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It's a surprisingly calm night at the Tolcher household, not a cloud in the sky or a breeze in the air. No, the weather is completely still for this night. A light dusting of snow has lasted through the night and remains clutched to the ground for yet another.

Only the porch light, and a faint light on the third floor, illuminate and help distinguish the house from others on the street.

Eriol stomped. He groaned, he grunted, he mauled the basket in his hands, clumping his shoes down heavily as he trodded the streets. Every movement screamed displeasure, and he would make sure that everyone who saw him knew he was most certainly not happy. Even if there wasn't anyone to see.

So he had snuck over to a party. Big deal! The consequences were a little unexpected, but not entirely bad. Except, of course, for the ones his mother imposed on him- her new delivery boy. And for a whole month too! Just because he was a little curious didn't give her the right to demean him so much. If any of his friends saw him, carrying a wicker basket with purple ribbons tied around it, he would die. Not that he didn't look a bit on the dead side already.

The teen was so wrapped up in his own self-pity that he walked by the house before noticing it. Backtracking, he consulted a scribbled note on his palm. "This must be the place," he grumbled. Good. The sooner he could unload these cookies, the better.

Snow stuck to his shoes no matter how hard he tried to brush it off. Sighing, he knocked at the door, again checking his note. "Cookie delivery for mister... Mister Pippin?"

The door groans open, though no one seems to be present. A very belated Halloween feel strikes the house, but that's how it likes to remain, despite the season.

Light music, perhaps piano, very faintly plays.

There is a cough, a pause, and the music continues. Still no answer for the visitor, at least not a verbal one. It seems the hallway light is dying, because it flickers to life, clinging to its last gasps of life.

Self-opening door. Someone was a bit late disabling their Halloween effects, but Eriol didn't complain. He wanted to do was leave the cookies and go. Preferably without wandering through half the house first.

"Mister Pippin? Mister Pip-" Geesh, did he have to keep saying that? It sounded like he was calling a dog or something. "Mister, I've got some cookies fer ya! Mmmm mmm, delicious, still warm cookies!"

Nothing. If Eriol were in a better mood he would have marveled over the fact that anyone could resist his mother's cookies. Instead he gave a noisy grunt and headed towards the hallway. "Hellooo, any'un home?"

"Don't mind the dog, dear."

It's a soft, elderly voice speaking, without an immediately apparent source. There is no dog, not that the victim can see. The floorboards, broken and wobbly as they are, begin to very slowly soak up water. At first, it really isn't noticable or a worry, since the hallway light becomes a very unreliable source.

The music still softly plays, though the farther away from the stairs in the victim moves the more distant it becomes. With a groan, the self opening door also, apparently, is self closing, locking with a click.

"If you aren't too noisy, sir, I'll let you have a peek."

"Dog?" Eriol turned, but saw no one. Frowning, he continued down the hall. Probably another one of those Halloween gadgets the owner forgot to put away. Some witch or wizard talking to distract trick-or-treaters invited inside. The music was probably something like that too. He idly wondered if any of his siblings had stopped by, but doubted it. They would have mentioned something so extravagant.

Although if they were willing to go all out for candy-grubbing kids, the least they could do was fix the lighting. He could barely see, and the music was becoming harder to hear as well. Even if it was some gadget, it was probably placed somewhere easily accessible. And if not... well, he'd be no worse off than if he stumbled through a dark hallway and broke something expensive.

A click made him flinch, looking expectantly at the door. It was shut. Of course it was, that's what the gizmo was supposed to do. It was made to scare little kids. But he wasn't a little kid, and he wouldn't let some silly noises and a shutting door get the best of him. More frightening was the thought of what his mother would do if he went back without delivering the cookies.

At the next words Eriol whirled around again, his soggy heels squeaking against the floor. This was just a little too odd. Once he found the proprietor, they would have a few words about when holidays were supposed to end, for the sanity of his visitors. In the meantime, he stroked the stair rail, wondering whether to try ascending or not.

"No, no," laughs the voice. "Need I remind you that necessity is the mother of invention?"

There are choices. The stairs are looming, spiraled, and stretch the entire height of the house. To the right and left are continuing halls, each side lined with sets of identical doors. At the far end of each opposing halls is a lamp and a window.

The water soaks in faster than the wood can manage, and soon enough the middle of the floor, where it seems that the house sinks enough, gathers a pool of mirky water. Before long, the cracks leak and begin splurting and spouting the dirty stuff.

"This pressure is just what you need to invent a solution!" croons the faceless voice.

What the- "Whad're ya tryin ta pull?" Eriol shouted, finished with polite dallying. This was not just some weirdo who forgot to take down decorations. This was a freak who actively liked toying with visitors. Someone who liked seeing innocent delivery boys freak out over what was probably nothing. Well, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

He surveyed the area again. A couple hallways with shoddy lighting. Doors along them, but no idea where those would lead. If he had to search each one he could be there for hours. There were stairs, but the ending location of those was no clearer than anything else in the strange house.

Fantastic. So much for being home on time. Eriol tapped his foot in annoyance, looking down when he didn't hear a noise on the floor. His eyes widened- he didn't track that much snow in, did he? If he did, it was snow that melted into a slowly growing puddle around his feet. "Ewwww," he groaned. Those were new shoes!

Okay. He was locked in a house owned by some creep who liked to trap unsuspecting kids. The basement was apparently flooding. He had to do something, before his pants got too wet. Cursing under his breath at the voice, he darted for the stairs. At least he'd be safe from the muck up there, for a while.

As if waiting for this moment, not five stairs up does the wood collapse, taking down all surrounding pieces with it. The space underneath the stairs is usually a mystery - often it houses the main door to the Library, though other times the door likes to seal itself closed. It is that time now, when normally one couldn't open said door and enter where the victim is about to.

All sounds diminish, save for the crunches of broken boards. Unlike upstairs, there is a bright enough light here, at the bottom of the staircase. Down is where he was intended to go, even if what he planned was to go up.

And the "solution," it seems, has already been decided for him as the water pours down the hole, sprays through any cracks in the wood, and leaks its way desperately down the sealed staircase. Much faster than before, the victim is going to find himself up to his neck in water.. quite literally.

Perhaps his bad mood had kept him stomping, or maybe the water had made the stairs weak. Knowing his luck, it was probably both, but that in no way reassured him as his foot plunged through a stair, ripping his already shredded jeans. He tried to pull himself free, but the wood crumbled as soon as he put any pressure on it, and he fell through the staircase with a loud yell, which ceased as he hit the floor below.

That hurt.

Blinking, the teen first performed a self check. He could see. He could feel most of his body, and move without too much pain. The fact that he was sitting in two feet of water was actually a pleasant surprise; he'd expected the lower level to be completely underwater. Instead he actually had a few minutes to sit up and check himself before he realized that water was pouring from the upstairs into the downstairs, instead of vice versa.

Couldn't this damn house make up its mind already?

Floundering around in water almost as thick as a chocolate milkshake- not a good connection, he realized too late- Eriol pulled himself up and looked for an escape. His clothes were clearly ruined. The basket of cookies was somehow floating on top of his personal ocean, relatively untouched. He knew better than to reach for it. Besides, he had bigger worries. He could swim, a little, but if the whole house was going to flood he'd be in serious trouble. Trouble even cookies wouldn't be able to get him out of.

The light, miraculously, remains on, while all other parts of the stairwell darken with the onset of mirky water. The light shatters in the water but reflects itself against the glass of the pair of elegantly engraved doors.

"Unsettling events triggered by Mercury's devious dealings have left you in a bit of a state!"

There is mad laughing at the edge of the broken stairs, though not a face to match it. A hand dips inside and fetches the basket of cookies with another freakish, old woman cackle.

Water.. more water..

All of a sudden, the hole through which the victim fell is boarded up with a number of planks of wood. Surely an elderly woman - if it was the old hag - couldn't work that fast. Nevertheless, the predicament grows utterly worse as all exits seem to be sealed. Of course, he has yet to try the glass doors..

Whoever was talking would be glad the water was rising dangerously, preventing him from speaking. Or shouting, which was far more likely. What was this hag trying to do, kill him? For what, a basket of cookies?

"I was gonna give ya the cookies anyway-" the rest of Eriol's angry scream was quite literally drowned out as his head finally went under. His hands went above his head in an attempt to climb out of the hole, but he found solid wood there, far more solid than the wood he'd fallen through. How did she do it? Why, for that matter? If he lived to find out that this was all some elaborate burglar alarm, he would be seriously pissed off.

A glint of something other than water caught his eye. Desperate, Eriol swam towards it. He wouldn't be able to hold out much longer, not with a mouth full of water... frantic, he grabs one handle and shakes it vigorously before pushing in hard.

The doors explode open under the force the victim provides, and out spill the contents of the stairwell. Rather.. water should have overflowed into the Library, but nothing but the water on the victim's clothing remains.

The Library is untouched by any water and, behind him, the stairwell shows no signs of water damage or even a damage to the ceiling.

Lamps line the tops of the bookshelves, hundreds of specks of lights extending the entire range of view. Provided, this doesn't extend a friendly hand to a good reading atmosphere, but the sheer brilliance of a darkened, old fashioned library and equally wonderful lamps is a sight for sore eyes.

Mostly, the Library is quiet, as all libraries should be, but much like the sound of a leaky faucet the sound of a dripdripdrip rings out prominently. A book, crimson covered with offwhite pages, sits four bookshelves into the Library, overturned on a shelf. It is thoroughly soaked, and leaking onto a book on a lower shelf.

Eriol, sprawled on the floor, coughed up water. His anger hadn't cooled off at all, despite the cold bath, but for the moment he was just glad that the water was gone. He was okay, he was alive. If soaked. But the soaked part didn't matter, he told himself firmly as he stood, just that the water was gone-

Very, very gone. Without a trace sort of gone.

If he had the energy left he would likely have started shouting again. Instead, still panting for air, he lurched forward. It was a library. In a basement. Odd location, but the space itself was pretty nice. Comforting, really. As someone who was very intimate with libraries, the sight went a long way towards calming him down, no matter how irrational it was.

A grin had somehow worked its way onto Eriol's face. Pruned fingers brushed the bookshelves as he walked by, slowly drying out as the moisture leaked into the pages. But one book was as wet as he was. His eyebrows automatically raised, and he pulled the book off the shelf. Soaked, really. At least that one book made sense. Curiosity got the better of him, and he peeled a few pages apart, leaning into the nearest light source for a better view.

"Disco infeeeeerrrrrnooo!!"

From the rear of the Library, a man dressed in a crisp, pale blue suit belts out the next line of the song, obviously unaware of anyone else present. [If he was, he'd surely spare their sanity and cease singing.. one would hope.]

"Burrrrrn, baby burrrrn!~" he belts out, tapping each bookshelf haphazardously as he dashes through a nearby aisle. The overwhelming scent of Axe Phoenix radiates off of him once he dances closer to the aisle the victim occupies.

The wet book's pages are delicate, and any tug in a wrong way would tear right through easily. The middle sags from the weight of gathering liquids within it.

"Geesh... ye'd think they'd take bettr care of their books," Eriol commented to no one in particular. He carefully tilted the soggy pages towards the light, but dropped the scarlet cover at the first hint of noise, leaving the book open to drip, as he was, on the floor.

Oh no. There was another freak making fun of him. The one was bad enough, with the door and the music and the voices, to say nothing of nearly drowning him. But to subject him to such horrible singing- that may have been the worst threat yet. At the least, it was a toss up.

Brandishing the open book in front of him, Eriol growled. "If ye're there, who'ver y'are, let me go right now or I'll... I'll..."

Unable to think of a suitable threat, he finished with a lame "Or you'll be sorry!"

"Burn that mo..ther f-?!"

Pippin skids to a stop in his platform shoes, looking every which way. "Who's there?" he half whines, half inquires nervously, his tail becoming ruffled.

Slower now, he checks every aisle fearfully, overly anxious of what he'll find soon enough. "Pleasebeaguardian, pleasebeaguardian.." he whispers, peering slowly into the space where the victim and the soggy book take their rest.

"AUGGHHH!" he shouts immediately, stumbling backwards. From the crisp smack, his back directly hits into the adjacent bookshelf. The lamps, nevermind the shelves and books, wobble threateningly.

Aha! Someone was there, and that person was going to answer a whole bunch of questions. After being led around by the throat, Eriol didn't particularly care if it was someone responsible or not. It was a person, and that person was going to get an earful. If they were lucky, he would stop there.

"Listen, you... you." He advanced, not to be put off guard by the strange person's antics. They were probably just an act. "Y'ere gonna tell me what sort o' freakish burglar alarm ya have an why it's set ta kill deliverymen" he growled. "Then yer gonna fix it so it doesn't do it anymore. Then yer gonna accept yer damn cookies-" he groped unsuccessfuly for the basket before remembering who had taken it "-or a cookie IOU or somethin. And then yer gonna show me the way out."

His look dared the man to argue, platform shoes or no.

Pippin gives a deep throated gulp, eyes wide and watering, terrified of this teenager at his throat, yelling about alarms and cookies. Why can't they all be happy and hippy about this whole thing? No, it's never that easy.

"D-don't hurt meee.." he whines, his teeth clattering out of a nervous instinct. "I don't k-know what y-you're talking abuh.."

He raises up onto his elbows with a newly found interest. "Did you say cookies? I'm having a reeeeeal crazy craving for white chocolate macadamian nut.." he purrs eagerly before catching the crazed teen's expression. He flattens himself onto the ground again with a whimper.

"I'm sorry, sir, but before I can know if I can let you - er, show you out, did you touch any of my books?" The question, in itself, seems innocent enough, but from the regained nervousness it's certainly loaded.

Oh. Oh, he had to be kidding. The man had let his alarm take him for a joyride. He been lost, fallen through holes in rotting staircases, nearly drowned, and the man was more worried about his precious books?

"Listen mister." The only thing keeping Eriol from leaping at the man and trying to extract his payback physically was the fact that if the police needed to intervene, any roughness on his part would make the freak's actions seem proper. He'd sue if he had to! "Listen mister," he started again. "I'm tired. I'm cold. My clothes're ruined. My leg is bruised from fallin through yer damn staircase. I can't even deliver the stupid cookies, which's the only reason I'm even here. And you're askin if I've touched any books?" The nerve!

"Here's yer book!" He waved the crimson-covered tome at the man, holding one cover in each hand. "I'll use it as evidence if I hafta!"

Pippin crawls onto his knees and winces visibly. "Be careful with it," he manages to say before properly taking a look at it. The book, along with the victim, Pippin now notices, are a pair in that they are both soaked. This alone causes a chuckle to form in his throat.

Clearing it instead, he steps up to his full height, brushing away at his wrinkled suit. "You seem like a reasonable young man," he says as he attempts to continue the conversation civilly. "Can I tell you why it's important whether you opened it or not?"

He cocks his head to the side, lime hair flowing across his horns, and he smiles. "Just humour me, will you?"

He wanted a civilized conversation? For a moment Eriol debated denying him that, but reconsidered. If they could talk man to man, maybe he could get his side of the story through. If nothing else, he could at least try to bargain in a change of clothes.

"Fine," he finally spits out. "As long as I get my two bits in too, ya hear?"

To show that he meant what he said, he set the book down on a nearby table and backed away. "I'm not hurtin yer precious book. I jus wanna leave- but not before you keep your alarms from attackin innocent people."

Pippin motions to the barely standing table in the clearing behind him before reaching for his wallet. "Set the book over there, will you? We'll have to walk around to make sure there aren't any more of you hiding out in my library," he laughs softly.

Fingers running over the crisp bills, the man tugs three to release them from the wallet. The amount totals $300 in almost legally acquired money. He snaps one of the bills between his fingers, waiting for the boy to do as he was told. Pip had picked up on one thing - for this silly green stuff, people will do crazy things.

Eriol started to argue- he'd already put the book down, after all- but the sight of the green in the man's hand changed his mind. He would have preferred dry clothes to walk home in, but buying new ones was certainly a good option. They would have to be worn in, but for that much money he could deal with that.

"Yessir," he agreed, moving the book to the designated table. "I came alone, yanno. Was deliverin some cookies here, from my mom. She'd said it was punishment, but I thought it was jus annoyin."

A thought came to Eriol, and he looked at the man in front of him with renewed suspicion. "She din't putcha up t'this, did she?"

Pippin shakes his head no. "Afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I'm Pippin, by the way, it's nice to see a young face around here besides my own~!"

He chuckles to himself, handing over the money easily before putting a hand on Eri's shoulder, hurrying him away from the immediate vicinity of the soaked crimson book.

"Now, everything I say is more than likely going to sound crazy. I assure you, I haven't seen a shrink whatsoever!" - despite the fact that he probably requires one - "And that this is not a fabrication of your imagination, as whatever you experienced once you walked in my door was." He allows himself to shake the victim's sleeve, watching with amusement as droplets spray.

Continuing in a steady stride to lead Eri in a circle, he allows no time for the teen to interrupt. Instead, he jumps in front of him and stares him straight in the eyes with an odd serious, straight face. "Do you believe in magic, kid?"

"Imagination. You mean all that- the music, the voices, the water- I imagin'd it all? No. I'm wet, see?" Eriol thrust a soggy sleeve in Pippin's face, slipping the money into his pocket with the other hand. "Even if nothin else is."

It took him a moment longer to actually hear the first bit, but when he did he swore under his breath. "So ye're Pippin? Ye're the guy I was supposed to bring the cookies to? Why didn'tcha answer the door?" Really, if he just installed a proper doorbell, they both could have been saved a lot of grief.

The last question took him by surprise even more. "Magic? Sure. Ya can't live in my house an not believe in't. Some people say I can do some, but I don think I believe 'em."

He pouts a little, having hoped he would be given the chance to break out in song once more. "Well, good! Good then! Saves me a lot of trouble and time explaining," he whistles, clasping his hands together.

"Y'see, that book you opened - and mind you, I haven't the faintest clue why, just the what and how - that book will be a child." Pip nods intently, maintaining the seriousness with a hint of glee at his authoritative role. "They aren't born like normal children are, and they aren't alone. They're born with an animal companion, see!"

Hurriedly, Pippin continues to explain to Eriol how utterly doomed and screwed over he is for opening up that single book. Breezing by the explination of daemons and the excerpt, he finally takes a breather, though surely not for long.

".. And that, you see, is why you must now return to where you left your book!" squeals the grown man, crossing his arms behind his head in a half stretch. "Because certainly, if you didn't believe a word I just told you, you can go take a look for yourself."

Oshi.

"But-" Eriol's brain screamed in protest, his mouth only a few seconds behind. "But kids don't come from books! I mean, not all kids! I mean... they're not me! And Godfather! He doesn't know about them, so it can't... things like that can't happen without his permission!" It was a weak arguement, and one that made him out to be a fan of Francis Ford Coppola. Not that Eriol knew who that was, or cared. Relatively speaking, he should have accepted that explanation easily. After all, he knew that kids came from books.

Just not that one would come out of THAT book. Whether he liked it or not.

He had always been warned that his thirst for adventure would get him into trouble. And he accepted that. Of course, he'd had his fair share, between his time in Durem and at home. His latest quest had certainly come with unexpected side effects. But nothing compared to having to go home and ask his mother, "Can I keep them?" That was sure not to go over well.

"So this's happened before? Why don'tcha lock this place?" About facing, he started sloshing back towards the table, like a prisoner to his execution. At least a prisoner would get dry clothes!

"The doors in this place change too often for us to keep track of locks and keys," Pippin laughs softly, following slowly behind the wet teen. He pitied him, somewhat, for still believing he's soaked. "Besides, it isn't like the Library wouldn't find a way around that, anyway.."

However, not much keeps him off the topic of water once they turn the corner of the last bookshelf.

Resting on her side is a small and frail baby girl. Her clothing drapes over her in rolls and rolls, the crimson trim resembling seaweed. With all movement of her leg, a tiny bell chimes to signal it. She rolls no farther than she can manage without falling over, and a damp piece of paper is revealed from under where she lay.

"Faster and faster they went, like two kids seeing who could say the Pledge of Allegiance faster, as all around them the silence began to sing with in-turned power; the air shimmered and rang with force like a gong ringing backwards, soft at first, then louder, though without sound, without breaking that silence- a hiss, a murmur, and outcry of something about to happen, a shout of inner voices, a silent thunderclap. And the last not-sound, so loud it unmade the world around them and struck them deaf and blind-"

A muffled sound escapes her mouth as she swipes tiredly at her daemon, a presently small whale with an outer layer of liquid. He wiggles himself closer to her side, and as her hand swipes through his "liquid" whatever remains on her hand turns into a vapour.

She gives a content murmur before resting her head against the squishy body of her daemon.

Pippin simply blinks. "Well," he starts to say, "This is different."

Eriol's mouth moved, but nothing came out. After functioning (or malfunctioning as the case may be) for several moments in this fashion, he said the only thing that actually managed to fight its way out.

"It's a girl?"

He then lapsed back into silent mouth movements. Various words would come to mind, and he ended up uttering a few of them as they flickered by. "Girl. Whale. W-wet. Book? Whale. Baby. Whale."

... "Pretty."

His head turned towards Pippin, mouth still trying to get something coherent out, eyes begging for some sort of assistance other than "Go and look!"

Pippin can't help but chuckle, pushing up the sleeves of his 70's suit. "She's a beauty!" he agrees, joining Eriol at his side but crossing his arms behind his back while he looks. His silver eyes gleam as he scans the newly arrived, mostly puzzled and intriguied by the whale.

"Well, now that you know I wasn't lying, I can show you out as soon as you're ready!" he explains, disappearing only to reappear dragging over a chair. Something told him it'd be a while til this one's ready to fly the coop.

Nodding, Eriol gratefully accepted the seat. The words stopped coming forth, though every few seconds he'd mouth something that looked oddly like "whale." This took a few more minutes still to get out of his system.

"I- you- she- whale? I mean, you- why- how?"

And that would just about do it for him for that evening. Unable to keep his mind running any longer his eyes slid shut, half from shock, half from exhaustion. Several of his own scribblings and notes spilled from his sleeves, some making a rather uncomfortable pillow on the table, others just making a mess. His head met the table with an audible clunk, softened by the paper, but it was still clear that he'd have a headache when he woke up.

Not that he wouldn't already.