adventureic | (no subject)

WHO: Broderick Best and Asher Simon
WHEN: Feb 13, late at night.
WHERE: the library
WHAT: a witch and a wizard try to fix the library. A ghost from the past interrupts
WARNINGS: none, Asher having a bad week

“Watch your head,” Broderick called as they passed by the Demonology section, a necessary warning when one of the books from the top shelf attempted to swoop Asher’s head. “Gargoyle Gothica, it’ll turn to stone.”

Another predication proven right when Broderick grunted from the force of the book smacking into his waiting hand instead of Asher’s head. “I don’t think either of us can afford any new injuries,” he commented wryly.

Asher grimaced at the reminder of the week's earlier disaster. Perhaps not a disaster overall, but it certainly was for Asher and Asher's pride. If his illusions failed to persuade even a simple ancient monster, he was losing his touch. "Are they trying to get us to read them, or to leave?" he asked.

“They just want attention,” Broderick hefted the book back in its place. “This is what I’m talking about though, the previous head Librarian left his own…mark on nearly everything, and it’s bled into whatever cock-up that was the spellwork keeping this place together. I’ve been re-warding the shelves one by one, finding new and fun surprises.” The library was safe, it just wasn’t as safe as it should be with books that had developed a mind of their own and a cursed photocopier, among other things.

"If I were an esoteric magical book and nobody picked me up for decades, I might fly off the shelf, too," Asher conceded. "Must be lonely up there." A shelf or two further in, and one section of books caught Asher's eye. It felt off, like it was sick, or restricting. Some untreated ailment closing in on itself. It reminded Asher of his great-grandmother's library; she hoarded knowledge but never shared it, and never used it. The ownership was the thing, and her library always felt curdled and sickly. He hated it there as a child.

"I want to work on this one."

Broderick’s eyebrow rose, the decisiveness unexpected though Broderick couldn't help being charmed by the empathy in a statement that a book could be lonely.

“Demonic numerology,” he announced, almost by rote as he followed Asher further down the row. “Do you have a particular interest in arithmancy?”

Asher shook his head. His eyes travelled over the titles, but it was less the subject matter and more the aura that was drawing him in. The magic was souring, rotting. It didn't feel like a curse, exactly. It wasn't malicious. It just felt like something had gone wrong over years. "I was always better at more interior magics, you know?" He glanced over at Broderick. "Stuff that came from within, not external stuff like this. Never ask me to make a potion. What about you, spend much time with demon numbers?"

“Not particularly no,” the other man commented, mouth pursing at the rot. Asher’s senses were sharp despite any predilection for the internal rather than external. “My experiences with demons don’t trend toward maths. My sister though,” Broderick nodded, encouraging Asher to take a first go at examining the books, “her specialty is arithmancy. Divination. Serves her well in eviscerating the poor sods in court, I guess.” He rolled his eyes.

"Another Best," Asher commented. He avoided sharing his negative opinions on Divination. There was no point in spoiling a perfectly pleasant conversation. He picked up one of the center-most books. It felt tingly in his hand, like a limb going to sleep. He murmured a quiet cleansing spell, but the pages merely fluttered in protest. He tried again, a stronger spell this time, but continued listening to Broderick. "So what's it like? Working with your brother. Not to mention your dad."

Broderick scoffed at that, an automatic response. “One doesn’t work with Bonaventure, that would imply he works at all. Byron though,” he reached for a book himself, not wanting to be a deadbeat host to this library venture when Asher had agreed to help him. “It’s good to see him in his element, I don’t get to as much, hovering from a distance at a University. Though I guess I’ve just moved all that hovering to Canada.”

He flashed a self deprecating smile as he worked his own spell, meeting similar resistance. “You and the Balik twins, you knew eachother before?”

"I knew Del," Asher said. "We've … worked together. Timmy's new, though." Even if he had siblings, Asher couldn't imagine working with them every day in adult life. It wasn't envy he felt at the idea, exactly. Just a hollowness for something he would never quite understand. He picked up another book off the shelf, but when he did so, he noticed something green and unhealthy on the shelf below. "I don't think it's the books that are sick," he told Broderick, motioning for him to look. It spread like ivy, or veins, through the wood. "I think it's the bookshelf."

Bent over to follow the trail of the rot, Broderick gave Asher a look of appreciation, clapping him on the shoulder. “Great catch,” he said as he straightened, “I can only imagine how long that’s been there. Step back a second.” With great concentration, Broderick’s magic spread across each and every volume on the shelf, pulling them out and into the air where he could carefully set them aside.

It was easier to see the full extent of the contamination, the sourness almost magnified now that the books weren't masking the brunt of it. This did not bode well for the other bookshelves given the neglect in this library.

“Worked together,” the librarian picked up the previous thread, though his forehead creased in sudden discomfort as he did. Their Gargoyle friend took advantage of the distraction, jumping gleefully from where it had been stacked, a hard weight right to Broderick’s chest. “Fucking…” he grunted, cradling the book in annoyance. “Am I going to get that workplace backstory this time?”

Asher sighed. He'd made up elaborate backstories in his mind, or some so boringly simple they could only have been covers. He used to lie as easy as breathing, but now, anything worse than a simple white lie earned a twitch, or something sharper. He had figured out the rhythms of it, but easiest of all was just to avoid topics. He couldn't do that forever, though, especially not with someone as inquisitive as Broderick. He did not look at the other man. "I used to steal a lot of shit," he said simply. "I was really good at it." Without waiting for a response, he wove the cleansing spell again, much stronger than before. The greenish tentacles retracted a bit.

Broderick said nothing for a moment, just an acknowledging hum of interest as he set the mischievous stone book to the side again and moved to help the witch.

“I don’t doubt it,” their previous conversation about illusions and not using the power to bring joy rang a little more true with the added context. He’d already suspected about Delia, so it brought the whole picture into clearer focus. “Reformed,” he repeated Asher’s words from weeks ago and did his best to not be too curious lest he be accused of prying. He suspected he wasn’t doing a good job, but he also didn’t really give a fuck.

“What changed? What had you trading in theft for firefly promposals?”

The second caught Asher's attention more than the first. He didn't think anybody had seen his little pre-prom display but its intended recipient. (Well, perhaps Curio. Curio might see everything.) "Did Maya tell you about that?"

“She did,” Broderick smiled, though it threatened to turn into a smirk the longer he held Asher’s gaze. “Mr. No joy over here using his powers for joy.”

"I didn't say I never used it to—" Asher protested, but it felt pointless. "Nevermind. We've got a bookshelf to heal." He went on, too focused (or pretending to be too focused) on the magical problem in front of them to respond to more jabs or pointed questions.

But after a moment, the absence of jabs and pointed questions—the absence of any talking at all, really—caught Asher's attention. When he looked over at Broderick, the man almost looked like he was in a trance.

"Broderick?" he asked cautiously. He put a hand on the librarian's shoulder. "Hey. Best? You with me here?"

It was the touch that roused him, an instantaneous anchor to the living world that had Broderick blinking back into himself. “Sorry,” came out gruffly, gravel cleared away with a sharp cough. “I’m sorry,” he met the witch’s gaze with a befuddled one of his own.

“Spirits,” he explained, brow still furrowed. “It happens sometimes when one is particularly insistent. They’re always there,” he gestured vaguely around his head, “but I’m able to tune them out for the most part. This one didn’t like being ignored.”

Asher blinked, unsure exactly what to do. Broderick had told him about the spirits before, but seeing it in action sent a chill of discomfort through him. Being bothered by the living was bad enough. "... somebody feeling particularly protective of arithmancy?" he asked, an attempt to lighten the mood that fell mostly flat.

It earned a smile nonetheless and the tension visible in Broderick’s expression smoothed out some.

“Wouldn't be the first time I’m third wheel to a ghostly pissing contest over something. No, I didn't get enough of it, but something about…a Druid. Hazelwood,” he shared, puzzling the meaning out loud.

Asher's well-practiced poker face kicked in only a second after the shock of those words together hit him. This spirit wasn't here for Broderick. He cleared his throat, giving himself a moment to get his voice back. "That sounds irritating as fuck, man."

Broderick shrugged, it was a normal part of his life. “Sometimes, but do I strike you as someone who suffers bullshit? Honestly, I get it. They’re trapped, unfinished in many ways and no longer alive. I can have empathy for poor manners now and again, and I become confidant to a lot of interesting things.” He wouldn’t go so far as to call himself a ghostly gossip, but Broderick’s curiosity was endless.

“This one though,” he winced again as if someone was screaming in his ear, and tried to focus on the the bookshelf. “They really want someone to know how they died.” Alright, so maybe Broderick was getting a little irritated - there was no reason for the intensity of their insistence.

And even Asher's well-practiced poker face fell at that, and he turned back to the bookcase to cover himself. He'd suspected which of his Hazelwood companions this might be, but this was confirmation. He knew what happened to Lucre and Brace. The details he lacked about Dorr's exact demise were on purpose. He knew as much as he could stomach. He knew it was what would happen to him if he could not live within the boundaries of his own curse.

His tone, when he spoke again, was deceptively light. "Sounds like that's her problem. Listen, I'm sorry about this, but I forgot we've got a Creativity team meeting in the morning." (They didn't.) "I should probably try and get some sleep. I'll come back and keep working on this shelf later though, yeah?"

Broderick was taken aback by the abruptness of Asher’s sudden sense of responsibility. “Of course, uh – thanks for coming. I hope this didn’t scare you away, it really is just faulty spell work needing a refresh. Asher…” he trailed off, brow creased as he watched the witch take his leave.

Her.

A voice grew shrill and urgent in his ear as if trying to prevent the other man from leaving.

“Asher,” he repeated more firmly, realization heavy in his tone.

But Asher pretended not to hear as he swept on out of the library, back to his apartment for another sleepless night.