what a glorious life (open) Dec 5, 2012 0:58:10 GMT -5
Post by carnwennan on Dec 5, 2012 0:58:10 GMT -5
|[atrb=style,background: url(http://i52.tinypic.com/14kdz61.jpg);,bTable][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style,box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px #989898; -moz-box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px #989898; -webkit-box-shadow: 0px 0px 5px #989898; width: 420px;,bTable][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=border,0,bTable]||[atrb=style,width: 390px; border: 3px solid #87b8bb; background-color: #eae8e4;]❝[STYLE=font-family: helvetica neue; font-weight: 200; color: bdbdbd; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: -2; font-size: 30px; margin-top: -54px; margin-left: 20px;]still remain the things we couldn't kill[/style][STYLE=font-family: helvetica; font-size: 30px; text-transform: lowercase; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: #87b8bb; letter-spacing: -2; text-shadow: -3px 0px 0px #f4f2ee; text-align: right; margin-top: -20px; margin-right: 10px;]in your eyes i can see[/style][STYLE=font-family: helvetica neue; font-weight: 200; color: bdbdbd; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: -2; font-size: 18px; margin-top: -10px; margin-right: 35px; text-align: right;]it still[/style][STYLE=margin-top: -26px; text-align: right;]❞[/style]|
[STYLE=width: 85%; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; color: #3c3c3c; padding: 10; background-color: #f4f2ee; margin-top: -15px;]Cleaning was a regular part of the ancient weapon's routine. Her apartment in Greener Pastures was constantly being organized as soon as something new was introduced to it. Everything was always put away just so. Everything went on a designated shelf or in a designated drawer and there was never a time after the first five minutes of something coming into the apartment that anything was out of place.
She was perfectly fine with putting everything away there, but when it came to the library, something was entirely different. Maybe it was because she wasn't the one who put things out of order: instead, it was the patrons who happened into the only major library in Death City (outside of the school, at least, and how sorry she felt for the poor soul who had to clean that one) and were too lazy to put them back where they found them. Whenever she caught such irreverent library-goers, she made sure to rebuke them for their carelessness. More often than not, they complied, though it was just as often accompanied by begrudged mumbling, but she honestly couldn't care less about their complaints. If it saved her the hassle of putting everything back where it belonged, then so be it.
This time, though, someone--or several someones, maybe--had managed to slip away from her watchful eye and had left a stack of books out on one of the tables. When she found it, she groaned her distaste and frowned more than she usually did. She couldn't remember who sat at this table, but she certainly wished that she would so that she could yell at them the next time they returned. When it concerned people for which she harbored some degree of spite, she was rather talented at remembering faces.
Much to her dismay, she couldn't even say that she had properly seen them. She wouldn't be able to demand they correct it, nor would she be able to punish them in any way. And so, with a frown on her face, she scooped up the worn books and began to ferry them back to their appropriate shelves. One by one, they were each carefully replaced among their neighbors until her arms were empty.
And as she passed another table, there were more books.
There was a moment where she simply stood there and stared them down, as if daring them to be reality rather than a figment of her own imagination. But they were, indeed, sitting there on the corner of the table. She could feel her blood boiling, so to speak, beneath her skin. Beneath her breath she uttered quiet swears. Was this by the same person or group of people? Did they know who she was?
No. No one but Lord Death and her so-called "siblings" knew who she was. There were whispers among the more well-informed of the Academy at the middle of the city, but even those were rumors and nothing more. To everyone outside of that select group, she was only "that bitch librarian." She'd never done anything to deny it, of course, but a part of her longed for something more than yelling at patrons of the library and making sure all of the books were put in order. As fond as she was of literature, this was not the life a legendary weapon was meant to lead.
At least the books were put up now. That was a small victory, and rather than continuing to lament her unremarkable life of the past several hundred years, she chose to focus on that. All of the tables cleared now, she returned to her usual place at the front desk, quietly anticipating the end of the work day.
word count:: 620 tags:: anyone notes:: grumpy grump.
music:: "spaces in between" - how to destroy angels
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