Little Scriven Scrivener's Library

[MintyMimix]

Since there were six of them, the room that the group had reserved was a bit on the tight side. The bedrolls needed to be huddled up almost directly next to one another to leave room for the inward-opening door. The wooden desk and chair combo sat lonely in the corner as they shamefully thought about how much space they occupied.

Even so, the large curtained window and gentle light of the lantern helped to give the place a bit more of a cozy feel than a trapped one. Not to mention the complimentary set of bread and water that had been graciously provided alongside a tiny note:
"Talk to the gal downstairs if you need more. Just don't go overboard! ~Mayor Enubel"

There were certainly worse places to sleep in. It was free, not too warm, and above all else, quiet.

 

[MintyMimix]

The mayor's plans, like most news in town, hadn't gone unnoticed. From the dissatisfied-looking Dartrix with rows of unfinished cloth patterns to the Vibrava frying whatever they could to discover some unique “out there” recipe to the Spinda trying not to frown at the propellers attached to paper dolls that fail to lift — the quiet little town had been abuzz with frantic activity.

Yet despite the desperate and frustrated looks on many townsfolk, there were equally as many as bright as the shining sun above. A Starly had dangled lanterns just below a large tarp hanging over one of the alleys giving the illusion of a sea of stars. A Quagsire was admiring the beginnings of their mural right on the front of the library — small steps, but progress. Even Swellow Torria seemed to be in good spirits, though perhaps that was due to the cart of actual spirits she had been dragging.

No more had the activity been chaotic than right in the heart of town at the Scrivener's Library. In and out many folks traversed for both research and discussion alike, and the mayor's office was no different. When the Altaria spotted the Wayfarers, however, she quickly shooed out the Delibird she was talking to for their full attention.

“Oh, Offworlders, it's you all again!” Mayor Enubel cheerily chirped. “How have you been? Find any special treasures or uncover any world shattering secrets?”

 

[Weazel]

The book made a satisfyingly heavy thunk as it, the largest and heaviest of the tomes he’d grabbed thus far, hit the table. The three others preceding it had been paged through and pushed aside already, left abandoned on the left hand side of the desk where Archie, Bounty Hunter, Wayfarer, Apocalypse Survivor, had set himself up a little workstation, on the second floor mezzanine of Scrivener’s Library. He had slept only briefly since arriving in Little Scriven. In fact, but for the occasional trip down to the Cliffside Cafe for coffee – he never drank coffee, he hated the taste, and yet – and something to nibble on to quiet his stomach, he had not left the library since he’d pulled the first of the now four books off the shelf. His fur was mussed, his whiskers drooped, and there were bags developing under his eyes. His paws shook from the combination of caffeine and running on a near empty stomach whenever he wasn’t making an actual effort to steady them. It had been several days since he’d began, the Dewott wasn’t sure exactly how many at this point.

But he had a good feeling about this one. This book was easily far older than the others, and though it, like all the others, had been meticulously dusted, the Dewott doubted it had been opened in a very long time. As he peeled it open, the pages smelled musty, and felt brittle in his paws. The ink lettering was beginning to fade with age, but it was still legible enough so long as he had the light. He’d come here looking for information on the Saints. Well, not really all of them, just one in particular. He wasn’t even sure if it existed in this world. But he knew it existed in Nova’s, and he knew it had once existed in his. The Monster That Ate The Sun. He remembered what it looked like, he remembered what it could do, and thanks to Nova, he could now put a name to the creature. Necrozma.

And for so long as he remembered, he had to learn what he could. Maybe if he learned enough, if what he learned here could effect him back home somehow, even if he couldn’t recall it. Maybe if he ever had to face the monster again, he could… Could what? Kill it? Legends could die, at least in Forlas, but could he possibly ever have the strength? Reason with it? Could a monster such as that even be reasoned with? Understand it? Understand why his world had to die, what it wanted, why it did the things it did. But what if there wasn’t even a reason? What if it was all random?

The Dewott groaned, and buried his face in his paws. Why was he even bothering? Part of him wanted to just rip this book in half and throw it over the banister, and watch the pages scatter across the first floor. Which probably meant he needed more coffee.

 

[Ambyssin]

Nova could've-- no, should've gone to help with at least one of these asshole birds. But with his conflicting thoughts on the Saints, the risk of his shadows taking complete hold of him was just too high. He thought that, perhaps, he could get some concrete answers about "higher" Saints at the library. Then he recalled hearing passing mentions of how paradoxically big Little Scriven's library seemed in proximity to the town itself, so he set out there instead.

And it was a decent size, leaving Nova with little idea of where to start. He had gotten directions toward where to find the history section, but had gone to one of the tables first to scribble a few notes to himself.