"You're welcome," the savage wheezed, fighting off the threat of a sneeze when dust whirled about the air from dropped books and shelf alike. It was hard for the woman not to bristle at Noven's revelation, however. Amber eyes stared uselessly into the dark of the forbidden room. Slowly, her head turned this way and then that, searching for the sinister presence that had (apparently and rather boldly) attacked her friend. Gods, how quickly the jolt of energy had rushed through her veins. The urge to dart back down the stairs was as persuasive as a fire beneath bare feet. The last ghostly encounter she had was with Kouri, and if she was being honest with herself, fewer things she had encountered in Mizahar had proven nearly so terrifying. How does one fight an opponent without a body? Maybe she'd give the library a second chance if it could provide that particular answer. The sound of someone or something approaching from behind her in the blackness had her spinning on her heels.
Now she was sure she was losing her mind. Matthew, in all his familiar, pristine swagger, had the Myrian in a silent tizzy the moment his lush lips parted. Eyelids blinked, brow raising in alarm and then dropping sharply in skepticism. The Harlot told a joke. And he winked at her. Matthew's never told a joke let one understood humor. Petch, he didn't register mine five chimes ago! Noven was the first to speak before the woman recovered. Her lips pressed into a firm line, gaze searching him intently through the veil of the shadows. "Who said anything about a ghost?" Perhaps she was just over-reacting. Just because she didn't notice him prior to when he spoke, didn't mean he didn't overhear Noven's panted curses. For all she knew some ghost in the Zeltivan library could've been common knowledge to all the locals. She shook the thought out of her head.
"Oh, don't go starting that shyke on me," Kaie griped in Nov's direction, following his gaze into the dark anyways. The last thing she needed to do was start seeing things that weren't there, which were just as capable in inciting fear as any real threat. "For the record, this is the last time I let either of you drag me into one of your damned libraries." And with that she made a go to follow her friends out of the ominous room and back downstairs...until she watched the Sunberthian cook navigate his way down on his rear. The Myrian immediately guffawed at the sight. That's when something struck the back of her head. "Oh, piss off Matt--," her cursing trailed off the tick she whipped around to find the Harlot in just the opposite direction. At her heels rested the projectile: a heavy, dust-ridden novel. The Myrian gave the thing a good kick. "Old, useless shelves. Can't even hold the damned books."
She neared the edge of the staircase and peered down below at Nov. Crouching, a finger swiped at the slippery substance that led the to cook's down fall. Oil? Rubbing the back of her head, she offered him a mischievous smirk. "I can light it if you like." As if her resentment for the entire experience wasn't already apparent. She straightened back up and made the first treacherous step onto the first stair. One foot at a time, she began to conquer the oil-slicked descent. Once she faltered, eyes widening and right foot skidding toward the edge of the stair, but she managed to right her balance. A laugh escaped her lips in spite of herself. Soon after she found herself standing beside the mousy assistant. An inquisitive finger gestured toward Quinn as she eyed the fallen shelf victim. Is she really going to stand there and pretend she wasn't giddy over assisting a very prestigious Mister Wayne, her expression seemed to ask him. Little did the oh-so-indignant savage realize, the single button holding her vest closed where it mattered most had been inexplicably undone, partially exposing her breasts to whoever looked in the direction of all the commotion.
Now she was sure she was losing her mind. Matthew, in all his familiar, pristine swagger, had the Myrian in a silent tizzy the moment his lush lips parted. Eyelids blinked, brow raising in alarm and then dropping sharply in skepticism. The Harlot told a joke. And he winked at her. Matthew's never told a joke let one understood humor. Petch, he didn't register mine five chimes ago! Noven was the first to speak before the woman recovered. Her lips pressed into a firm line, gaze searching him intently through the veil of the shadows. "Who said anything about a ghost?" Perhaps she was just over-reacting. Just because she didn't notice him prior to when he spoke, didn't mean he didn't overhear Noven's panted curses. For all she knew some ghost in the Zeltivan library could've been common knowledge to all the locals. She shook the thought out of her head.
"Oh, don't go starting that shyke on me," Kaie griped in Nov's direction, following his gaze into the dark anyways. The last thing she needed to do was start seeing things that weren't there, which were just as capable in inciting fear as any real threat. "For the record, this is the last time I let either of you drag me into one of your damned libraries." And with that she made a go to follow her friends out of the ominous room and back downstairs...until she watched the Sunberthian cook navigate his way down on his rear. The Myrian immediately guffawed at the sight. That's when something struck the back of her head. "Oh, piss off Matt--," her cursing trailed off the tick she whipped around to find the Harlot in just the opposite direction. At her heels rested the projectile: a heavy, dust-ridden novel. The Myrian gave the thing a good kick. "Old, useless shelves. Can't even hold the damned books."
She neared the edge of the staircase and peered down below at Nov. Crouching, a finger swiped at the slippery substance that led the to cook's down fall. Oil? Rubbing the back of her head, she offered him a mischievous smirk. "I can light it if you like." As if her resentment for the entire experience wasn't already apparent. She straightened back up and made the first treacherous step onto the first stair. One foot at a time, she began to conquer the oil-slicked descent. Once she faltered, eyes widening and right foot skidding toward the edge of the stair, but she managed to right her balance. A laugh escaped her lips in spite of herself. Soon after she found herself standing beside the mousy assistant. An inquisitive finger gestured toward Quinn as she eyed the fallen shelf victim. Is she really going to stand there and pretend she wasn't giddy over assisting a very prestigious Mister Wayne, her expression seemed to ask him. Little did the oh-so-indignant savage realize, the single button holding her vest closed where it mattered most had been inexplicably undone, partially exposing her breasts to whoever looked in the direction of all the commotion.
