Bastien's laugh bounces off the smooth stone walls of the corridor, joining the muted cacophony of the echoing footsteps and voices of the dozen other people ahead and behind them. He twirls his pamphlet hand out to one side and ducks his head down in a walking bow.
"Our finest moment," he says, "ever, in the history of moments—"
A turn, some short steps. Behind heavy wooden doors is the room he was hoping for: a great open chamber, ringed by two stories of bookshelves with a railed walkway to reach the higher ones, row after row of polished wooden tables dotted with reading lamps, arched windows to let light stream in, clouds painted on the ceiling, and in the midst all of this finery people dressed as no one in particular, who walked in just like they did, searching the shelves or sitting with open books at the tables. The few people speaking are doing it in the same quiet murmur due to Chantry altars.
Bastien stops walking, the smile he carried in muting to pastel. The people walking in behind them have to go around. Where his arm has been hooked to haul Ellis along, his hand drops to grab hold of Ellis' hand instead.
He's behaved so far. Respected the boundaries of people he knows and cares about, if not everyone. Avoided snooping without warning that he could. But keeping their feelings out takes more effort than not, and Bastien—hoping for nothing more than proof Ellis is impressed—stops making it.
no subject
"Our finest moment," he says, "ever, in the history of moments—"
A turn, some short steps. Behind heavy wooden doors is the room he was hoping for: a great open chamber, ringed by two stories of bookshelves with a railed walkway to reach the higher ones, row after row of polished wooden tables dotted with reading lamps, arched windows to let light stream in, clouds painted on the ceiling, and in the midst all of this finery people dressed as no one in particular, who walked in just like they did, searching the shelves or sitting with open books at the tables. The few people speaking are doing it in the same quiet murmur due to Chantry altars.
Bastien stops walking, the smile he carried in muting to pastel. The people walking in behind them have to go around. Where his arm has been hooked to haul Ellis along, his hand drops to grab hold of Ellis' hand instead.
He's behaved so far. Respected the boundaries of people he knows and cares about, if not everyone. Avoided snooping without warning that he could. But keeping their feelings out takes more effort than not, and Bastien—hoping for nothing more than proof Ellis is impressed—stops making it.