To the library!

[Ingrid]

The summer brings quiet to the university. The broiling madness of student life melts away leaving the halls to sit in summer tinged solitude; warm quiet fills the air of the courtyard and neutral peace quickens in the library stacks where the books are safe from the clammy hands of student and mentor alike.

If only Ingrid had been told of this.

The Darkling is hunting in the library. Dressed in an airy black dress with broad brimmed hat and sunglasses she could look the part of a witchy witch. But she's not here for the hidden lore today and she is certainly not interest in the mythology and folklore section, or the anthropology stacks.

Ingrid is hunting the Mole. Blindly she wanders through the protective stacks, tracking back and forth.

Thomas Land has to be here... Somewhere!
Thomas Land unlimited sink

[Thomas Land]

Ingrid finds her quarry in a far corner of the third floor. It is quiet up here, half lit--the university's attempt to save money on energy costs during the summer months. Or at least offset the added expenditure of air conditioning required by the sweltering heat outside. In the semi-darkness of the stacks, the drone and rattle of cold air forced from vents is the only sound. One that soothes the Mole-Man.

He's humming to himself, a high-pitched, whining sound, as he works on a self-assigned project: making sure the history section is properly catalogued and organized. Every book returned to its proper place after a semester of abuse by post-pubescent dunces. A long, low cart stands nearby, where he's placing books that need to be re-shelved elsewhere or, worse, have been somehow damaged and require replacement or repair. At the moment, he's up on a small step-ladder. It's the only way he can reach the top shelf. He's dressed, as always, in his stuffy, professorial fashion: brown tweed jacket, grey slacks, white dress shirt, and loose-knotted brown tie. All of it quite ill-fitting. He looks ridiculous, really, balanced on the step-ladder in this get up.

The little man is so absorbed in his work, and the shadows so deep in the library, he has yet to notice the approach of the Palewraith. Absent-mindedly, he reaches up with one clawed hand and scratches, intensely, at his furred head. A very animal gesture. Could the Mole-Man have fleas? The other hand is still on the books he's examining, lovingly stroking their spines.

[Ingrid]

Ingrid finds her mark at last. Drawing near in the blessed gloom, she croons:

"Oh there you are! I thought I had come on your off-day. You do take days off, right? All work and no play is sooo bad for you."

The Mole is balanced upon the steps. His precious cart is undefended.

The Darkling slides up to the cart, glancing at the books so meticulous laid out. And she looked away - not a subject matter that piqued her fancy, really. Still, one hand with long fingers playfully danced over the book's spines, almost teasingly.

"Can we talk?" Her mouth widened into a grin.

[Thomas Land]

At the sound of Ingrid's voice, the Mole Man whirls around on his step ladder to face her. It's a graceless movement, one that almost causes him to fall from his perch. A clawed hand shoots out, grabbing the bookshelf, steadying him--just barely.

The look on his face is priceless: a mixture of fear, confusion, and shock. "Ingrid," he gasps after a moment of gaping at his fellow Lost. "What--hm--what ever are you doing here?" And then he remembers: he'd mentioned his place of employment that first night at Funderland. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he chides himself. Of course it wouldn't be hard for her to find him. But why?

Trying his best to gather himself, to rescue what little dignity he might posses, Thomas steps down from the ladder. Back on solid ground, he peers at the woman, a measuring look in his beady eyes. Having calmed himself somewhat, he speaks again: "Well, hm, yes--yes I'm working. But I can give you some time. How can I help you?" Let's see what this is all about.

[Ingrid]

"Oh. You are working. I'm sorry..."

Ingrid looked around sneakily.

"I was thinking we might... you know..." She smoothed off her clothes, bobbed on her feet. "... Talk about Stuff. You know? The Condition. The mystical and the magical."

She had to stop, again checking for any eavesdroppers. The look on her face suggested she found the prospect very exiting.

"You said you were into the lore. So am I! Want to team up on a joint project?"

[Thomas Land]

"No--certainly not. Don't worry. I always have time for a, hm, friend." Or at least a Fellow Freeholder.

Thomas knows they are alone up here, but it still feels wrong to be discussing such sensitive matters in the open. Even when code words are being employed. "But, let's move to a more, um, comfortable situation. Follow me, please." And with that, the little Mole Man scurries off through the stacks. Leaving the step ladder and the cart where they are, knowing no one will disturb his work.

After a few minutes of navigating the half-lit library, weaving between the bookshelves, they arrive at a row of office doors set along the back wall of the third floor. These are the meager accommodations of the subject librarians. Little more than closets, really. But they serve for consultations with students and more private discussions.

Thomas unlocks the office door and enters, motioning for Ingrid to join him. The room is barely furnished, with no real marks of personalization, given that Thomas has only recently been hired. With no windows, the only lighting in the office comes from heavy-duty fluorescent bulbs humming away above them.

There is, however, a large desk, showing signs of heavy use. The Mole-Man sinks into a decrepit swiveling chair behind it, wincing as it whines under his weight, indicating a chair set on the other side of the desk. "Please, please, come in. Hm, have a seat."

When Ingrid is settled, and the door is shut, the Mole-Man gets right to it: "So, hm, what kind of, yes, joint project do you propose?"

[Ingrid]

Still smiling, Ingrid gives chase follows the little Beast as he scurries between the stacks to his safe haven in the office. Her eyes roam around the relatively sparse space but the Queen of Spring says nothing. It is a room. There is a door. Privacy can be invoked. And that is all they needed. She settles with faux regality, into the seat he offered.

"I'm particularly fond of studying Contracts," she said at last. "Still very much a student so I don't have a great many of them under my belt. The lore still escapes me... in a number of key areas. Like the history of contracts and their development." And application, but she'd get to that eventually. "I understand you have access to a library. Not one like this. One packed with important stuff for us!"

She flashed a grin, predatory around the edges - not that the little Darkling saw that.

"I was wondering if we could come to arrangement of some kind so I could peruse. Or - if you are rightly suspicious - work out a project we can work on together. Or I can give you a hand with one of your own projects - two heads are better than one and all that. I'd have thought that with my guts and smarts and your academic background.... You know.... We might make a good study combination. We team up and reap the benefits. What do you think?"

Ingrid laid her hands on palm down on the arms of her chair and tried to relax. She was quivering with anticipation.

[Thomas Land]

The chair creaks again as Thomas nervously shifts his weight. He doesn't quite know what to make of this woman, or his current situation. Inside him, different emotions are at war, made all the more intense by his bestial instincts: his natural shyness, inflated by the beauty of his conversational partner, his proclivity toward privacy and secrecy, enhanced by Ingrid's own obvious desire for access to his treasure. And then there is the most dangerous feeling of them all: his desire to please this lovely creature, to give her what she wants, in order to gain her favor.

A little sign escapes him as he attempts to push this emotional whirlwind aside. Think logically, you fool.

"Well, yes--certainly--the subject of contracts is quite intriguing--I do agree. And my, hm, collection may contain materials pertinent to your interests." A long pause. "But--please--forgive me, I--well, these are sensitive topics and, hm, my archives, well--they are quite precious you see, and..." Just spit it out Mole-Man: "And while I am happy to help members of our, hm, community such as yourself, yes, most certainly, I am also curious about the background of someone with whom I may partner in such, well, endeavors, so..."

Beads of sweat have begun to stand out on Thomas's brow despite the air conditioning. It's as if this sort of conversation involves a huge amount of effort for the little Beast: "So, yes, why don't you tell me more about yourself, your...background, Ingrid?" There, that does it: a friendly invitation for her to share a bit of her story. How she got here, and perhaps why she is so interested in these topics.

[Ingrid]

"Ooooh! You want to know about that do you?" Ingrid cooed. Or was it rasped? More like purred, if such a thing were possible.

"Before I was taken I was a private investigator. What can I say? I still love people watching and working out all their silly little intrigues! Anyway, I think I was Taken as an after thought. I was snooping around a property where a Taking was in process... So I guess the chance for another soul was too much to miss."

She shrugged. Shivered, despite herself.

"Wound up in a strange city always in darkness. Filled with competing factions and stranger things. A backdrop - I think - for someone else's Arabian Nights or some crap like that."

Her voice was not quavering. It was not. She told herself.

"I think the interest in magic started there but I can't be sure. The memory is all fuzzy. You understand. Anyway. Still interested in the magic arts. Especially interested in the lore of Contracts - our magic, not the Pledge Smithing stuff. I've seen what that can do... eeeoow! Anyway. Contracts - As in the powers we wield through the use of the Wyrd. Or what have you. Its amazing stuff when you get into it. Thing is, picking it up is hard. Some things are best done in groups. So - eh heh heh - why not team up?"

A pause.

"Think of it as a Study Group. We can work out fields or projects later. I just want to see if your interested. Maybe something a bit closer... Like a... a... Motley!" She almost whispered the last.

[Thomas Land]

The details of Ingrid's durance somehow dovetail with his own, arousing Thomas's sympathy. And his own, terrifying, memories. Though his prison of eternal darkness had been a labyrinthine castle, not an entire city. And moving through that darkness, shrouded in a deeper, almost physical, blackness: the Blind Lord. The Mole-Man's heart starts to thump in his chest, a physiological reaction he's now become familiar with, which does nothing to make the feeling bearable.

Forcing himself to breath deeply, Thomas somehow regains control before Ingrid finishes her explanation. And when he speaks, the trembling in his own voice is somewhat manageable: "Well, I--hm--yes, I see. And understand, certainly." He truly does. Occult research had been his passion for years before his durance, and that horrible experience had only focused his interest on a specific topic: changeling lore, hedge lore. And eventually a deeper knowledge of the True Fae themselves. Or at least he hoped.

"The difference between Pledges and Contracts is an interesting one," he begins. "Both involve, hm, the Wyrd, of course. But in wholly separate capacities. Either way, each reveals--yes--the Wyrd as a sort of means of, well, connection or binding..." Contracts operate between Changelings and impersonal forces, non-human forces. And pledges between discrete individuals. For a long moment, the Mole-Man is silent, sinking into the patterns of thought that have grown up around a favorite topic. And then he comes back to the present with a little start: "Oh, hm, no--so sorry. I, well, I don't mean to lecture. It's just so very interesting."

Thomas suddenly realizes how comfortable he's become, speaking about such obscure secrets with this Darkling. Realizing, with no small measure of trepidation, how nice it might be to have a partner, or partners, in his studies, his work. But how could he trust her? And then she suggests forming a Motley. Yes! That's it! A Motley would require a pledge, a safeguard against deception and trickery.

"Well...Yes, yes certainly. I think, hm, a Motley could prove quite useful..." His beady eyes glitter. "But, I must ask: do you see this, hmmm, alliance of ours being sealed by a pledge, or...?" After all, she'd just expressed reluctance on the matter.