Sarah has, if she recalls correctly, a violinist to take to a certain Library.
Demiurge says "You may not be surprised to know that the local Yves-Tether is the Library of Congress. :)"
Sarah capitalized it for a reason. :)
Demiurge grins.
Demiurge says "Okay. What time of morning do you want to turn up?"
Sarah says "Whatever is convenient for the violinist."
Sarah thinks there are distinct advantages to not sleeping.
Demiurge says "He suggests getting there at ten o'clock."
Sarah is agreeable.
Sarah is frightened and guilt-ridden also, but tries only to show the agreeable part.
The Library of Congress is its usual busy self, frequented by tourists and workers alike. Chephirah would know where the Soldiers are, however, and where to ask for the Seneschal.
Sarah smiles politely, and disturbs the workers as little as possible as she guides the violinist in her usual businesslike fashion. (Back to beige this morning, yes. Ah, comfortable habits.)
Sarah asks the appropriate person politely for an appointment with the Seneschal.
The violinist follows mildly, face a touch lined this morning.
The book-sorter, a Soldier, nods. "He's in today, ma'am. Just up the stairs there, please, and he's in the microfiche department."
Sarah gives a small, polite smile, and nods. "Thank you. Very much." She slips back out of the Soldier's way and guides the poor violinist up the stairs.
Through the door at the top is a nice clean, orderly, tidy room, with shelves of folders of microfiches, and humming equipment being used to put books on microfiche. A middle-aged Asian man is busy with one folder.
The middle-aged man looks across, and nods. "Sarah, how good to see you."
Sarah returns that nod, with the decidedly relieved smile of someone about to shift at least a small part of a problem onto someone else's shoulders. "Good morning. There's - something we ought to talk with you about, if you're not too terribly busy?"
He says, "Surely," and closes the folder, neatly reshelving it. "How can I help you and your friend?"
Sarah glances about the room for other possible listeners, reaching for the violinist's hand as she does. Assuming she finds none, she says, quietly, "I'd like to introduce you to a - brother of ours. Hurt. Badly." The tone of her voice at that last might be an indication of just how badly.
The middle-aged man's eyes widen, then narrow. He nods, the motion oddly formal.
Sarah says, not loudly, "I am... not familiar enough to know what can be done."
The middle-aged man - clearly the Seneschal - nods again. He says, to the violinist, "Brother, we will do what we may. For the moment, be welcome among us, and know yourself among your kin."
The violinist appears to be setting his teeth a touch. He grunts, then nods, a little shamefacedly. "I just want to know what happened. That's part of it."
The Seneschal gestures towards the fiches. "If we can access the records of the time that this - whenever it was - happened, we should be able to track events to some extent."
Sarah says "We will try to learn what we can." She hesitates; looks distinctly embarrassed; turns to face the violinist directly. "Do you know, I don't even know your name? I'm Sarah Schaeffer."
The violinist half smiles, dryly. "I took the name Gavin Julianson, because my doctor suggested it to me. If I ever find out my true name, I will share it with you." He pauses. "Sister."
Sarah answers, "Thank you - Gavin." She gives a questioning look to the Seneschal.
The Seneschal nods, and makes a small shooing motion with one hand. "We'll let you know how things go. Unless there's more? Or do you need to go, ah, up to the next floor?"
Sarah admits, "I should, yes. But I'll be out of your way." To the violinist: "You'll be all right?"
The violinist nods. "I'll be fine."
Sarah squeezes his hand once more before she lets it go. "You have my number, if you need anything."
He faintly smiles at her, as though it was a half-remembered reflex. "Be sure that I will."
Sarah says gravely, "Thank you. And be well, in the mean time."
Sarah takes her leave and goes to, well, go up to the next floor.
Demiurge says "This being a Tether, that is easily enough done."
Sarah *ahhhhh*, wings.
Demiurge says "You spend the Essence, assume Celestial form, and find yourself facing your gently glowing Heart, in a little niche somewhere in the Library. The book which you had been reading is still propped conveniently to one side."
Sarah spends a few moments simply reacquainting herself with her Heart, before (slightly reluctantly) pulling away to pad through the Library and do the research she'd planned. Oh, and return the book to its place. How thoughtless of her!
The Library is, as ever, comfortably quiet, though the occasional angel or soul passes you.
Demiurge says "Where or how do you propose to research?"
Sarah ponders this. She's been gone a year, sadly. The Library has likely reorganized itself considerably in that time.
Sarah knows that *everything* is in the Library, though; it's merely a matter of finding it.
Sarah wonders if it occurs to her that this is likely to take, oh, more time than it's really probably safe to leave Daimon alone for. :)
Demiurge says "Then again, the Library normally isn't malicious or unkind or unreasonable."
Sarah would indeed look distinctly shocked if someone suggested the mere possibility of the Library being malicious to her.
Sarah ponders for a moment, and looks to see where she *is*. That would be a good start.
You are currently in the section of "Angelic History," and are at about the point where the Demon Prince of Disease was destroyed.
Sarah brightens! More or less where she'd like to be.
Chephirah starts scanning titles, moving toward more recent history. Eventually she'll start actually looking at likely-looking books. This could, though, take a while.
Eventually, you arrive at more recent angelic history. There's a Kyriotate sorting books, who turns a few eyes in your direction. "Looking for anything?"
Chephirah flutters a wing-tip, and inclines her shaggy head, fairly deeply. "Yes." She hesitates, and might sound vaguely apologetic. "Information on Redeemed who, while deceived, served Dark Humor."
The Kyriotate hms thoughtfully, revolving several eyes inside itself. "Um. Awkward, that. You'll probably need clearance to get at the lists of Redeemed. Try up that way," it indicates a stairwell.
Chephirah lets an ear sag, and admits, somewhat ashamed, "Yes. Privacy. But still..." She wing-shrugs. "Thank you, very much."
Chephirah tries the stairwell.
At the top of the stairwell, a couple of Cherubim are minding a row of bookcases. They both dip their wings in polite salute.
Chephirah does the same in answer to each of them. She repeats her question, clearly not terribly happy with the impoliteness of it herself.
The Cherubim turn to each other. The panther growls, and the leopard considers. "Hmmmm. Might one ask why you seek this, Sister?"
Chephirah replies, "There is one that I have encountered who, though in service to that dark Word, does not seem corrupt so much as misled. There is much that is bright in him; could one be found whom he would trust to speak truth of the Redeemed, it might be that he would choose to remove the veils which shadow that brightness."
There is a quiet cough from behind Chephirah. "You'll want the third file in the fifth bookcase, Samariel."
Chephirah turns, wings folded, and lowering her head in respect at once.
The Cherubim's eyes go wide, and they bow their heads, wings spreading in homage. The panther who was addressed pads at once to fetch the file.
Yves is standing there, a copy of Chesterton tucked under one arm. "Chephirah, dear. How are you finding matters?"
Chephirah replies, quite honestly, "Complex, sir."
Yves nods, thoughtfully. He takes the file from the winged panther, and opens it, balancing it on a table near Chephirah. "Hm. Dark Humor, you say?"
Chephirah says "Yes, sir." She hesitates. "The one that I encountered is a Lilim bound to that Word, who calls himself Daimon Lightner in his current vessel. I do not know if this is of use?"
Yves chuckles. "Well, it shows a sense of humor, at least. Lilim. Hm. Great deal of potential there, you know." He leafs through the book. "How did you come to meet him?"
Chephirah replies, "Initially, via an Ofanite of Trade of my acquaintance. The two are, ah." She appears a touch flustered. "Dating. Subsequently, however, he proved of considerable assistance in stopping a Prank that two Renegades were intent upon performing, which could have caused considerable loss, and in returning one of our - of our lost to us."
Yves comments, vaguely, "Hm. They do say that intentions are proved through actions, but then again, you have to be careful about believing what people say. Interesting. Is he still about the place?"
Chephirah nods her fuzzy head. "Unless he has departed within the last few hours, sir, I believe that he is still in company with the Ofanite."
Yves closes the book. "We do appear to have a couple of Redeemed Kobalites around the place, but they are on assignment at the moment. A couple in Fire, three in Wind, one in Flowers, and a few more around the place."
Yves pushes his glasses up on his nose with one finger. "I can put in a request for one to contact you when they're available, if you'd like that."
Daimon . o O ( No Creationers? They're all creative people, those Kobalites. Weird, but creative. )
Chephirah blinks, and nods her head, slowly. "That would be greatly appreciated, sir. If one could be found who would be willing to reassure the Lilim."
Demiurge . o O ( And a few more around the place. )
Yves passes the book back to the winged panther. "It's a pleasure, child. No problem at all. Now, tell me, what have you been up to yourself?"
Chephirah covers, as concisely as possible, her actual work for the last year or so. The story of the opera, the Shedite's demise, and Jordi and Dominique's appearances is tacked on almost as an afterthought; the Remnant violinist's identity and return to the Library of Congress are more of a focus.
Yves nods, and murmurs encouragement at appropriate points. His eyes shadow as he hears about the Remnant.
Yves says, at the end, "Hm. You do seem to have been very busy, Chephirah. I approve of that."
Chephirah bows her head again. "Thank you, sir."
Yves considers. "I would hardly want to stop you trying to help any being achieve their Destiny, my daughter." He walks across, and reaches down with his free hand to stroke Chephirah's forehead.
Chephirah gives a rumbling purr, nudging her head against Yves' hand. "I think that the Ofanite will be of more direct assistance to him than I. Yet there is no harm in leaving her free to do so; nor will I neglect my own work."
Yves says, warmly, "Well done, child. There is no shame in being mastered for a moment by those who are stronger than you. I am proud of you." He strokes her head again.
You paged Chephirah with 'And gives you the Ofanite of Yves attunement.'.
From afar, Chephirah faints.
Long distance to Chephirah: Demiurge grins. It doesn't quite penetrate yet. Though you feel good. It'll just manifest a bit later when you need it.
Chephirah continues to purr, very low, and nudge lightly, less ashamed at the reassurance. "I - thank you, sir."
Yves smiles at her, then has to straighten his glasses again. "Remember, child, we are here for you, as well as for him. Do not stint yourself of grace, even to give it to others: there is enough for all."
Chephirah ducks her head like a kitten; but her ears are forward and tail-tip twitching, in silent, relieved laughter at herself. "Yes, sir." She hesitates; then, "The - lost one, sir? Is there hope for him, at least for peace?"
Yves says, "There is hope, always. I cannot be sure how much any of us are given, but do not doubt that there is hope."
Chephirah's relief, this time, is far greater and more visible. "Thank you, sir. It is good to hear truth anew, at times."
Yves smiles, a brief flash of humor. "Then I wish you fortune in finding it, child. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to find the Doyle section. Apparently some of those rowdy Malakim are arguing about the first editions." He sighs faintly.
Chephirah's eyes sparkle, and she backs a step away (careful to be sure there's naught she might disturb in that path), and spreads her wings in deference.
Yves nods, in a friendly way, and wanders round a corner.
The two guardian Cherubim both take a deep breath, and relax somewhat.
Chephirah thanks the two Cherubim. Profusely.
The Cherubim both accept the thanks gratefully, muttering, "Don't mention it," and "A pleasure," and, "Wish he stopped by more often."
Chephirah nods to that last, with the quirk of an ear that translates to a smile, and departs quite contentedly without bothering them further. If she passes the Kyriotate on her way out, she adds her thanks there, as well.
The Kyriotate is no longer there, but the books are all neatly shelved.
Chephirah simply admires the neatness of the shelves as the passes through, then.
Demiurge says "Any other plans, or is that the extent of your peaceful, happy, winged time in Heaven that you are allowing yourself?"
Chephirah is tempted. But... *twitch* there's the Lilim down there, probably *twitch* getting into trouble as we speak. *twitch*
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