Writing thingy because I felt like it
The night was still. No leaves rustled, and no trees swayed. No bird chittered, or dared sing. The city too, though alive and bright with fluorescent gaudy light, pushing back at the umbra that enveloped the countryside that strode and encircled this pocket of civilization like a python slavering over its next meal, was equally utterly silent and still.
A wind-that-was-not-there rustled the fine curtains, pulled them apart through the open mortar and brass of the window, and spilled inside, and once more the wind pretended to be a man. A tall, wire-thin, specimen. Hairy, with a full rough scratchy beard, tangled knots consuming his mane and thin, peering- yet almost gentle - eyes, the colour of the sea at night. Adorned in his fineries, a finely spun shirt, and crisp matte-grey trousers, held by a plain leather belt, but for the scratches along it, in the shape of talleys. Whilst the Wind was shifting and untameable, the conventions of word makes it easier for one to know this stranger as Callahan.
The man-that-was-wind took a moment to glance around the decor of this particularly lavish home, for one could not say that he wasn’t an appreciator of the finer aspects of living. This room was lavish and large. Fine dark wood floors provided the firmament on which he stood and the smell of ancient and dusty tomes forgotten for centuries, if not longer. Callahan inhales, smelling the parchment on the older texts, and the smell of confused fear on the butchered sheep whose skin became a method of preserving the Was fills his lungs.
Callahan smiles wistfully.
The sound of candle-light flickering, and hair-rising sensation of being watched, and the chill of the room through the now open window leads him deeper into the study, past this row of shelves, and onto the fine red carpet, which guides him deeper into the maze of history, geography, mathematics, the sciences, the real and the fictional.
The sound of a great clock ringing echoes in the air, nearly jolts the Wind, its deep ringing vibrato chimes bringing a sudden and stark life to these untrod halls. For all his years, long and tired, the sudden presence of noise where their rule of order was silence never failed to shock and startle him, a dreg of humanity in something that fundamentally was not.
Shock did not arrest his progress for longer than a moment, before his paradoxically silent yet heavy and sure footfalls stalked a path through the maze of paper and ink, oft pausing as he took minutes at a time to appreciate the fine covers which adorn some of the collection. He smiles, pearly white teeth gleaming in the light of lanterns, especially, at the classics, finding something terribly privately amusing about them all.
One of his pale fingers runs down the spine of a particularly ancient tome, before pulling it out of its coffin of hardwood and turning to look at the cover. Plain unadorned leather with simple faux-gold lettering at the front “Ἰλιάς” was the name of the book, and thick was its body, stuffed with loose papers and letters, scrawled in a tongue Callahan had mostly forgotten.
He pushed it back into its place, quietly as he could manage, and he continued on.
Finally, they reached the back, or perhaps the heart, of this labyrinth and what else to find at its heart than the library's fierce and ruthless protector.
“Adair” Callahan’s melody of a voice cuts through the air, the din of the candle flickering under its unnatural reverberation- which echoed as if the man stood in a wide and snaking valley - “What a wonderful surprise to see you here!” there was something saccharine to his tone, that same private amusement still dominating the tone of the man.
The addressee of his comment snaps his book shut, the sound single, stark and sure. Morgan lets the book rest on the fine desk behind him- the cluttered valleys of free space snaking between plateau’s of books and the towering mountains of half-drunk cups of long since frigid tea.
Adair was a man in stark contrast to Callahan. Shorter, a tension to his frame like a viper prepared to lash at the slightest provocation. Dark hair cut shortly and neatly into place, equally as well-groomed as the rest of the man who wore a fine suit, albeit unbuttoned and revealing the white shirt below . An almost aristocratic bearing brought a regalness to even the open hostility he felt towards the man opposite, his singular eye quickly scanning Callahan with a deriding disdain, gold and purple mixing into the curious almost ringed singular focus that the ocular organ possessed.
“Why have you come to vex me again, Callahan” was Adair’s curt response, his accent nearly implacable except for the slightest tinge of his Scottish origins.
“Why, I’m hurt” Callahan holds a pale hand to his heart, rolling his head back in mock anguish “Can a friend not visit a friend? Old acquaintances not make themselves reacquainted?”
“Not when said acquaintances parted on the terms we last did. I do strictly recall telling you that I would not hesitate to strike you down should we ever face one another again.” his gloved hand pulled a desk drawer opened and retrieved a single blade, long and slender, pointed with a blackened metal that even now brought flashes of half-lingering pain to the long gashes that marked the torso of Callahan, and for but a moment his placid peace gave way to an expression like the rolling storm, thunderous and furious, ready to call thunder and hellish licks of the skies own flame to burn this wretched place-
But just for a moment. “Oh, that’s all behind us now, isn’t it? It was such a very long time ago, and really holding a grudge for so long is just… sad, don’t you think?” he pauses delighting in the quiet fury on Adair’s face “Oh, and don’t play the vicious fool Adair. You wouldn’t dare risk your precious books by starting a brawl here.”
That, more than anything yet, disarmed the man, who lowered the blade with a muttered curse, placing it behind him on the desk, where it made no sound even as it clattered against the wood.
“Was that so hard?” Callahan cooed “Really, you always, always make this so difficult-”
“Get out with it” Adair simply grunted back “You’re here for something, and quite frankly I would appreciate it if you didn’t waste more of our time on your theatrics.”
“All the worlds a stage, Adair, let me have some fun” a laugh, like chiming bells from the Wind “Also, you shouldn’t waste both of our time by pretending you’re not perfectly aware why I’m here. Why we’re all here.”
“I didn't do it. I told them all that quite clearly in my letters and writing” a hint of anger overrides the disdain as Adair leans back in his leather throne, eye now narrowed “I don’t know who did-”
“And isn’t that ironic?” Callahan interrupted, voice dripping with smug amusement, to which only a venomous look was answered in reply.
“- but I can assure you, and the others, that I am no more pleased by it than any of you.” he finished.
“Shocking really, you’ve never known mercy and sympathy for those who’ve wronged you before. Why start now?” his gaze fell solely onto his counterpart's empty socket.
“Because I understand when something is a bad idea.” another curt reply. Enough to leave a brief pocket of silence, before Adair began to speak again “I understand when a decision will leave me in a position, backed in a corner and without many options. It’s exceedingly obvious to me that I have been framed for this heinous violation of the Sacrosanct because someone wanted me out of the picture, wanted me to stop and give up, to cease my searching.”
“Oh here we go again” Callahn sighed, before Adair bulldozed onwards, speaking louder and over him.
“They are scared of me, Callahan! They are terrified of my work, of what I know! They want me silenced, and they are not afraid to do whatever it takes to make sure that my work remains incomplete and my duty unfulfilled! And whilst I do not know yet who it is, rest assured I will-”
“For the sake of all things good just stop talking and let me-”
“I WILL FIND THEM!” Adair finally shouted, with enough fury, primal and ancient as the lights in the room flickered like a heart-beat, and the sound lingered, bouncing in the maze of books before finally silence came again. The moment seemed to stretch out beyond the seconds that encompassed it. Hundreds of words left unsaid and actions untaken. Callahan had backed away, shock plainly written on his face, as foreign to him as wroth was to his opposite.
“...and when they do, they’ll remember that what exists without my knowledge, exists without my consent” Adair finally finished.
“...quoting the Judge when you stand accused of murder doesn’t seem the wisest” Callahan quietly replied, the joke unamused and more for the sake of filling the poignant and acrid silence than anything truly comedic.
“Just go, Callahan. Tell them all that I just need more time.” Adair lifted his head from his hands, and saw nothing, but the rustle of curtains, and an open window.
The night was long, and it had only just begun
