gentle eyes scan the spines of the books, but a familiar mischievous fire burns within them for those who know to look. few might expect the greek trickster to be found within a library, but once upon a time ( if you’ll excuse the example phrase ) he could have been found here as well ; words fell from his lips with ease, bending language to do his bidding. hermes the liar —— remember, remember that liars must tell better stories than honest souls ! yet, the point was not to read, nor was it to write. beyond tall tales, hermes was a trickster, a glorified thief from barely after the time of his birth. he had come to believe over the centuries that it was not about stealing what you needed ( what exactly might a god need ? even he, weary vagabond as he might appear ), nor was it about stealing the most valuable thing in a space —— and, yes, that meant the old first edition copies in the basement would sit undisturbed. it was about stealing the right thing to create the most amusement. in this moment, that meant carefully cutting out page 321 from every copy of a particular novel that was on hand.
oh, also, most of the books had been rearranged. call it redecorating. the dewey decimal system was practically as old as he was, or so he’d claim, they might learn to shake it up a bit.
hermes drags a pen knife carefully over the edge of the page, leaving the book so that if you had not known there was previously a page there you might not have noticed at all. he pulls the now missing page and dexterous fingers peel it back, slipping it ( carefully & unfolded ) into a messenger bag by his side. as his eyes drift upwards from the task, he finds himself looking at someone new —— but someone who emanated a certain power from them to signify they were of the same ilk. ‘ here’s to hoping you’re not a patron of libraries, ’ he says, practice charming smile finding it’s place again, like an ancient mask that’s grown comfortable on the face it serves. @duatdweller
