Re: MORITURI TE SALUTANT!! [S!4]
10-13-2012, 12:57 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pharmacy.
<font color="#008000">The bowels of the theater were full of hustle and bustle, acculumating after centuries of theatrics and meta-fictional confusion. Honeyed light glittered through the crudely-cute windows and the place certainly had a homey-ness to it that could be sufficiently described as "archaic." However, Hector paid no heed to his surroundings. After all, he was trying to remember.
The fairly recent past was a blur that rivaled the most incomprehensible smears of ink and graphite. To be honest, what was he doing? What was Hector doing now? There had been something about turning up in some poor excuse of a mansion. Something about mysteries and deals with a peculiarly shady fellow - some snake but hard to tell, what with the mansion light. And the rest of his recollections trailed away like a paper boat in the river – not because he had forgotten them, but because he was struck with another, more urgent recollection: he had practically done jack for the last few hours. Days. Whatever.
The librarian felt slightly foolish: he had all this time in the world but had taken no effort to do significant action. How embarrassing!
Hector stared at a particularly grandiose shelf that reeked of perfumes and Baroque. It was neatly organized. The semi-shattered glass on the shelves shielded wolf skulls, deer legs, ribs of some hapless human being, and other such calcified materials; furs, skins, and other cured epidermis of various fauna - from the lustrous chinchilla to the most ratty calfskin; at the sinister corners, there was errant taxidermy - animals living their immortal lives in artificial positions - premature offspring floating in their formaldehyde beds. The shelf was full of dead things. Dead dead things. If Hector was not careful in the grand scheme of things, he'd be like one of them too.
He really needed to get his act together.
"I supposed you are a little lost, good sir," spoke a nearby voice.
"GAH." The bibliomancer snapped his head around so quickly that his neck cracked a little. However, there were no bystanders. There was only the voice. The mystery voice. The mystery voice that had some sort of vague European accent to it. Hector suspected it was British. Or Snide.
"Over here."
A bird waltzed from the back of a particularly desiccated ocelot frozen in mid-pounce. It was a drab olive, a diminutive size, and fairly dusty from the close proximity of the long-dead animals. A couple of orange bands shined distractingly around the bird's ankles. It seemed to be a fairly normal parrot of some sort and species.
It tilted its head at Hector.
"A parrot," Hector just said. True, it was an obvious statement but he really had nothing particularly witty to say.
"Nestor Notabilis," the parrot pulled a wing out in a flash of orange and did what could be constrained as an avian equivalent of a gentlemanly half-bow. It was hard to tell because parrot legs are usually very short and he was a fairly normal parrot. "At your service."
"Uh, yeah. Nice meeting you then." And the sorcerer book-keeper did what normal people do when they see talking parrots who randomly appear out of nowhere and claim to be in their servitude: leave and go on his merry way. It was a good decision on his part.
"No wait wait wait. Don't leave." Unfortunately, the parrot followed after. There was a flurry of wings intermixed with the rabble of the crowd. Hector felt a noticeable weight pressing down his nape along with a feeling of uncertainty creeping up his spine. Hector could not shake this feeling off. There was something weird about this persistent bird. "You are missing a perfect opportunity."
"Like what?"
"For starters, you are missing out on a perfectly handsome bird like me," Nestor puffed up smugly and started to groom at his standing feathers with his feet.
"Uh okay."
"Ladies are fond of handsome men and exotic pets," The parrot examined his feet and flicked away a clod of tiger fur. "But you see. I am exotically handsome. So I get the best of both worlds."
"Sure...I guess."
"Anyway, Secondly...," There was a bit of silence as "Nestor" shimmied around Hector and tested at his clothes - nibbling and tugging at places, claws firmly gripping at lapels and bare skin. After a bit of errant beak-poking and prodding, the parrot settled his body close to Hector's face but settled his beak even closer to Hector's ear.
"I know some secrets."
Hector's interests were piqued to alertness. "Really?"
"Secrets," Nestor fluttered to Hector's other shoulder. "The cream of the crop - all pertaining to the tried and true brand of secrets. You want it. We got it. By we, I mean namely me, but you already know that." He sighed a parroty sigh. "It's so hard to be clever sometimes."
Hector nodded slightly.
"Of course, I can't just tell you on the spot. It simply ruins the concept of secrecy. But I'll let you have a nibble. A little peck of a spoiler," the parrot stared to no one in particular. "Most of these secrets are pointing to a particular man."
"Imago Dei!"
Nestor simply nodded.
"Well then," Hector clapped his hands together in approval. "I guess we would be together for a bit. You, me and the secrets. So tell me everything you know."
"Excellent." Nestor spoke through the small crack of beak. "Now, then. I unfortunately do not remember the majority - I just collect things. I don't delve them to memory. After all, I am a parrot but still, one point of interest is an old most-ancient library. It seen better days but it's merely just a brisk pace ahead. If you keep your feet together you might get there in two, maybe one minutes..."</font>
<font color="#008000">The bowels of the theater were full of hustle and bustle, acculumating after centuries of theatrics and meta-fictional confusion. Honeyed light glittered through the crudely-cute windows and the place certainly had a homey-ness to it that could be sufficiently described as "archaic." However, Hector paid no heed to his surroundings. After all, he was trying to remember.
The fairly recent past was a blur that rivaled the most incomprehensible smears of ink and graphite. To be honest, what was he doing? What was Hector doing now? There had been something about turning up in some poor excuse of a mansion. Something about mysteries and deals with a peculiarly shady fellow - some snake but hard to tell, what with the mansion light. And the rest of his recollections trailed away like a paper boat in the river – not because he had forgotten them, but because he was struck with another, more urgent recollection: he had practically done jack for the last few hours. Days. Whatever.
The librarian felt slightly foolish: he had all this time in the world but had taken no effort to do significant action. How embarrassing!
Hector stared at a particularly grandiose shelf that reeked of perfumes and Baroque. It was neatly organized. The semi-shattered glass on the shelves shielded wolf skulls, deer legs, ribs of some hapless human being, and other such calcified materials; furs, skins, and other cured epidermis of various fauna - from the lustrous chinchilla to the most ratty calfskin; at the sinister corners, there was errant taxidermy - animals living their immortal lives in artificial positions - premature offspring floating in their formaldehyde beds. The shelf was full of dead things. Dead dead things. If Hector was not careful in the grand scheme of things, he'd be like one of them too.
He really needed to get his act together.
"I supposed you are a little lost, good sir," spoke a nearby voice.
"GAH." The bibliomancer snapped his head around so quickly that his neck cracked a little. However, there were no bystanders. There was only the voice. The mystery voice. The mystery voice that had some sort of vague European accent to it. Hector suspected it was British. Or Snide.
"Over here."
A bird waltzed from the back of a particularly desiccated ocelot frozen in mid-pounce. It was a drab olive, a diminutive size, and fairly dusty from the close proximity of the long-dead animals. A couple of orange bands shined distractingly around the bird's ankles. It seemed to be a fairly normal parrot of some sort and species.
It tilted its head at Hector.
"A parrot," Hector just said. True, it was an obvious statement but he really had nothing particularly witty to say.
"Nestor Notabilis," the parrot pulled a wing out in a flash of orange and did what could be constrained as an avian equivalent of a gentlemanly half-bow. It was hard to tell because parrot legs are usually very short and he was a fairly normal parrot. "At your service."
"Uh, yeah. Nice meeting you then." And the sorcerer book-keeper did what normal people do when they see talking parrots who randomly appear out of nowhere and claim to be in their servitude: leave and go on his merry way. It was a good decision on his part.
"No wait wait wait. Don't leave." Unfortunately, the parrot followed after. There was a flurry of wings intermixed with the rabble of the crowd. Hector felt a noticeable weight pressing down his nape along with a feeling of uncertainty creeping up his spine. Hector could not shake this feeling off. There was something weird about this persistent bird. "You are missing a perfect opportunity."
"Like what?"
"For starters, you are missing out on a perfectly handsome bird like me," Nestor puffed up smugly and started to groom at his standing feathers with his feet.
"Uh okay."
"Ladies are fond of handsome men and exotic pets," The parrot examined his feet and flicked away a clod of tiger fur. "But you see. I am exotically handsome. So I get the best of both worlds."
"Sure...I guess."
"Anyway, Secondly...," There was a bit of silence as "Nestor" shimmied around Hector and tested at his clothes - nibbling and tugging at places, claws firmly gripping at lapels and bare skin. After a bit of errant beak-poking and prodding, the parrot settled his body close to Hector's face but settled his beak even closer to Hector's ear.
"I know some secrets."
Hector's interests were piqued to alertness. "Really?"
"Secrets," Nestor fluttered to Hector's other shoulder. "The cream of the crop - all pertaining to the tried and true brand of secrets. You want it. We got it. By we, I mean namely me, but you already know that." He sighed a parroty sigh. "It's so hard to be clever sometimes."
Hector nodded slightly.
"Of course, I can't just tell you on the spot. It simply ruins the concept of secrecy. But I'll let you have a nibble. A little peck of a spoiler," the parrot stared to no one in particular. "Most of these secrets are pointing to a particular man."
"Imago Dei!"
Nestor simply nodded.
"Well then," Hector clapped his hands together in approval. "I guess we would be together for a bit. You, me and the secrets. So tell me everything you know."
"Excellent." Nestor spoke through the small crack of beak. "Now, then. I unfortunately do not remember the majority - I just collect things. I don't delve them to memory. After all, I am a parrot but still, one point of interest is an old most-ancient library. It seen better days but it's merely just a brisk pace ahead. If you keep your feet together you might get there in two, maybe one minutes..."</font>