cervidology


Library
Cair Paravel
Eastern Narnia


Lanisen wanders up and down the shelves, his hands folded behind his back, carefully not touching anything, only looking. His footfalls are quiet in the silent room.

A son of adam wearing ornate garb of superior nobility enters the library making not very much sound, a small book in hand as well as a pouch which can be presumed to be carrying a ink and a quill by the tip of the feather protruding from it. He makes his way in a rather direct fashion towards a table with quite a few books and scrolls set upon it. He does not seem to see the any other occupants at this particular time.

Lanisen reaches out toward a book, but pulls his hand back guiltily, glancing toward the movement visible from the corner of his eye. He steps back from the shelf.

Darrin enters the library, doing little besides wandering if his leisurely pace is anything to go by. He’s acquired a castle mouser from somewhere, the black cat purring as Darrin cradles her in one arm and scritches behind her ears with the other.

Chlamash has seated himself at one of the reading tables, and begun to make several notes in a book he has brought with him, when he hears the sound of footsteps and glances upwards.

Lanisen watches Chlamash work, curious but wary, and doesn’t call attention to himself yet. As Darrin enters, he straightens slightly and bows.

Darrin offers the Calormene at the table a warm smile when he glances at him, and then his attention is caught by Lanisen’s bow. “Ah, good afternoon, Lanisen,” he says in a more-pleasant-than-usual tone.

Chlamash gives the lordly man a nod of acknowledgement, rising. “I was unaware Narnia had visitors.” As the man speaks however, his attention turns to find the other man to whom he has spoken.

Lanisen shifts and turns slightly red. He hesitates, glancing to Darrin, and then offers the Calormene man an uncertain bow.

Chlamash turn to face the man standing by the bookshelf, his shrewd glance taking him in. Something flitters across his face, which just as soon disappears. He tilts his head in acknowledgement. He turns to the lordly figure, “You must be from Anvard, I take it. And this your …” he hesitates. “Servant?” He looks from the finely attired man to the more common looking man.

Darrin says agreeably, “Yes, it’s something of a casual visit, not one we’ve warned many people about.” He arches a brow, something superior in the motion, and then corrects, “/Friend/.” He dips his head in a small bow to the Calormene. “Sir Darrin, at your service, and my friend, Lanisen.”

Lanisen ducks his head again toward Chlamash. He folds his hands self-consciously behind his back.

Chlamash offer Darrin a more formal bow, bending at the waist, and nods appropriately to the other man. “I am Tarkaan Chlamash, a guest of Their Majesties’ grace.”

Darrin says, “A pleasure, Chlamash.” He seems to remember he has a cat in his arm when said cat butts her head under his chin in search of More Pets. Darrin appropriately coos something to her under his breath and pets down her spine obligingly.
Darrin mumbles “Right, yes, sorry … …”, to Darrin.

Lanisen looks askance at the cat, trying discreetly to determine whether it’s a cat or a Cat.

Chlamash gestures to the table he has been sitting at, “Please be welcome to join me, if such is your desire.”

The cat gives Lanisen a regal look in return, as if Darrin’s attention is her due, green eyes blinking slowly. She purrs.

Darrin sends Lanisen a questioning glance at the invitation.

Lanisen raises his eyebows at Darrin and glances at Chlamash again. His mouth forms a silent ‘oh’ and he lifts his shoulders just slightly, shaking his head a little to indicate he doesn’t mind.

Darrin shrugs. “Don’t mind if we do,” he says, sliding out a chair and settling himself down in it carefully so as to not disturb the cat.

Chlamash seats himself, continuing to write down several notes.

Lanisen approaches and does the same. He looks at the cat again and seems to come to a conclusion regarding its sapience, then glances first at Chlamash and then at his work.

Darrin flicks a small wad of cat fur off his fingers and onto the floor and resumes his petting.

Chlamash pauses from writing, to stoke his beard thoughtfully seemingly contemplating some matter. He glances to Lanisen and Darrin again, dropping his eyes towards his reading.

Lanisen reaches out to make the cat’s acquaintance.

Darrin shifts his arm out of Lanisen’s way, and the cat’s ears twitch. She stretches forward to sniff at him delicately.

Lanisen holds his hand quite still to be sniffed, then rubs the cat’s ears gently.

Chlamash browses through several of the final pages of the book before him and sets it aside, browsing through the first of the underneath and hmming to himself. Picking up the quill again, he begins to write again in his book.

Darrin glances at Chlamash and inquires politely, “Can I ask what you’re working on?”

Chlamash says, “Of course, Milord. I am making a listing to the places where a white stag is mentioned for her majesty, as she has expressed interest in such. I have promised to leave notice of these things with the librarian for her majesties perusal.””

Darrin tilts his head. “White stag?”

Lanisen asks curiously, “Like the one with the… the one that gives people wishes?”

Chlamash inclines his head to Darrin. “Indeed. I believe her majesty has heard rumors and wishes to recall what was the nature and manner of such a beast.” As man with with the scarred throat speaks, he acknowledges him, a gleam growing in his eyes at the mention of wishes granted. “I have no knowledge in that matter, but should a beast exist, should he not be the dream of every man or woman?”

Darrin hums. “I have heard that legend. I’m surprised you haven’t found anything about it in your research as of yet.”

Lanisen looks down at Chlamash’s notes, upside-down from where he’s sitting.

Chlamash crosses out something at the bottom of one of the pages, writing a small note beneath it which includes the page number before him and the book title of the tome before him. “Perhaps the book before me will be of more usage.”
Chlamash says, “Though if I am to be honest, Milord, I wonder if I might hear it from you and your friend here?””

Darrin’s companion escapes, jumping to the floor beneath the table. Darrin sighs, and pushes back his chair. “Well, I wish you luck in the search. If you’ll both excuse me, I promised the castle Cook I’d go and have a chat with them about now.”

Lanisen gets to his feet quickly to bow as Darrin departs. He glances back at Chlamash’s work and then up at the Tarkaan. “Um– I only know about it from a book at home,” he says apologetically.

Chlamash also rises as well at the Lord’s departure, to give a modest bow. Nodding as the other man speaks, “Ah well, perhaps I shall come across it amounst these books here.

Lanisen hesitates, looking almost hungrily at the books stacked on the table. “Would it– d’you want some help, sir? I got my letters, if you, if you tell me what you’re lookin’ for.”

Chlamash raises an eyebrow, looking assessingly at the young man again. He pauses thoughfully. “Yes, I think I would like some help…pardon me, was it Lanisen? Any mentions of the white stag and anything that it might say about it.”

Lanisen nods to confirm his name, dropping smoothly back into the chair he just vacated. “Where d’you want me to start, sir?”

Chlamash points a hand to one of the smaller stacks closer to Lanisen. “Perhaps that blue one on top?”

Lanisen nods and takes the book, opening it on the table in front of him. He scoots his chair in and bends his head over the page, falling quiet.

Chlamash turns back a page in his books, scribbles something, and flipping forward again sets down the quill. He pulls the tome in front of him closer, leafing through a few pages with no success.

Lanisen puts his left elbow on the table and props up his chin with his hand as he reads. His right hand, resting on the table next to the book, has a peculiar appearance: the third and fourth fingers are contorted into a claw-like position and do not move with the rest of his hand.

Chlamash leafs through his book finding several things and making a good deal notes, he glances up from his reading to reach for the next book, pausing and his glance strays to his reading companion and his hand resting on the table.

Lanisen is absorbed in his reading, even his breathing settled to a slow, shallow, sleep-like rhythm. He only moves to turn the page.

Chlamash drops his gaze back to the book before him, tightening his hand into a fist and releasing it. He seems thoughtful.

Lanisen straightens after some time and reads more intently. “Here,” he ventures. “Here’s somethin’.” He turns the book around and slides it to where Chlamash can see.

Chlamash looks up from his reading and whatever subject he may have been contemplating is hidden again as he investigates the book that has been slid towards him. “Indeed…White stage…wishes upon catching… Yes. This is very good.”

Lanisen asks, “I’ll keep readin’?”

Chlamash nods, “Very Good.”

Lanisen draws the book back toward himself and bows over it again, pushing his hair behind his ears.

A hummingbird zips into the into the room and speaks quietly with Chlamash before zipping off again.

Chlamash rises, “I fear I must excuse myself, it seems several of the guardsmen are waiting for a spar. Please,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the books on the table, “help yourself to any that interest you.”

Lanisen’s attention is drawn away from the book by the little bird. He sits up straight and watches her flit away with respectful interest, and then rises quickly when Chlamash does. “Oh! Oh, er.” He looks at the books and back at Chlamash, grateful and half-shy about it. He bows. “Thank you, sir.”

Chlamash nods. “Good day, then.”

Lanisen says, “The same to you, sir.”

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