Down To Business
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Sinclair sat up at his desk, and slowly opened his eyes.

So that was that… he thought. Those must have been the memories of whoever the ink monster was before the Imagination Wars.

He rubbed at his temples, and thought over everything he'd just seen. He'd pored over the memories a couple of times tonight, just to make sure he'd gotten all of the details. Though it was not uncommon for Muses to have Figments living with them, as it was almost inherent to the trade, he was pretty sure he had never heard of a Figment named Kaiber before. From how their memories looked, it seemed that they were not allowed to stray very far from their house. What a pitiful existence.

Godfried Logaire and Noemi Logaire. The Critics. He'd remembered them from his Intro to Figmentation class. In their freshman year, Godfried had seemed like a kind and charming man, always attentive in class. He'd hand in all of his homework on time and always come in with a smile, eager to learn about the art of Figmentation and to understand what a Figment truly was. After his first year, however, Sinclair hadn't seen much of him again.

The rest of the classes held at the Muses' college were run by the most highly achieving of the Head Supervisor's Muses, including some who knew the people who previously held the title of Head Supervisor. The Head Supervisor himself was too busy to run many classes, but it was generally agreed that Sinclair was the best at public speaking and getting the point across. Thus, he had decided to introduce new Muses to the art, explaining a complicated idea in a concise and understandable manner.

Only first years took the Intro to Figmentation class. Sinclair wondered what could possibly have happened to Godfried in his latter three years that caused him to transform into the monster that he had seen in the last of Kaiber's memories.

The child that the couple gave birth to before their untimely death was almost undoubtedly The Chronicler. There was no mistaking it, especially considering he had been assigned to babysit her a number of times. He was still working out the implications of this.

Leon Logaire and Gladys Baldarich… Now that he thought of it, he had heard those names a number of times before. Harwin often brought them up when she got particularly frustrated, but he had never bothered to read into why. It seemed that he now had the answer. As The Library continued to grow, he could only assume that the two of them were still out there, dutifully expanding the architecture of this world. How they were achieving this, he was not sure, though it was not hard to reach a conclusion.

Kaiber's memories of Leon and Gladys had lent the fact that they were in the business of creating Figments for the sole purpose of… well, there was no nice way to put it — slave labor. He shuddered at the thought. In Sinclair's mind, it was the most disgusting thing in the world to bring a being into existence and then force them to obey your every command, using them as a mere tool to further your own goals.

He wished that he could drill his way of thinking into the mind of every person in The Library, but a task that large would be impossible, especially considering how difficult it was to invade even one being's mind. He wouldn't give up the good fight, however, and had managed to "gently persuade," as he would put it, a number of bigots in his lifetime.

He brought together all of the pieces of the memories once more, and attempted to lay them out like the pieces of a puzzle and formulate a conclusion. There was a major realization hidden somewhere in there, he just knew it, but what could it possibly be? He held his finger to his temple and strained his brow in thought, running the implications of each and every detail of the memories he'd gathered. Just as he thought he had it, there was a quiet knocking on his door, and he was forcibly drawn out of his consternation.

Quickly, he righted himself, cleared his throat, and called out "Who is it?"

The softness of the voice on the other end gave away its identity immediately. "Um, Sinclair? It's time for the council meeting. You haven't forgot, have you?"

Sinclair sighed. "No, Lorelei. I got a little bit sidetracked."

"Still thinking about yesterday?" came the concerned reply.

"In a way." he said, as he adjusted his trenchcoat and opened the door. Sure enough, standing before him was the petite figure of Lorelei, her curly pink locks framing her round face. She smiled as she saw him, then dropped it as she studied his face.

"Good lord, Sinclair. Your eye bags must run all the way down the length of your cheeks!" she exclaimed, putting a hand to her mouth as she gasped.

"Tell me about it," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Have you been up all night again?" she reprimanded, pursing her lips in mock irritation.

"What time is it now?" he asked, idly pulling out his pocket watch.

"It's 8:40 AM! You're about 10 minutes late for the meeting." she snapped.

Sinclair stared blank-faced at the hand of his watch, did some quick mental arithmetic, then replied. "Yes, I think I have. I was up all night reviewing some memories."

"That's unhealthy, Sinclair. Don't think too hard on the past."

"No, not my memories—" he stammered.

"And don't stay up so late, either! You need some sleep every now and then, you know?"

"Yes, I know, Lorelei." muttered Sinclair.

"Regardless, the meeting's now, Sinclair. We've got to go. And make sure you get some rest tonight." said Lorelei, bouncing down the hall and motioning for him to follow.

"I'll try my best." sighed Sinclair, as he straightened his back and began to follow her.

As the pair entered the auditorium, the faces of the other four members of the Council of Librarians looked down upon them, eyeing them with thinly veiled irritation at the punctuality of their two newest additions, but only one dared break the silence.

"Ah, Sinclair. There you are. Now we can get down to business." said Glaedwin, the Head Librarian.


Catch up with The Chronicler and Lorelei


Catch up with The Chronicler and Duoca


Council meeting + announcment

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