Welcome to Gaia! ::

Percival blanched, his glasses sliding obligingly down his nose so he had a chance to reach up and push them into place again. (Perfect Percival, always straightening things, even when they weren't crooked.) "Good God," he said, and blinked. "But how do you keep track of it all without writing?" He seemed honestly baffled by the idea.

Thinking that memory was by far the most unreliable system possible (especially for a library), Percival shrugged and said, "If you could." He really, truly seemed to expect her to do everything for him. It was aggravating, self-serving, and he seemed totally oblivious to the inconvenience of his requests. It was as if he felt entitled to treat Nara like a servant.

Behind Nara's back, Percival rolled his eyes, wondering if it was possible for Nara to take any pride in her service. Honestly! The act of providing decent service was a noble one, steeped in hundreds of years of tradition, and Nara's apparent reluctance to take part in such great traditions was disappointing. Percival mentally grumbled about it until he caught sight of Nara's mysterious partner in the corner of his eyes. That set him straight a moment.

Scrambling to shake off the unsettling presence, Percival ran his fingers across a shelf of scrolls idly, lightly brushing the old parchments. Years of tradition here, too.

He moved his hand and suddenly a scroll came away with it, stuck to his fingers. Percival let out a little gasp of surprise. His hand jerked, but the scroll did not come loose. It clung to his fingers as if by static or glue and no amount of twitching would set it free. He resisted the urge to shake it free in earnest lest he damage some priceless old artifact.

Percival used the book to cover his hand and the attached scroll. "Excellent, thank you," he said, trying not to let his voice quaver. His eyes darted around the stacks of books as if he expected them to fall any minute now. "This land isn't prone to, ah, earthquakes?" He tried to smile in humor and failed rather miserably. He kept wiggling his fingers underneath the book to try and scrape the scroll free. Each passing moment it clung to him added a new layer of discomfort to what was already a very tense situation.

A plan occurred to Percival. A wild plan, but it could work. The most important part of the plan was that it involved getting out of here as quickly as possible. "Just pop that one on top there," he instructed, holding out the first book like a tray with his scrolled hand hidden underneath. "I think that will do for now, it should take me some time to get through all this!" He failed at humor a second time and just stood there looking like a lamppost.

But Percival was still not done, and as he struggled under his literary burden he said suddenly, "Others. How many other scrolls are there?" He was rather more concerned about the potential danger of another scroll sticking to him on his way out than he was seeking out colleagues. The thought of a scroll dangling off the leg of his trouser or flapping on the tails of his coat was sheer indignity. If he happened to learn that there were others like Teqatia (and now himself) it would be a bonus.