Post by Deleted on Jun 21, 2022 11:22:36 GMT -5
Light shone through the mosaic window onto the mostly empty building, casting shadows of the design onto the dust particles of the old bookstore, falling onto the shelves of books and lightly reflecting back color onto the floor, making a rainbow of the different hues of the books on the hardwood flooring. There was no one inside the storefront, silence hung between the bookcases and shelves lining the walls of the musty and neglected space. The floor itself was somewhat dirty, a smudge of dirt or loose scale scattered sparsely across the floor. Around most of the corners of the room, nearing the roof were the odd cobweb, some even populated by a spider. Outside, it was plain, with windows looking in on displays of various books, bestsellers from a time long passed, and an overarching sign in a text that few of the locals could read.
The silence the hard-backed denizens of the shelves enjoyed so dearly was interrupted when the door to the shop was slowly pushed open, the immense weight of the door, clearly designed for someone of a different stature and build, giving way to the visitor of the store. She was a human, of short height and tanned complexion, small build and bobbed hair. She wore casual clothes and a satchel strapped around her chest. It took a moment for her to reorient herself among her new, seemingly ancient surroundings.
She was hesitant stepping into the store, her footsteps lightly echoing in the bookstore's main chamber. Nearly every book on the shelves was coated in dust, most standing upright in rows. A few titles stood out to her, gold lettering on some, white lettering on other. Small tabs on the shelves themselves separated the books by type, into informational, fiction, the works of a standard library of books. Even if she tried, the patron couldn't reach to the top of the bookshelf without the assistance of a ladder; which itself would require the existence of said ladder.
The lone customer wandered for a moment, peering between the books and observing their titles. As she paced her way throughout the store, she was inevitably lead to the counter on the opposite end to the entrance. It was a tidy workspace, if not fitting with the general theme of neglect from the repitour of the bookstore, neglected. A few wayward books strewn the wooden top of the desk, which itself wrapped around the canvas curtain that covered the doorway into the back. On top of the overhang of the desk sat a small metal bell. She lightly rang it, it's sound reverberating throughout the building for a moment. She waited for a response, hearing the rustling of something, or someone, behind the curtain, but another moment passed to no avail. She turned back towards the door, examining the room for discrepancies.
In the central isle of books, leading directly to the door, a single book stood out that she hadn't noticed on her first pass through. It was a red covered book, leather-bound around the spine, and a slight amount of silk binding the two sides of it's hardback cover. She pulled it out from the shelf, slowly. It sat in her hands on it's back, completely void of a title. She turned it, revealing golden letters; 'Raddover's Bay - Gedeon Tarasov', the latter text in a smaller subtitle. She opened the book, skipping past various blank pages to land on the author's foreword.
I do not bring Raddover's Bay as a memoir, but as a quandary. For what if Kumosenkan, a lineage of peoples dedicated to the waves of the open ocean, a nation of great fleets dedicated to the control of the reefs and coasts, instead was one of the plains and mountains? Rather than the Woodpool Sea, there is the Woodpool Passage, as opposed to the Clinrial Sea, instead towers the Clinrial Mountains. The Strait of Raddover, replaced by Raddover's Bay. Of course, I could not know how this world truly plays out. I can only speculate upon the question of a world such as this. However, I do imagine a world vividly. Instead of the great battleships of the Grand Fleet, there is instead batteries upon the land, the rolling sound of thunder as great treads crawl onto the battlefield.
Her reading was interrupted, there was perhaps another half-page of writing left, by a breathing on her right shoulder. Steady and cold, silent otherwise than the feel. She slowly turned her head to meet the face lingering over her shoulder. Wrinkled around the finer features of his face, a smile reaching across his face. Greyed hair and a scar reaching across his left eye, the pupil glazed over in a silver shine. She let out a scream, the sound echoing across the bookstore, recoiling against the other bookcase. She took in the rest of the unexpected visitor's form, seeing eight- no, seven chitin legs stretching across the bookshelf and suspending it's torso into the isle. As she let out the high pitched scream, the Kumo covered their ears, recoiling onto the top of the bookshelf.
The two stood in a solid silence for a moment, both parties slowly lowering their guard. The Kumo was the first to speak, softly and shakily. "P-please not so loud," They pleaded. "I-I p-prefer the quiet-" They interrupted themself. "I-I am Yasuhiro, welcome to my s-store." He slowly lowered himself down to the ground floor, revealing his height a few heads above her own. He wore traditional clothing, a dark red and black coat covering his human torso and flowing down to his arachnid abdomen. He offered a hand to her, smiling warmly.
She hesitated for a moment, considering to trust Yasuhiro or not. Meeting his hand with her's, she chose to trust him. "I am Aleksandra, it's a pleasure to meet you." Aleksandra said, looking around the ancient storefront. "I'm sorry for my reaction, I've not met a Kumo before."
"Al-ek-san-dra." Yasuhiro pronounced each syllable slowly, taking in how the name felt within his mouth, butchering the pronunciation with his fairly thick Kumo accent. "I-It i-is o-okay, I-I do not take i-it p-personally. I-I apologize for not g-greeting you, i-it has been much time s-since I-I had visitors. The book y-you have, i-it's one of my favorites." He said, clearly elated at her interest in the novel. "I-I hail from a long lineage of Kumo, of warriors. I-I am the exception." Yasuhiro's tone deflated as he finished the thought. "Tarasov g-gives my p-people much credit, and brings a most i-interesting story."
Aleksandra listened thoughtfully as he spoke. She wasn't lying when she told him that she hadn't met a Kumo before, technically. She had seen Kumo, for certain, it was difficult not to in this area of the town, but she had never interacted with one beyond basic pleasantries, never had held a conversation with one. "What does this novel entail?" She asked, curious to both probe the novel itself and Yasuhiro.
He was clearly delighted of Aleksandra's interest. "Tarasov tells a tale of war, where my p-people, the Kumo, are connected to the g-great landmass, where the seas that divide Mestria and P-pomazanniki from Kumosenkan i-instead rise to create p-passages onto the i-island. My p-people create g-great landships i-in the name of the Empress, rather than the battleships of our time. Monstrous batteries reach across battlefields, treads destroying all in their way."
As he finished speaking, Aleksandra stopped to consider the purchase. A moment of silence fell, and she spoke again. "What's the price?"
The silence the hard-backed denizens of the shelves enjoyed so dearly was interrupted when the door to the shop was slowly pushed open, the immense weight of the door, clearly designed for someone of a different stature and build, giving way to the visitor of the store. She was a human, of short height and tanned complexion, small build and bobbed hair. She wore casual clothes and a satchel strapped around her chest. It took a moment for her to reorient herself among her new, seemingly ancient surroundings.
She was hesitant stepping into the store, her footsteps lightly echoing in the bookstore's main chamber. Nearly every book on the shelves was coated in dust, most standing upright in rows. A few titles stood out to her, gold lettering on some, white lettering on other. Small tabs on the shelves themselves separated the books by type, into informational, fiction, the works of a standard library of books. Even if she tried, the patron couldn't reach to the top of the bookshelf without the assistance of a ladder; which itself would require the existence of said ladder.
The lone customer wandered for a moment, peering between the books and observing their titles. As she paced her way throughout the store, she was inevitably lead to the counter on the opposite end to the entrance. It was a tidy workspace, if not fitting with the general theme of neglect from the repitour of the bookstore, neglected. A few wayward books strewn the wooden top of the desk, which itself wrapped around the canvas curtain that covered the doorway into the back. On top of the overhang of the desk sat a small metal bell. She lightly rang it, it's sound reverberating throughout the building for a moment. She waited for a response, hearing the rustling of something, or someone, behind the curtain, but another moment passed to no avail. She turned back towards the door, examining the room for discrepancies.
In the central isle of books, leading directly to the door, a single book stood out that she hadn't noticed on her first pass through. It was a red covered book, leather-bound around the spine, and a slight amount of silk binding the two sides of it's hardback cover. She pulled it out from the shelf, slowly. It sat in her hands on it's back, completely void of a title. She turned it, revealing golden letters; 'Raddover's Bay - Gedeon Tarasov', the latter text in a smaller subtitle. She opened the book, skipping past various blank pages to land on the author's foreword.
I do not bring Raddover's Bay as a memoir, but as a quandary. For what if Kumosenkan, a lineage of peoples dedicated to the waves of the open ocean, a nation of great fleets dedicated to the control of the reefs and coasts, instead was one of the plains and mountains? Rather than the Woodpool Sea, there is the Woodpool Passage, as opposed to the Clinrial Sea, instead towers the Clinrial Mountains. The Strait of Raddover, replaced by Raddover's Bay. Of course, I could not know how this world truly plays out. I can only speculate upon the question of a world such as this. However, I do imagine a world vividly. Instead of the great battleships of the Grand Fleet, there is instead batteries upon the land, the rolling sound of thunder as great treads crawl onto the battlefield.
Her reading was interrupted, there was perhaps another half-page of writing left, by a breathing on her right shoulder. Steady and cold, silent otherwise than the feel. She slowly turned her head to meet the face lingering over her shoulder. Wrinkled around the finer features of his face, a smile reaching across his face. Greyed hair and a scar reaching across his left eye, the pupil glazed over in a silver shine. She let out a scream, the sound echoing across the bookstore, recoiling against the other bookcase. She took in the rest of the unexpected visitor's form, seeing eight- no, seven chitin legs stretching across the bookshelf and suspending it's torso into the isle. As she let out the high pitched scream, the Kumo covered their ears, recoiling onto the top of the bookshelf.
The two stood in a solid silence for a moment, both parties slowly lowering their guard. The Kumo was the first to speak, softly and shakily. "P-please not so loud," They pleaded. "I-I p-prefer the quiet-" They interrupted themself. "I-I am Yasuhiro, welcome to my s-store." He slowly lowered himself down to the ground floor, revealing his height a few heads above her own. He wore traditional clothing, a dark red and black coat covering his human torso and flowing down to his arachnid abdomen. He offered a hand to her, smiling warmly.
She hesitated for a moment, considering to trust Yasuhiro or not. Meeting his hand with her's, she chose to trust him. "I am Aleksandra, it's a pleasure to meet you." Aleksandra said, looking around the ancient storefront. "I'm sorry for my reaction, I've not met a Kumo before."
"Al-ek-san-dra." Yasuhiro pronounced each syllable slowly, taking in how the name felt within his mouth, butchering the pronunciation with his fairly thick Kumo accent. "I-It i-is o-okay, I-I do not take i-it p-personally. I-I apologize for not g-greeting you, i-it has been much time s-since I-I had visitors. The book y-you have, i-it's one of my favorites." He said, clearly elated at her interest in the novel. "I-I hail from a long lineage of Kumo, of warriors. I-I am the exception." Yasuhiro's tone deflated as he finished the thought. "Tarasov g-gives my p-people much credit, and brings a most i-interesting story."
Aleksandra listened thoughtfully as he spoke. She wasn't lying when she told him that she hadn't met a Kumo before, technically. She had seen Kumo, for certain, it was difficult not to in this area of the town, but she had never interacted with one beyond basic pleasantries, never had held a conversation with one. "What does this novel entail?" She asked, curious to both probe the novel itself and Yasuhiro.
He was clearly delighted of Aleksandra's interest. "Tarasov tells a tale of war, where my p-people, the Kumo, are connected to the g-great landmass, where the seas that divide Mestria and P-pomazanniki from Kumosenkan i-instead rise to create p-passages onto the i-island. My p-people create g-great landships i-in the name of the Empress, rather than the battleships of our time. Monstrous batteries reach across battlefields, treads destroying all in their way."
As he finished speaking, Aleksandra stopped to consider the purchase. A moment of silence fell, and she spoke again. "What's the price?"