Chương 7: Chapter 5 ~ Hello Roomie! (Part 2)

(Part 2) The ambiance of the cloister embraced Lyma and Gysel, with the susurrus of shifting oak leaves and birdsong, and the fragrance of flowers and freshly cut grass. The cloister was in the shape of a rhombus, with most entrances and exits being in the corners where the high walls met at the starting and ending points of their long stone runs. The northern walls had towers of wood and rock sprouting from behind them, likely from the center of the building, or within a smaller garden.

To the south, across the cloister, was a building of thirteen stories with no towers, but tall windows running unbroken up all the floors. The clock-tower was visible far behind it, poking above the roof. The walking paths were paved with flagstones, but there were many cow-paths cutting across the grass, but not across the flower beds. Trees were scattered about (there seemed to be a method to them, but it would have to be seen from high above to find it), mostly grand, ancient oaks.

Benches and tables were beneath the oaks; some tables had people playing chess, and others had people reading or eating. Lyma and Gysel passed in and out of the shade of the oaks before entering the shadow of the far building. Lyma opened the door for Gysel. Gysel thanked her and walked inside.

The thirteen-story building was clearly the library: this could be deduced and confirmed by the scent with no need to see the interior; its sweet, vanillin scent of foxing pages—it is suffocating, it offers a wonderful way to die. There were a few shelves on the ground floor, only individual writing desks with sigil-lights above them; more shelves were visible just past the balconies of the other floors.

There was not a sound within, save for the occasional page turn and cough—lunch can wait, this library needs to be explored, this library needs its shelves combed through, this library needs dutiful students, but that would have to wait as Lyma kept walking... fast, so fast, red must make things go faster, Father says to always bet on the red horse because it is the fastest. Resorting to a jog, Gysel hurried after Lyma; physical exertion in a library was sacrilege.

They crossed the library and into a corridor that took them into another large wing, but Lyma kept going straight; this was understandable, as to the left was the Spiritual Magick wing, and to the right was the Ritual Magick wing—the placement of Magick beyond a room of knowledge would make Father pull his hair out.

Judging by the smell, the cafeteria was just beyond the next hallway, and Lyma's pace increased as the smell grew stronger, until the source (the large room called the cafeteria)was visible, but it was more like a hall, with four-story high, vaulted ceilings and dangling chandeliers, and a back wall was made entirely of glass that displayed the botanical garden beyond it.

"What are you going to get?" Lyma asked, as she entered the line.

"They can make you pretty much anything." The classic, only ever the classic.

"Egg, cheese, and beef on a bun," Gysel answered, looking around Lyma, and at the one, two, three, four, five, six people ahead of them.

"Don't you think that's a bit simple? They have roasted goose stuffed with vegetables like carrots and wax peppers year-round. Among others. And it's all free."

"I do not like the texture of wax peppers; they make my teeth itch."

"They make your teeth itch..." Lyma said this under her breath, as if there was something strange about the phenomenon.

"Yes, that is what I said. They make my teeth itch."

"All right, all right." Lyma turned away from Gysel and to the man behind the counter. She ordered a leg of goose, two buns, and beer.

"And what would you like?" The man said to Gysel.

"Egg, cheese, and beef on a bun." Gysel paused and raised the key.

"Please." She smiled. The man did not smile; instead, he looked at her strangely. Gysel stopped smiling and lowered the key. Lyma leaned over to Gysel.

"You show the key to the person at the end." You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Ah."

"Do you want a drink?" The man asked.

"Water," Gysel said.

"Move along." Gysel did just that as the man then yelled her order back into the kitchen. After a few minutes, the order came on a wooden tray, with the sandwich on a metal plate and the water in a glass cup—it had ice. Gysel displayed the key, took the order, and followed Lyma to a table.

"Is this your usual order?" Lyma asked.

"Yes," Gysel answered, as she inspected the sandwich; the cheese was between the egg and the beef; this was something new, and something easily remedied: Gysel switched the places of the egg and the beef so the cheese was on top.

"Do you never get tired of it?"

"No. I like it. I know it will always be the same." 18/10/1111 EotTS, 25: 39 There was a knock at Gysel's door. Languidly, she got out of bed, put Kawvel under her arm, and walked to the door, opening it: Lyma stood on the other side of the brass threshold. Lyma looked frazzled: her makeup had been hurriedly removed, but spots of mascara and powder had been missed, and her face was flushed, and her eyes were red beneath it.

"Hello," Gysel said.

"Sorry if I woke you." Lyma's breath smelled strongly of absinthe.

"You did not." Lyma seemed to be inspecting Gysel, but her eyes kept flicking back to Kawvel.

"He's cute. Can I see him?" That was the tone adults reserved for children holding things they shouldn't be holding. There was no issue with letting friends meet, but Lyma was just a roommate, at best, and an acquaintance, so maybe in the future, but not now.

"No." Lyma smiled at that.

"You're like my little brother. He is protective of his stuff as well." Gysel tucked Kawvel under her arm—how is that supposed to be taken? does Lyma like her little brother, is this the twin she mentioned? Stepping past Lyma, Gysel looked to the clock.

"It is late; it is half past the twenty-fifth. Where were you?" Lyma turned around to face Gysel and leaned on the doorway before answering.

"I was with Visi."

"I do not know who that is," Gysel answered.

"He is another first-year. We've known each other since we were little."

"Oh."

"Do you want to meet him? I'm sure he's still up. We can have a drink."

"No. It is too late."

"You keep a strict schedule, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to meet him tomorrow?"

"What does he do?" Gysel asked.

"He's one of those pedants who likes philosophical debates and will argue with you over word choices. That is all he is really good at; he got in here off of some paper on something. He has explained it, but all it did was make me cry. You will learn he's best when he isn't talking."

"Maybe... When?" It would be tough to be skillful in other things while also being knowledgeable in philosophy, as the writings went back thousands of years, and it was impossible to find where to start.

"Midday. We were going to go into town for lunch and walk around."

"Only the three of us?"

"Only for the walk down. We were going to meet up with my brother and two others." That changed things: Lyma and this 'Visi' person would be fine—maybe—but six people were more than needed: conversations drifted off topic, and never returned.

"So?" Lyma fixed her posture and started to head to her room.

"Maybe." Unlocking the door, Lyma went inside, undid her belt, and hung it over the footboard of her bed. The buckle made a thunk against the wood.

"Meet me by the board at thirty past the tenth hour." Gysel followed Lyma into her room and stopped just past the door.

"All right." Lyma started to remove her sweater-dress but stopped and turned to Gysel.

"You certainly are not one for subtlety. Do you want to watch me change?"

"No?" said Gysel—why had Lyma said that? Lyma is moving, and the conversation is going with her, thus, both people needed to be in the same room, this was the proper etiquette of conversations, if this etiquette was not followed, conversations would devolve into yelling. Lyma shooed Gysel out of the room with a hand.

"Then, good night, Gysel. I hope to see you tomorrow."

"Good night," Gysel said. Lyma shut the door, and Gysel walked back to bed. The hardwood floor was cold, but beneath the covers was warm, so she wrapped her arms around Kawvel: it was difficult to sleep. Gysel stared at the ceiling, listening to the ticking-tocking gears of the alarm clock, and the rustling of the foliage beyond the window.

Many questions arose from this vespertine encounter with Lyma: did she—did she want to be watched as she changed, she would not have brought that up if she did not, perhaps she is simply comfortable around other women, she could be from the city where public bathhouses are common, the capital? maybe... actually, the Academy has a public bathhouse, does it not? that is what the lady with the keys said, three in the morning sounds like an excellent time to bathe, are there windows in the bathhouse?

would the moonlight get in? what about owls? there are owls in this general area, but would they come into the city? surely they would, there are enough rats here, it is a city, it would be nice to hear owls hooting while bathing, especially when alone, the female students, and live-in staff, if there are any, are bound to see each other nude, so comfort was out of the question...

on that note, it would be best to go into town with Lyma and Visi as they are the first to offer such an invitation, and if the invitation is refused, it might not be offered again, Lyma is also clearly smart, this is evident from the Fifth-Floor Privilege, so this group is likely smart as well, as birds of a feather flock together, so perhaps, this is a flock worth joining, yes—closing her eyes, Gysel envisioned the moons in her mind's eye and tried to get some sleep.