The windows of The Libra were huge,
but obscured by shelves and stacks upon stacks of books. Besides those, a vignette of thick, gray-brown dust kept most from peeking in to check the goings-on, which meant that any visitors had to fully enter the store to grasp the reality of its overwhelming space. Navigating the place was like trying to walk between the lines of a textbook — breathless squeezes, information overload, things falling out of place with every movement, until finally one could find relief in the margins, calm down, make a few notes, make a couple scribbles.
The single, constant presence in The Libra was Gavra, who was not the owner of the place, but a good shopkeeper. He was a plump little golem with ignicite retinas, and was, against the expectations of most of his kind, rather talkative, and humorous, and creatively helpful. The Libra was the only bookstore open at all hours of the day, and though it didn't receive the sort of attention that all-day cafes as Celeslit drew, it was popular in its own right. Students and professors of Fallish University went there often to become lost for a while — the place was unexpectedly huge, and overflowing with an unreasonable amount of novels and journals and old textbooks on every subject — and it was easy enough to find some seat amidst the books, or perhaps a perch, or even a small den, and for a while just immerse in the smell of old paper, old ink, old thoughts.
Gavra allowed this for the most part. He was surprisingly sharp, however, and took note of all that passed through the single entranceway, and he would not allow anyone to stay beyond the time it would take them to starve, which meant dentsa usually had to leave within a flicker, and some half-golems could stay for years. People coming to die amidst the spines and pages were an awkwardly frequent occurence and Gavra didn't get them all.
In general the golem's time was alternated between supervising the page exchange and the till, helping patrons, and organizing the ever-messy stacks. He accomplished these with unexpected efficiency, yet still carried out the hiring of at least one living worker, for ambiguous reasons, and with just as ambiguous requirements for that worker. Whenever he was hiring, he cleared a rhombus-shaped space in the window, and there posted his advertisement:
Hiring: male merhin, exceptional lifting ability, must be able to braid tassels in 17 shapes.
Hiring: halfling passerine, one wing, adequate taste for soynuts.
Hiring: dancer and cherrypicker.
Hiring: High translator, can wield polearm, must be able to see red as defined by Standard Low Anthem Spectrum.
The single, constant presence in The Libra was Gavra, who was not the owner of the place, but a good shopkeeper. He was a plump little golem with ignicite retinas, and was, against the expectations of most of his kind, rather talkative, and humorous, and creatively helpful. The Libra was the only bookstore open at all hours of the day, and though it didn't receive the sort of attention that all-day cafes as Celeslit drew, it was popular in its own right. Students and professors of Fallish University went there often to become lost for a while — the place was unexpectedly huge, and overflowing with an unreasonable amount of novels and journals and old textbooks on every subject — and it was easy enough to find some seat amidst the books, or perhaps a perch, or even a small den, and for a while just immerse in the smell of old paper, old ink, old thoughts.
Gavra allowed this for the most part. He was surprisingly sharp, however, and took note of all that passed through the single entranceway, and he would not allow anyone to stay beyond the time it would take them to starve, which meant dentsa usually had to leave within a flicker, and some half-golems could stay for years. People coming to die amidst the spines and pages were an awkwardly frequent occurence and Gavra didn't get them all.
In general the golem's time was alternated between supervising the page exchange and the till, helping patrons, and organizing the ever-messy stacks. He accomplished these with unexpected efficiency, yet still carried out the hiring of at least one living worker, for ambiguous reasons, and with just as ambiguous requirements for that worker. Whenever he was hiring, he cleared a rhombus-shaped space in the window, and there posted his advertisement:
Hiring: male merhin, exceptional lifting ability, must be able to braid tassels in 17 shapes.
Hiring: halfling passerine, one wing, adequate taste for soynuts.
Hiring: dancer and cherrypicker.
Hiring: High translator, can wield polearm, must be able to see red as defined by Standard Low Anthem Spectrum.
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