multiversallogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Martel and Rachel
What: Tea and information.
Where: The library.
When: backdated to Coardi, late afternoon.
Notes: N/A.
Warnings:THEY ARE SURROUNDED BY BOOKS OH GOD. ...I mean, nothing, so far.

Back home in California, libraries were plentiful. But they were terribly modern affairs, all glass and steel and carpet, new shelves neatly lined with books. The libraries in New York were a bit better. Some of those were actually in stone buildings and looked well lived-in.

But this library, she thinks as she steps inside, this one looks much more like the mental images she had of libraries when she read about them as a kid. It seems old, hushed, full of dusty leather tomes and serious people doing serious reading.

She goes over to the first librarian's station she sees, politely asking for Martel in hushed tones befitting the place.

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"They had the mark of it, when I fought them," he says, in support of the explanation; he did catch it, but he's not inclined to solely take the word of authority on anything. Particularly not here, when it's plain that authority's best interests and theirs are like as not at odds. "But I can think of any number of reasons a fellow might feel the need- too many possibilities to commit to a few."

Rachel nods, glad for the confirmation. She wasn't inclined to take the official word for it either, wanting proof--he's offered it, with his observation.

"How can you tell? What's the mark of something that's been made by a man?"

"The birds didn't, though they're hardly going to be a coincidence-" they could be, he's wary of ruling it out entirely because god forbid things not be as utterly complex in the least convenient way, but it's less likely and would, indeed, make things far more complicated in the worst way, "-but the more flesh-based creatures shared a particular..."

He makes a gesture here to indicate he's not entirely sure how to explain it to someone who doesn't have his experience to provide context. "Perhaps a signature, you might say. The beasts were plainly tampered with, and I wonder if the birds weren't created simply by implication of the way they were destroyed, the pearls left behind."

"Yeah, that was weird." She's taking in all this information--it's something she has no past experience with so she's eager to learn more. "I saw them turn into those pearls when they died, outside the inn. That's not normal."

She thinks for a moment. "In your research, did you find any mention of anything like this happening before? I wonder if there's a pattern."

Martel shakes his head - his hair is, as a note, far too well looked after now for him to have not taken advantage of modern products he didn't have before - and sips his tea. "I'd my eye on population statistics." This is something else again, albeit something he's going to end up digging around in the stacks for anyway.

Fear not, Martel--Rachel has taken note of those lustrous locks, with no small measure of admiration. But that's neither here nor there at the moment, not when she has this gentle interrogation underway.

"Population statistics. Learn anything interesting there?"

"That there's a pattern to them. For the most part, cohorts have come in more or less generational waves, but - I'm simplifying a great deal, you'll want to look yourself," and they'd need to go over them in more detail, likely. "But, they tapered slowly, over time. Down to us."

"Wait, so." She leans forward a bit, brow creased thoughtfully, wanting to make sure she understands what he's saying. "Did the cohorts get smaller with each generation, more or less?"

Martel makes a 'sort of, maybe, not quite' face, saying, "Rather the cohorts themselves became fewer and further apart."

Rachel hums thoughtfully. "That's interesting. I wonder why that happened. Why they needed fewer people as time went on. Did you see any reasons why?"

"I haven't looked closely." He sips his tea before adding, "I'd hate to spoil the delight of discovery for you," in his terribly dry way. "But I've set the records aside for our perusal."

Rachel grins around the lip of her cup, mid-sip. "That's very thoughtful of you," she says back, that grin still playing at the corners of her mouth. "I'd love to see the records for myself."

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