Chapter Text
==> Be the Accursed Librarian
Dim candlelight scarcely illuminated the small area shoved to the side that you sat behind, fingers near mechanically, almost agonizingly slowly moving to write in the black leather-bound journal placed off to one side. Purple eyes slowly darted to it and then back, though you never stopped writing, regardless of where your vision fell; writing, despite it being in this new language that you still haven’t even entirely grasped. Your head lazily fell into your other hand, of which the elbow was propped up onto the desk, before you slowly let your eyes come to an idle close. Your fingers moved rhythmically, and your mouth moved to speak, silently, each of the words - If you could even call them that, given how they were little more than scribbles to most people who viewed them.
Your hand raised for a moment, as your gaze curiously shifted over to the book, eyes slowly coming to a squint, half annoyed at yourself that you had ceased your writings. Head pulled off of your hand, your body moving barely to your accord over to the book. Writing hand raised, pulled close to your head as you examined it, slowly opening and closing, perhaps subconsciously making sure you were still capable of controlling your own flesh and muscle. Slowly, the pen in your hand fell, hitting the desk and then the floor, slowly rolling away. A slow, deep inhalation followed by a long sigh of disappointment. Your mood was very quickly starting to diminish; You had been in worse and worse spirits lately, though with any luck, that would soon change.
Very little noise actually escaped as you cleared your throat, a twinge of pain as your voice erupted in a very otherworldly echo. To most, it would sound as if there were three of you speaking at once, and even then, the words would warp among themselves, repeating letters and even entire words, though they made perfect sense to you.
“Mnahn’fhtaghu,” your tongue slipped over the echoing madness with difficulty, “stell’bsna n’gha.” The echo of your crazed murmurs lasted for a second or two longer than your lips and tongue actually moved, though by the end of it, your eyes opened completely, head tilting towards your library door.
“If you’ve come bearing bad news,” your voice seemed normal now, though you spoke to nobody in particular; You were, after all, alone in your building. “It would be best that you turn about and leave now. I am in no good humor to deal with petty idiocy,” the words came out, sharp and full of spite. Your head hung downwards once more, glancing to your grimoire before a hand moved to shut the accursed book.
All at once, the door to your library slammed open, the cold December air as well as a rather vast amount of snow erupting into your shelter. You, however, did not flinch, for you had known ages in advance that one of your closer colleagues and, to a certain degree, one of your better rivals was going to be arriving. The man waltzed in with a cocky stride, hands cleanly shoved in the side pockets on his white tuxedo vest. The door shut behind him without even needing to be pushed or shoved, before he began the almost painfully slow trek to your desk, paying little mind to what you could only imagine to be a near criminal amount of mud and snow. You certainly did not let your annoyance show, if you honestly had any to begin with. Your emotions, as of late, were also becoming increasingly difficult to express, even for yourself.
“H’grah’n bug - agl- ebumna,” the musings come out extremely spiteful, almost with malice towards the person walking in. Your eyes lock onto his shiny, bald head for a moment, and for a moment you consider making a comment on that as well, though you write it off as being much too childish. “Nog ph’stell’bsna n’ghft, Ep’ee.” the echoes throw throughout the room, despite your normal voice not echoing in the slightest. You flash him a small grin to his apparent confusion.
“I was not aware that you have been this versed in the tongue, Miss,” his voice came out, silky and with a vague charm that made you almost sick, and you find yourself at least a little disgusted with yourself that you’re even remotely attracted to him. He certainly would be attractive to any normal person, you suppose, but you guess you are definitely not any normal person.
Your eyes narrow, a look of great disdain and annoyance slowly encompassing your features. Your lips open for just an instance, before your emotions explode, a hand forming into a fist and slamming against the desk. The other hand moved to grab at the desk, and for a moment you believe that if it wasn’t bolted into the floor, the possibility that you might have shoved it over would likely ruin what little sanity you still hold, especially when dealing with imbeciles such as the one before you.
“Scratch,” your sentence begins, still in the odd, echoing nuance that was barely even understandable, though in definite english. “I do not have time for your games. Have you found it, or are you merely here to test my limits before I simply lose all control? I assure you, given my current mood, I would not hesitate to-”
He stops you short, answering the question you placed before your thought was even entirely finished by removing, from behind his green shirt, a large, dark brown leather bound book. One side of it had been pulled over to resemble some kind of grotesque, almost horribly painful face. At least, at first glance, you believe it to have been forcibly carved this way. The more your eyes study it, the more you slowly come to realize just what you’re looking at.
“How? Where did you...” The question started to come out of your lips, much more normal this time. Your eyes remain locked onto it, a hand slowly outstretching, though you’re not quite sure if it’s even with your own will that you’re reaching towards it. Your body would likely be shaking from fear, were you not currently so exasperated and filled with excitement all at once. Fingers slowly grasp around the spine of the book, which was surprisingly freezing cold to the touch. You guess it was likely from where he had been carrying it outside in the freezing snow, but at the same time, it almost seems natural for it to seemingly deny all warmth that could reach out to it.
“I have my ways, Miss. You should know this by now.” His velvet-like voice slowly pours from his lips, echoing about as yours does, though it’s more than perfectly understandable. The words he speaks bounce around inside your mind, over and over again. “Though, I feel I must admit that I believe only a true fool would ever open the accursed thing, let alone want to have it in one’s possessions.”
A silent moment passes between the two of you, before your head slowly turns upwards to gaze into Scratch’s eyes. You consider continuing the constant string of arguments that seem to occur whenever you’re within earshot of one another - and sometimes when you’re not - before slowly shaking your head from side to side, a light sigh escaping your lips as you slowly put the book down on your desk.
“Then call me a fool, so be it. I’ll be downstairs, Scratch. You know how to contact me should you need me. I would thank you for this...gift.”
“The Necronomicon, a book so sought after by- Well, I’m sure you realize just how important this find is. I dared not read it, for I am not an imbecile. I merely assumed you would like to have it, and that you would see it as much more than a mere gift.”
Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lost in thought. Though you feel yourself speak yet again, you’re not quite sure if it’s even yourself in control.
“That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die,” your lips start, though you slowly feel your echoing, incredibly scratchy and throaty speech slowly overtake what you know you wish to say. “Goka gotha geb grah’n - Athg’bthnk orr’e shtunggli-agl.”
His mouth slowly forms into a grin, seemingly pleased at the turn of events. He nods as a response, turning about and slowly making his way to the door, his left leg limping all the while. You let your gaze rest on him for a while, before you feel your body slowly starting to go cold, starting from your right arm. Your head slowly falls down, your hair falling messily over your eyes, though quite obviously the chill that your entire body was being consumed by was emanating from the book given to you by your consort. The hand that rested upon it slowly pulled off, your eyes slowly turning upwards to ask one more thing of Scratch, though he had vanished, as if he were never there to begin with.
A chill ran down your spine, despite warmth once more flooding your extremities. Feet swiftly turned about to the bookcase which towered behind you. Hands idly ran across the wooden shelves as lithe, slender fingers outstretched to grab a book and pull it out. Your eyes locked onto it for a moment with a smirk as you regarded the book as the Bible, though in the darkness the cover was barely legible. Your arm once more reached out to where the book once was, sliding into the empty space before locating a small, round button, and gently pressing down. You hesitate for a moment, uneasily glancing down to the book within your hands, before moving to gently place it back in its spot.
Five seconds pass, then ten, thirty, though you’ve lost count. After what you can only presume to be an eternity passes, a familiar, low rumble slowly begins to ebb from beneath the floorboards. Painfully slow, with an almost deafeningly loud grinding, a large square section of the floor behind your desk slides open, falling into place with a mechanical click, followed by a short whirring noise. Your eyes gaze into the darkness for a moment, barely picking out the small, stone staircase that leads down into the abyss below. One hand moved back to grab the Necronomicon, the other to get a small candle, before you placed yourself directly in front of the staircase.
Your purple eyes fluttered with anticipation for the first time since you can’t even remember when, the freezing cold book clutched tightly against your side in anticipation. You took one step down the steps, and then another, patiently despite your baited excitement. The side of your hand gently pressed against yet another button that was further down the stairs, the same whirring and now almost ear-shattering grinding noise the only signal that the wooden platform was sliding back into place. Left alone in the darkness, you continued your trek downwards, yet only black void awaited you down there.
You do not mind, however. Scratch may believe you a fool, but you do not mind. Very little actually bothers you anymore, and you believe it will be even less so given your newly found book. He likely believes you to be chasing down false idols, that you are going to follow the path to your own ruin, but he does not understand. Children and Larva very rarely ever do, after all. Left alone with your thoughts for an eternity as you slowly make your way down the stairs, you’ve certainly come to a conclusion.
Your candle is suddenly extinguished, but again you pay no true heed, “Should I live, should I die - Should I be caught between something in the middle? Truly, it matters not to me.”
Your name is Rose Lalonde. You are a librarian, as well as the spearheaded leader of The Cult of R’lyeh, and either through chance or sheer persistence, have recently come across the one book that eluded your collection for so long. Today has been a very, very good day.