"Can you remember how The Librarian came by his, er... current form?"
"What - his unrivalled aptitude for books? I think he just shelved tomes until...."
"No, not that. I mean, how he came to be all orange and leathery."
"Oh, I see. Well it was a magical accident."
"Yes, I know that, but exactly what kind of magical accident?"
"I don't know, but the Burser might?"
"He's as much use as a chocolate teapot!"
"Quite. Why do you want to know anyway?"
"Someone's asked, one of those -what do you call them? Authors, writes on that AO3 thingy on line."
"Alchemy of our own? The ones who write varied, interesting, and possibly slightly risque stories about magic, and hang them on washing lines for anybody who's passing to read?"
"Well anyway, one of those people has asked, as they apparently want to put The Librarian in a story, and write, albeit briefly, a bit about how he came to be as he is now. Whilst I don't hold with this authoring malarkey, especially not after reading Mrs Ogg's Cookbook, I do understand the author wanting to get it right. An unimpressed and angry Librarian is not to be encouraged."
"Quite. Good Gods, look at the time! I think we're late for second elevenses!"
"Doesn't that make it twelveses? Or possibly - lunch."
I first wrote this ages ago on another platform, and completely forgot about it. Happily, someone has recently left a comment on the original post, and I've now remembered its existence! Moral of the story is to always comment.