— the waiting game; ( Okay. Perhaps this is a representation of... something. Her unfulfilled dream of a weekend with nothing to do but read? But there are no books in this empty space, only a door and a ledge. A frown passes over Irene's face and she clasps her hands behind her back, resisting the building urge to run her hands through her hair.
This feels undeniably like a test, the kind of problem solving mission the Library would have thrown at her in training. Two platforms, no items other than that door.
But she does have the Language. Her pacing (finally) comes to an end and Irene stares at the platform opposite with a renewed fire, judging the distance between the two. Finally, she looks down at the ground below: )
Ground upon which I am standing, become your own floating platform and move to the door before me!
( That's a language, one the listener knows, but the accent is all wrong. It's hard to fully understand what she's saying immediately with the strange formation of vowels and constanants. The familiar drain of The Language takes hold, sapping at her energy and forming reality through her will—
Or not. Blood trickles from Irene's nose as she sways with the effort of trying to move herself towards the exit, but there isn't even the slightest sign of movement from the floor. Not even a tremble. Her chest tightens, eyes fixated on the floor as though she might have missed something. The words were correct, there's no resistance to her words, the Language should have worked.
But it didn't. She rummages through her outfit for something to wipe away the blood and forces air into her lungs. There is an explanation for this. There must be. She cannot give into this panic, she will not.
Note to self: report this to Coppelia when I return. Perhaps petition for a course for Librarians Suddenly Stripped Of Powers...
She smooths down her skirt and replaces her handkerchief, looking around once more at the... not entirely empty space, now that there's another person with her. Sharp eyes gauge the stranger as she flicks through possible reasons they could be there, not that she's teeming with other options at the moment, and she approaches, steps sharp and precise despite her earlier weakness. )
I don't suppose you came in through the back door?
( It's a little dry, but given the circumstances, Irene feels she's entitled to be somewhat sarcastic about the whole thing. )
— water rising; ( She is a Librarian, not a mountain climber. True that boarding school in Switzerland means she has some familiarity with the concept, but her outfit is hardly made for this. It's made for blending into the local population, in unobtrusive colours and without any of the kinds of protection one normally requires for scrambling up a rock face.
Naturally, that means Irene is stuck in a situation where going back down is out of the question. She spares one more complaining thought about inappropriate footwear and does away with her shoes, tossing them blindly and opting for bare feet instead of heels as she scrambles up, too busy trying to put adequate space between herself and the water (she could really do with Kai's appearance right about now) to worry about any tearing fabric as she hauls herself up onto a higher platform. )
Damn...
( This is worlds away from her typical physical exercise, though the ever present danger is so utterly familiar that Irene doesn't question what she does, muttering a few words in the Language to allow herself easier grip on the narrow path, finally finding a moment to breathe and look around.
And spot someone below her, far too close to the lapping water. )
Water below me, slow your flooding!
( The second the sentence comes out — too brief, too imprecise, but she hadn't the time to speak in more depth — she knows it'll hurt, that sheer force of effort will send her to her knees, gasping for breath and trying to ignore her dizziness to reach down to the stranger below. )
Take my hand!
( It's a foolish moment of heroism, perhaps, but this isn't a mission, it's a disaster. She isn't trying to escape with a book, simply to escape with her life, no different from the person below her. )
— wildcard; ( Hit me with anything! If you wanna chat about stuff, shoot me a PM! )
irene; the invisible library; ota
( Okay. Perhaps this is a representation of... something. Her unfulfilled dream of a weekend with nothing to do but read? But there are no books in this empty space, only a door and a ledge. A frown passes over Irene's face and she clasps her hands behind her back, resisting the building urge to run her hands through her hair.
This feels undeniably like a test, the kind of problem solving mission the Library would have thrown at her in training. Two platforms, no items other than that door.
But she does have the Language. Her pacing (finally) comes to an end and Irene stares at the platform opposite with a renewed fire, judging the distance between the two. Finally, she looks down at the ground below: )
Ground upon which I am standing, become your own floating platform and move to the door before me!
( That's a language, one the listener knows, but the accent is all wrong. It's hard to fully understand what she's saying immediately with the strange formation of vowels and constanants. The familiar drain of The Language takes hold, sapping at her energy and forming reality through her will—
Or not. Blood trickles from Irene's nose as she sways with the effort of trying to move herself towards the exit, but there isn't even the slightest sign of movement from the floor. Not even a tremble. Her chest tightens, eyes fixated on the floor as though she might have missed something. The words were correct, there's no resistance to her words, the Language should have worked.
But it didn't. She rummages through her outfit for something to wipe away the blood and forces air into her lungs. There is an explanation for this. There must be. She cannot give into this panic, she will not.
Note to self: report this to Coppelia when I return. Perhaps petition for a course for Librarians Suddenly Stripped Of Powers...
She smooths down her skirt and replaces her handkerchief, looking around once more at the... not entirely empty space, now that there's another person with her. Sharp eyes gauge the stranger as she flicks through possible reasons they could be there, not that she's teeming with other options at the moment, and she approaches, steps sharp and precise despite her earlier weakness. )
I don't suppose you came in through the back door?
( It's a little dry, but given the circumstances, Irene feels she's entitled to be somewhat sarcastic about the whole thing. )
— water rising;
( She is a Librarian, not a mountain climber. True that boarding school in Switzerland means she has some familiarity with the concept, but her outfit is hardly made for this. It's made for blending into the local population, in unobtrusive colours and without any of the kinds of protection one normally requires for scrambling up a rock face.
Naturally, that means Irene is stuck in a situation where going back down is out of the question. She spares one more complaining thought about inappropriate footwear and does away with her shoes, tossing them blindly and opting for bare feet instead of heels as she scrambles up, too busy trying to put adequate space between herself and the water (she could really do with Kai's appearance right about now) to worry about any tearing fabric as she hauls herself up onto a higher platform. )
Damn...
( This is worlds away from her typical physical exercise, though the ever present danger is so utterly familiar that Irene doesn't question what she does, muttering a few words in the Language to allow herself easier grip on the narrow path, finally finding a moment to breathe and look around.
And spot someone below her, far too close to the lapping water. )
Water below me, slow your flooding!
( The second the sentence comes out — too brief, too imprecise, but she hadn't the time to speak in more depth — she knows it'll hurt, that sheer force of effort will send her to her knees, gasping for breath and trying to ignore her dizziness to reach down to the stranger below. )
Take my hand!
( It's a foolish moment of heroism, perhaps, but this isn't a mission, it's a disaster. She isn't trying to escape with a book, simply to escape with her life, no different from the person below her. )
— wildcard;
( Hit me with anything! If you wanna chat about stuff, shoot me a PM! )