The Amaryllis Project [ Chapter Ten ]
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
“Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished--"
"So Iriel, found anything then?" Steven was actually awake during this lesson, that alone had to be a miracle. This was, after all, the guy who would fall asleep in class before the teacher even entered. Somehow, he just had the ability to know when something interesting was going to go on, and he'd managed to fight against tradition and stay awake. And it was just his luck, Mister Went was down for a... an... appointment, with some... one. Or something. The relief teacher didn't mention anything, and had instead told them that because of his unpacked - or more accurately, badly packed - suitcase that contained only a laptop, its cable and a video tape, he was stuck with letting them do as they wish, or show them the contents of the video tape.
He then added that the tape was shrink wrapped, rated and had to be watched only behind closed doors. And that he wasn't going to allow alcohol or an orgy in the lecture theatre, even if the tape was not showing. Thus, by popular demand, the movie was played.
"--However, this valorous visitation of a bygone vexation stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation--"
And it just had to be the wonderful classic too, in the true nature of a literary class full of cracked professors and Shakespeare with funny text and speech. "V For Vendetta", oh yes, so classic and so easy on the film amateur. Iriel glared at him, then spoke over the monologue of the very memorable character that had to either be a waste of screen time or a main character. "Yeah, in a way," he said dismissively as he stared at the projected image on the screen at the lower regions that was the front of the theatre, where the bloke standing in for the chap Peyote Went was, guarding his laptop.
"--of volition. The only verdict is vengeance, a vendetta held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and voracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so allow me to simply add that it is my very good honour to meet you, and you may call me V..."
.x.
So at the time, he did storm out, big fat ugly deal. But the main point now is that he, armed with a flashlight - sorry, torch - may have be on the verge of discovering something really really incredible. He was sure of it, and it was going to be momumental. The secret hidden room, it probably wasn't a myth, maybe that airhead of Xenia's did contain some really substantial stuff! All these ran through his head as he poked at the lever cautiously with his hand. It didn't spring, it didn't even creak when Iriel jabbed his finger at it so hard that he could have sworn he heard something crack. Irate, he set the flashlight down on the floor next to him and reached in with both hands. With any luck, he'd be able to wrench the blasted hinge into work, and then get into the blasted room... Which was somewhere else.
While Iriel wrenched and pulled and stabbed the stiff iron hinge, it would probably be a good idea to recap what he did to actually find it. After storming out of his dorm room, Iriel actually only realised that he'd forgotten a torch and was partway through backtracking before he realised that he could have just gone down the corridor and borrowed from the girls down the row of dorm rooms. And so, rather than disturb Steven and bruise his ego, that was what he did, march down the corridor and knock and ask for a torch. Thankfully, it was Shiroi who answered the door, the girl who was so understanding she didn't understand half the things she... understood. She never asked questions either, simply trotting over the get the torch and hand it over, before tying a scarf around his neck as well with a very polite salutation. He had then, armed with a flashlight and a warm scarily comforting scarf - though for what he had no idea, it was supposedly summer - he'd gone down the corridor. He could vaguely remember the swinging post hanging on the ceiling, the little contraption of beaten black iron that was swinging merrily on it's hinges without the creak of irregularly oiled metal now. It was rusting, but it could be, at least, marginally helpful. He had then trekked all the way to the blasted sign - heaven help him why he never thought of it - and then after spending at least fifteen minutes studying the piece of rusted metal, gone down the corridor again with some half-assed sense of direction.
It had read diagonal left, the arrow beside the rusted wording - R-something - was pointing that way. He'd tried to keep as faithful to the diagonally left direction as he could. In the end, he ended up at the step of the library. A quick check at the huge plaque hanging directly above the glass door, and it was clear. The frosted glass was for a reason after all, it was the inofficial "Teacher's Library", officially known to the students fondly as the Reference Library, without a single book on its shelves that was available for loan to non-staff members of the Amaryllis Institute. Iriel stared at it and pushed open the door. It was, fortunately open, though Iriel had really expected it to be open, it still came as something of a surprise. He had slipped in past the frosted glass door and into the library.
.x.
It wasn't musty. It wasn't dusty. It also didn't look particularly like a library either.
The first impression for Iriel was the whoosh of the air-conditioner. Yes, the cool air of the air-conditioner was the wonderful first impression Iriel had. Then, came the silence. And when it set in it was even colder than the presence of the air-conditioner. It was really a low-ceilinged room, in comparison to the relatively wider space - vertically so - that was found everywhere else, and was amazingly sunny despite the fluoroscent lights installed on the ceiling that should have bathed the room in sterile bright white light. Instead, it made the room feel warm, cosy in fact. The floor was wood, plain and scratched, as though unpolished and unfinished. Something that was so haphazardly done that just made Iriel (whose own home was generously made up in wood as well) cringe at the sight. It would have been a pretty flooring, but it was scratched, probably by years of women, women teachers and some really fashion-orientated women students wearing heels and stomping their feet. The walls were wallpapered in a creamy offwhite, broken up by many randomly framed images, black and white monochrome photographs, simply framed, shrunken reproductions of paintings of numerous authors (ugh, there the cheeky bugger was! Get him, get that chap William and make him rue the day he was named a Shakespeare!) and was kept so clean and pretty unlike the floor.
Like the dormitories, the doorway led into a hallway, with the shrunken walk way being a result of the Librarian's Room, filled with books installed to the left. Iriel gave the door a glance and went down on his way to the big open space that was the reading area. The low-ceiling room went on to the reading area, who had a librarian's counter set up right by the wall that marked the boundary between Librarian's Room and Librarian's Counter, which was in turn marked out by a series of low hip-high counters painted a deep, matured shade of mahogany arranged in a semi-circle against the wall, tucked in snugly between two walls joined to form a corner. There was a librarian at the counter, and he was reading. So deeply that Iriel was reminded of Steven, where the he would glance up briefly to see who the commontion had personified into, before resuming without a care in the world. This librarian was with curly, mouse brown hair, and with his face over in shadow, he looked almost sinister. Or asleep. Iriel cast him a midly interested look, then swept right past towards the shelf sections, weaving past the formations of beanbag chairs, low obsidian-topped tables, armchairs and soft squishy-cushioned hard wood-back chairs.
And it was in the library here that he had found it.
He really hadn't meant to find it. Upon finding that the library was silent and pretty much empty in the shelf section - everyone was either reading at the reading section, or simply engaged in conversation. It was really strange that he had actually overlooked it, now that he thought back, he must have walked past it multiple times. In the beginning, he had gone walking around the shelves, walking past the sections on literature, biographies, auto-biographies, miscellaneous books of huge sizes filled with what seemed to be a collection of very ancient and valuable reproductions of old paintings, and those documentary types that had numerous astounding shots of places. He had gone past them, all the books regardless of shape, size, colour, cover or cover type, all the labels with the big red 'R' on their spines. He had been confused a little by the sheer size of the shelf section, though he supposed he should have expected it from a place befitting the "Teacher's Library", a place with references of all types.
It was totally different from the reading section, or in fact the entirety of the section that he had been greeted with when he had entered. Here, the low-ceiling had stretched out, into a high ceiling that encompassed what seemed to be two floors, with a floor-to-ceiling wall of windows, all composed of little squares of glass in metal brackets, letting the light flood in. There were no curtains whatsoever for that window. The rest of the room was composed in a vaguely circular shape, with the flat wall marking the beginning of the circumference of this quarter of a room that was filled with many tall bookshelves, all made of wood that had been burnished to a fine medium shade. The ceiling had also two chandeliers, both a structure of black-painted steel and crystal diodes, suspended from a solid chain that looked to be steel. It was finely polished, and the crystalline light that it threw off was only a reminder of the amount of fresh sunlight the room was receiving. It was an imposing sight, but it was also a beautiful sight. Iriel never remembered anyone spending so much time and thought into the interior design of a library, though he guessed that this was probably just as well. Nobody wanted to go to a dull, dreary old library. This was a nice change.
And while he had revelled in the sight, he had bumped straight into a librarian.
"Oh, sorry--Hey, aren't you... Oh, hey Val."
His apology was more of a greeting than a sincere admittance of one's mistake. But the other individual didn't really seem to mind. Instead, she tugged at the dark blue vest she wore over her stark white and black striped shirt, with it's ruffled front peeking out through the sharp 'v' shaped collar. "Hey, Iriel right? I never thought you were the type for reading at night. Glad you came though, it was getting boring in here. Anyway, may I be of any assistance?" She was Valkyrie Rinelth alright, the girl with the dyed silvery white hair and stellar green eyes that Iriel thought would glow in the dark. The feline, elongated features with the narrow, cunning eyes and the similarly sharp nose was a fine balance for her otherwise strong facial features, with the jutting cheekbones and squarish jaw bone that made her pretty face look as though it was positioned in too heavy a frame. So Val wasn't the prettiest creature on the planet, but she was a wonderful person, with a decent personality and outlook. She also was the type with so much sense that she made other people feel like complete idiots without her purposeful meaning to at times. It only seemed befitting, now that Iriel thought back, that she would have somehow led to his discovery of the secret room.
"Uh..." he had said instead, trying to look as though he was sincerely trying to find a book than be an explorer, "do you have any books to recommend?" He settled instead, even though his pride gave him a sharp poke, causing a twinge to run through his chest. It wasn't his fault he had to settle for such a horrible excuse, blame the brain, blame the brain he complained.
Val however, smiled at him, pushing back her pale hair with a wide smile that stretched out her thin lips and didn't quite actually reach her eyes despite how sincere it seemed. "Oh, I thought you'd never ask. Whose class are you in?" She paused for a moment, and before the question could sink in, and Iriel could even begin to formulate a reply, she answered herself. "Stupid question, Mister Peyote Went right? College level two hyphen..."
"Seven," Iriel offered.
"...Right, College Level, class two hyphen seven. You should be covering Midsummer's Night's Dream if it's two hyphen seven, they always rotate the texts ever year. I think you might be covering something closer to home soon, something less literature and dreary. I think your class will be going towards the mainstream type of stories... Hm..." She leaned back on her heels and considered, tapping her finger against her chin for a moment, as her eyes wandered to the ceiling in thought. Then, she turned on her heel and marched off, "Follow me. Mainstream stories and authors... I think you all might also cover some films and romance stories... Sadly, you all won't be going anywhere near Wilde this year, that was rotated off to the other classes. I think... Yes."
She came to a halt, and Iriel skidded into place next to her on the wooden floor. "This shelf, it'll have everything you might need. I don't usually make a habit of recommending specific books, and I won't be starting any time soon. You'll just have to pick and choose yourself." Iriel had nodded his answer at her mutely, and Valkyrie had actually ruffled his hair. Actually ruffled, in the way that was meant to purposely mess up his hair and annoy him in a friendly way. Iriel glared at her, with some surprise but with mostly annoyance as she stalked off on her chunky heels and pencil skirt. He had to be a little too old for that, and Valkyrie most certainly was no older than he was, it was not her right to treat him as a kid. That he decided, but he wasn't about to cause a scene. He had a job to do here, and if it was going to take days, at least he'd know where to start.
.x.
At first, he had began by pulling books off shelves. In an effort to put up with an act that he had started, he had actually bothered to take a look at the books, check out their covers with some interest and check their summaries and in flaps for some information before selecting them and adding them to the slowly growing pile on he balanced on his arm. Then, he had moved off to another shelf. And moved back when another book caught his attention, and he lost sight of it. He went on to check the shelves for a hint of that book, the attractive cover page that was a nice shade of bronzed gold, with a series of bold ornate black titles. 'The D-something Club', he was sure of it, but why couldn't he find it?
In his haste to locate the book, he had accidentally dislodged a smaller sized book between his pile of relatively larger ones. That small book had skidded happily from between the slippery polymer covers protecting the fragile hard-backs and landed with a 'fwoop' of arrayed pages and a hard cover. It fell face first, the pages wide open and in danger of creasing, under one of the elevated shelves. Frustrated, he had bent to pick it up, grumbling as he set down his small pile of five other books onto the space of the shelf and gone down onto his knees to reach for it.
And then he had found it, hidden on the underside of the shelves, just barely visible from the reinforcing wooden brackets lining the gap. It looked like a handle, and when he reached towards where he thought it was through the tight gap, it was cold hard metal. He had poked at it experimentally, gingerly pulled at it and attempted to nudge it into springing. Nothing worked, until he reached both hands into the underside of the shelf and wrenched it hard towards himself. It creaked, groaning so low it was almost inaudible, and then Iriel could have sworn it gave. But even after he retracted his hands, studied it twice and picked up his books, he couldn't tell what had he sprung. Where the hinger was supposed to open, and what it was supposed to be trapped into. He dusted his hands and stood up, swiping his torch from the wooden ground and went to pile the stack of books from the empty shelf, he couldn't figure out what had he sprung, opened. The library was even quieter now, with lesser people occupying even the reading area. The population must have shrunk at least in half, and the space that was the library seemed to become positively eerie. In the cool wash of the air-conditioner and it's persistent humming, the emptiness of the entire structure, the library seemed to expand, stretching past horizons into the Arctic Tundra. There was no voices, no people and no comfort, only the constant hum of cold wind and the soft creaking of the chairs in the far off reading corners. Civilisation was a million miles away, and the lights...
Iriel glanced up as he was arranging the books - largest at the bottom, smallest on top, no more slip ups - and noted that the chandeliers were now lit. The fresh light that had been spilling from the library's glace windows hadn't been as bright as he had thought it was, the bright sunniness of a summery noon time as he had perceived. In truth, it had probably been the time of stretched out evening, where the sunlight shone for longer, where day expanded to fill out whatever times it could occupy and night shrank to fit the reduced space of the clock. Iriel scratched his head as he lifted the pile off the shelf and moved off towards the reading corner.
Setting down the stack of books he was certain he was never going to finish by witching hour, he flopped his form down onto the nearest armchair, a creation of flowery chintz, with squishy cushioning and low arms that accompanied a strangely high backing that allowed one to sit straight and still be able to rest the head against it's soft material. It was, also leaking stuffing in one corner of its cushions he realised. Picking absently at some of the loose strings running fro the fraying edges of the stitching, Iriel adjusted himself to sit in his preferred slouching posture, and picked the first book off the pile...
"Can you do something for me?" The addressed looked up, and was met with the face of the addressee, the strong facial bones and the refined features, the narrow green eyes and straight sharp nose. "I need you to run over the the Librarian's Room and get me a copy of this book. Please Iriel?" Without really waiting for his reply, whether a protest or declination, she had handed him a book cover, the type that was the papery protection for the average hard cover book. It was tattered, and in a nasty state, something that could be understood when one remember that it wasn't wrapped in protective polymer of kept safely with its own respective book. Iriel considered it as he studied the cover, trying to scrutinize the title from the generous tear in the top corner. Val seemed to see his apprehension, and quickly added in her own explanation for why she couldn't get herself or someone else to do this job that was seemingly going to be extremely tricky. "I have those to shelve," she pointed at the steel and wood trolley that she had parked comfortably next to a shelf, all laden down with books in three of it's five shelves on the side facing them and perhaps more on the other side, "And him--" she pointed at the librarian at the counter, the one with hair that looked like mouse fur, "he's reading and you won't believe the crankiness he personifies into when you disturb him. It's late and I'm in no mood to get shouted, Xenia took off-duty today and Shiroi is out running... Please?"
Although it didn't really make sense to Iriel why in the world she would be bringing up Xenia and Shiroi, since it was insanity to run several feet just to reach their dormitories and enlist their help for a simply duty, he nodded his agreement anyway. She looked relieved, though like many of her expressions, it never quite reached her eyes to be sincere. "The author is intact though, so you just need to try and match up the title... Well, it's up to you then Iriel, thank you so much! You're a charm," she kissed him on the cheek, much like how Reisa did the last time, and hurried off in a fluster of clacking heels and bottled white locks, all coming out from it's bun. With an impatient 'hrumph' with annoyance, he set down the book back onto the pile he had so carefully arranged onto the obsidian-topped table and got up with more force than necessary. As he went on his way to the Librarian's Room on his menial duty, he was sure he had knocked some stuffing from the chintz armchair back there. Never mind, he'd try to make up for it later. Striding past the counters, he glared passingly at the librarian still slumped over his book and for the second time observed how he looked dead - or asleep - before he wrenched at the door handle and let himself into restricted land...
.x.
"And what did you find there? Gold?" Steven poked him in the shoulder, forcing him to come out of his comforting daydream with a start, "So it's in the Librarian's Room huh? Well no wonder it's hidden, nobody's allowed in."
"Bad news for you Iriel," Xenia added as she leaned in towards him from the other side, her face lit by the flashing lights thrown of the projector screen, proving her guilt at having listened in while he talked despite her act of nonchalance, "Every one of our shelves have a wrench like that underneath them. They're the quick disassembly catch, and you better start thanking your gods that you didn't disassemble the whole thing. It could have collapsed right down you know. Is that all you found?"
Iriel thought about it and then very slowly shook his head, in a diagonal manner. Now that he thought about it, he didn't really want to tell them about it. It was a hidden room, and it was one that he found and not them, even though they were veterans of the area. Iriel was compelled to be selfish for once, and thus even as Xenia and Steven fixed him with expectant gazes, he didn't add anything more.
"Watch the movie, both of you. Look, V is declaring his love for the... girl whoever she is."
"She's called Evey--"
"Shut up and watch, moron."
.x.
It wasn't an accident he found it, it had to be preassigned, something that compelled him to find it. He was sure. How could it have been so suddenly easy? Armed only with a badly torn book cover, a scarf that was totally not suitable for the season but strangely befitting of the setting, and... well, that was it, the pathetic end of his arsenal. But he didn't complain even as he stepped into the dark, exceedingly badly lit and cramped room, feeling more apprehensive than disturbed. From what he saw, it was a tiny room, even more so due to the immense number of low shelves and tables scattered everywhere and the piles of books stacked on top of them. Fumbling, he had left the door open as wide as he could and groped blindly against the walls surrounding the nearest walls for the switch. He found the solid wall-mounted piece of plastic, and with a sigh of relief flicked it downwards. Instantly, the furthest row of light flickered to life with a low buzzing noise. The lights that lit the room were anything but sufficient, but even in the dim light, Iriel could tell that the task was going to be very difficult indeed.
Like his initial impression had warranted, it was a cramped room. It was a solidly confined room, very dingy in the dim lighting and abundence of dusty books. The walls were obscured almost entirely on two walls by floor to ceiling bookshelves, varnished and adding to the musty smell of unopened books with its own woody smell. The remainder of the four walls were that directly opposite that Iriel was standing near, and the other to his left. The first wall he directly face was lined with windows, all with sterile white vertical blinds, and all quite tightly shut. The glass was streaked, and presumably unwashed for quite some time though it was still see-through to some extent. It wasn't a pretty sight however, with the two huge eight-seater dining tables - without any fancy obsidian tops - positioned in the middle of the room, stacked with a generous amount of books, all arranged from largest to smallest. The remaining wall, with its unspectacularly tiny desk, that was about as solid and sturdy-looking as a veil of gauze which was surprisingly empty and a projector screen - drawn down to contrast against the haphazardly wallpapered, eggshell-coloured walls - only served to add to the claustrophobic feel to the room. Iriel took one look at the room in its inadequetely lit state, and considered backing out and simply stating that he couldn't find it.
The room looked perfect for someone who was in their final stages of book-loving syndrome would spend, accompanied by the sheer number of musty compilations of paper and ink and glue. It was probably the kind of room bibliophiles like Steven would like. He himself detested the room on sight. But then it went agaisnt himself to simply give up on the hunt without trying, and so he let go of the door jamb, allowing the solid block of wood to thunk close and seal him into the artificially ventilated room with a sort of morbid finality. Steeling his nerves, he had set upon his task.
After several piles of books and at least fifteen minutes later, it finally dawned on him that the books had to be arranged by alphabetical order, no matter how messed up. Slapping himself in the forehead, he checked the crumpling cover page and had to squint again int he dim light, reminding himself to sue the school for their exceedingly bad treatment of their librarians. 'Zephyrus', the name was 'Zephyrus Cornelia' he was sure of it and he was going to hunt down that author with the bloody awful pen name. Here was the four 'A' piles, and there was the seven 'T' piles... By the time Iriel polished off the piles on the table with a quick look through to make sure that there were no piles lettered 'Z', his eyes were starting to sting with fatigue. "Bloody Librarians," he muttered half-hearted as he dusted his shirt and started on the shelves.
Shelving was one of the factors that worked alongside with him this time. Everything was neatly put in place, and was all straightened with military precision. Iriel, was so grateful about the fussiness of librarians that he could have cried. Instead however, he focused his own tired, complaining eyes onto the first shelf he came across and began to count. What luck, it was the series of 'R's, all standing in a row -- next. He jumped from shelf to shelf, before finally, his eyes darted to the shelf right at the end, the one lone brown shelf that stood there glowing like an ephemereal statue next to the vacant desk and chair. It had to be there -- something that a quick scurrying over and once-over confirmed. Allelujah, he was saved!
Fate decided to kick him in the head at that moment, and he responded by seating himself on the table and going over each shelf by eye without a care in the world. The Lady Fate however wasn't so easily appeased, as Iriel could testify, she was so intent upon him discovering the door to the room that he had actually somehow tripped over his own feet while getting up to pull out the books beginning with 'Zep'. He went flying to the floor and smacked his head on the floor. The result, was a loud 'plonk' of solid linoleum-covered floor. While he crawled up sulking and nursing his bruised head, he had noticed the catch in the wall, the faintly shining outline right by the bookcase, marking the beginning og the squashed silt of wall next to the bookcase that was now mocking him. When he'd gone to investigate, he was made to shove the wall with his shoulder till it ached, though it opened reluctantly in the end. Iriel then eased himself through the tight space and was absolutely astounded.
.xxx.
Labels: T.A.P.
about one xREDballoon
about meIt was the username that was adopted either in late August or early September of 2009. It was the combined effect of too many games on Orisinal (especially High Delivery) and also her long-time love for how the large red carnival balloons when they fly away.
about meFinalized as a digital signature only in November of the same year, it has since been used everywhere: her previous Gaia account, her account on bubbl.us, and of course every recent endeavor on web and graphic design. It was an aim of hers to use it as something of a brand. From her sketches to simple blog layouts, one xREDballoon presents is her favourite signature as of now.
about meone xREDballoon is the internet handle of a girl, born on a wet day in the early morning of late February. Although astrologically she is a Pisces, she displays many of the Aquarian traits, possibly as a result of being born near the time. She likes the concept of beauty in its most primitive classical form, ruffles layered upon each other generously for flounce or decor, detailed black lace be it crochet or woven, a whole palette of colours from turquoise to grey. She is charmed by the way an old well-read book smells on a wet rainy day, and the way the pages feel, all crinkly and wise under her fingers as she turns the page. She loves the inviting appeal of a blank notebook, and a good gel-ink pen in the colour of the sky.
about meLearn more about her in her personal blog.
about And Then She Fell
about meAndthenshe-fell@blogspot was named as such in October 09, on a whim and on a wish to match the layout that time. And Then She Fell was a lot of things back then: a roleplay layout (in bbcode), a roleplay idea (which was never developed) and also the words emblazoned in huge Ruritania upon an image which showed a falling girl. That was the beginnings of this writing blog as the all-new concept of And Then She Fell.
about meFrom the start, And Then She Fell has always been a semi-personal blog. While visitors are not unwelcomed, no particular effort is put into censoring the content or to sound polite. Just as well that the blog touches on intangible unimportant things, for if it were to talk of life and its nuances, things would sour quickly and it would become a blog of cynical views and criticism.
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