LIGHT THE MATCH

[diogenesis]

Who: Mycroft Holmes and ~*you*~
What: An attempt to learn about the City in the most casual way possible.
Where: The Library of Blessed St. Brian
When: Veerdi, Kavadry 3rd
Notes: This is an open post! I have certain things I want to accomplish here, planting certain seeds and so forth, but anyone should feel free to come and poke the antisocial bear.
Warnings: Spoilers for Sherlock S2E3: The Reichenbach Fall.

It has been a long three days.

When Mycroft had first appeared in the small, tiled waiting room at the Inn, his first theory had been that he was dying. Perhaps I'm already dead, he'd thought.

Even now, having had hours of solitude to think it all over, he can't rule it out—there is no absolute way to disprove the existence of an afterlife—but his memories of the moments before he'd arrived here are so clear, and he feels certain he wasn't ill or in the process of being attacked. Surely, there would have been a moment just before unconsciousness, even the smallest moment, that would have allowed him to notice a twinge of pain, a blur of movement, the feeling of disorientation, the sound of a gun going off.

But all he knows is that he blinked, and he was elsewhere.

His chair from the Diogenes Club had taken the journey with him, making the fiasco even more mysterious. Mycroft hadn't even been near the club at the time; he'd been in 10 Downing Street. He can't deny the fact that having something familiar nearby has helped, in a small way, to soothe the burn of such a sudden transition, but in the end it is a single sandbag in the face of a hurricane. Not only has Mycroft been torn away from decades of work in a job only he could do, but his brother, Sherlock, is relying on him for resources and protection more than ever after being forced to fake his own death by the late James Moriarty. Mycroft's level of worry is unspeakable. None of his usual centering techniques have helped to focus his mind. He's beginning to fray at the edges.

This is why, despite the fact that it seems dangerous to go outside what with the City's residents capable of breaking the laws of physics and performing magic (not to mention the place being some version of a police state), Mycroft is at the University's library today. Three days trapped in his own mind was too long (felt the warning signs start to creep in, too much like Sherlock, can't afford that now, have to be alert now). The order of the day is fresh air and fresh knowledge. He needs to learn more about this place, whether it's all in his mind or not.

After all, if he is in a coma, he could be here for quite a long time.

Comments

[controlledvariable]

"There are a couple of decent authors," Steph did the same thing in her first few weeks, so she's managed to compile a mental list of books that were mostly factual, "Some of the Xenian authors tend to be less inclined towards... waxing poetic about Baedal."

She's learning to be more careful with how she talks openly about the politics of Baedal. And what she says is true, Baedal might be nicer than some worlds, but there's still discrimination and while the Xenians can't be exactly open about it, they don't share the same bias towards the government system that most humans do and as a result, their works often contain more truth.

"Would you like me to grab some good titles for you?"

[diogenesis]

Xenian. Non-human, Mycroft recalls. Apparently at the bottom of the privilege pile here in Baedal. Personally he thinks sentient non-humans aren't any stranger than humans who can use magic or fly. For that matter, plenty of people in the real world have treated both himself and Sherlock as though they were somehow supernatural or inhuman—perhaps that's why it's not the abilities and physical forms that bother him. It's the absence of rules, the absence of logic: one thing doesn't seem to relate to the next. There are no patterns to observe, no way to predict danger or safety.

One reason he's come to the library today is to attempt to find out what, exactly, the rules of this place are. It must have some. There is still gravity, after all.

"Yes, I'd appreciate it, thank you," Mycroft says, polite despite his half-second of distraction. "Shall I wait here?"

[controlledvariable]

"Well, you could follow me if you're desperate to learn all the shortcuts the staff use." There are no shortcuts, Steph is just talking shit. The grin kind of gives that away, "Go grab a seat and I'll bring the books to you."

If he has no other requests, she'll disappear among the shelves to go track down some decent books. Politics, law and history, he'd said, and she grabs at least two of each because Mycroft looks like the sort of person that can handle a large reading load. Steph has pretty much confirmed her thoughts that he's new to the city, considering the line of research he's undertaking.

It takes her about fifteen minutes to grab everything she thinks will be useful, and when she comes back and finds him, her arms are full of books.

[diogenesis]

Mycroft raises a polite eyebrow at the joke and then does as she suggests, finding himself a seat. He crosses his legs, hands folded atop his knees, and closes his eyes as he waits, trying to focus solely on processing the noises, smells, and sensations of the building as opposed to his own independent thoughts.

—middle-aged couple arguing quietly (separation unlikely) / child dropping three books (20-40 pages each; 2 hardback, 1 paperback, no lasting damage) / drinking fountain in use by a xenian / draught from the northeastern side of the building (approx. 1.5˚ C cooler than room temp.) / [this chair] approx. 12 years old; material unknown (similar to balsa & linen); style unknown (similar to bergère) / study group of 6 students majoring in technical communications (4 women, 2 men) just arrived from breakfast (café within walking distance) / young woman approaching, carrying—

Mycroft opens his eyes to see the blonde staff member in front of him again. He smiles blandly.

[controlledvariable]

"Here we go," it's a little struggle to hold all the books - the weight isn't a problem, just the awkwardness - so she carefully deposits them on the small table next to the chair, "I've read most of these ones, and they're either pretty accurate, or intresting in how they aren't."

What people don't say can tell just as much as what they do, Steph finds, and the glaring lack of any information on certain topics, such as the militia, says a lot.

[diogenesis]

Mycroft had been planning to tackle the more biased political accounts after looking over the neutral material. The fact that the librarian has—not anticipated his plans, but thought along the same lines—is quite keen of her, for a person of average intelligence. He goes over her again for any data he may have missed. A couple new possibilities align in his head. Nothing concrete, but the possibilities are there.

"This will do perfectly for now. Thank you for you assistance," he says, in a forgettably kind sort of way.

He'll ask after her name at the desk later on.

[controlledvariable]

"You're welcome, good luck with your research." She smiles again, genuinely friendly rather than just politness, because that's how Steph is, and then she goes back to doing her actual job.

She noticed the way he looked at her like he was weighing her up, and it reminds her of how Bruce had looked at her the first few times they'd met. It makes her a little more curious about the man, she'll be keeping an eye out in case he shows up on their cohort's network.