric, intimate office space. Windows looked out onto the library, and Nesrin twisted the privacy shutters after she closed the door behind them. She’d been in here before, but in the dream the papers all fluttered and merged and faded, unreadable. At a glance most of it seemed historical research. The long dead sort. Lucien had been employed by the British Museum before he’d inexplicably left for the Brotherhood, so none of that was surprising (or of interest right now). Yet nothing in Lucien’s background had really explained his apparent wealth, at least until she’d unearthed who exactly had paid for his education. Disparate puzzle pieces clicked, and suddenly his confession about once touching an object tied to her made sense.
“Vault’s below us,” she said to Jaxen conversationally. “That should take us down.”
The private elevator door she pointed out was an incongruous modernity, nestled amongst the bookcases along the walls. She had no idea what security would need circumventing to allow them access, and it would be beyond her abilities anyway. Unlike the other, this one only had two floor options, each labelled only by direction: one, an arrow up, the other an arrow down. Meanwhile, Nesrin turned her attention to riffling through the room. Her movements were quick, practised, capable, as though the gears inside her had shifted once again. She wasn’t sure she’d find anything here, but it was probably the best chance she’d ever have to look.
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