Morning, 22 Dentis, 2719
Continued from here.
…until he reached the back area. Meraki stopped at how the mona felt around a particular door. He didn’t know what was inside, but there was something magical going on and he decided that wasn’t worth the temptation. He left that room alone too.
He was shocked to find yet another hall with even more rooms and beds, an even nicer and larger bedroom too. How many clockin’ rooms and beds does a person need?
Meraki made do with his single room flat just fine. His whole apartment in the Stacks was about the size of a closet in this house, and that was still generous in description. So, for the wick, the house was quite something to look at. He decided that it must be rented out. That all the rooms he looked at, they were meant to be rented and Aremu was just one of the renters. He wondered how much he paid, but then he remembered the healthy amount of coins that he’d found beneath Aremu’s shirt. Meraki had placed them with the rest of the man’s belongings on the desk, but only after carefully counting each one.
There was even a dang cellar filled with way more wine than any house could ever need! It took a great deal of willpower on Meraki’s part to not swipe a few of the liquor bottles that he recognized as quite expensive. He was still recovering from his hang-over though, that'd landed him in the harbor, and the little bit he'd had to drink with the harlot a couple nights ago... that was more than enough to remind him that he shouldn't be drinking at all.
What a gig, he supposed if he’d been clever enough to plan something like this. It struck him as too thuggish though, getting mates to beat up on someone so that he could help them out and get into their home. Meraki didn’t like that style. Injury wasn’t needed to make proper coin.
He made use of the bathroom, to clean himself up and wash his clothes. He found some bandages, and bandaged his wrists, hands, and fingers to help with the swelling, but he didn’t need more than that.
There was a surprising lack of belongings within the various dressers and cabinets he found. Like the place had gotten picked apart already, or whoever had been here had moved out.
Meraki came across a safe, though, and he lingered at this. What was inside it? Gods, he wanted to know. He spent nearly an hour, wandering back from his self-led tour to figure out if he wanted to attempt breaking it open. The wick decided not to, eventually.
Around the approach of dawn, he returned to walk through the multiple studies with lots of books neatly organized on proper shelves. Here, he decided was where the true value of the house rested. The coins, the liquor, whatever was in the safe; none of that mattered so much to him. But something of true treasure? Something that someone, somewhere wouldn't want to be stolen, especially not by a wick.
He plucked one of the books off the shelf, cracked it open, and he nodded. These were it. Maybe not sentimental, but there was a similar energy to them or so he believed. He put aside poetry books, skimmed the ones about airships, and then he found them.
Books on practical magic as well as theory. Meraki gnawed on his lower lip, gathered an armful of these and hurried over to one of the plush chairs. He set the books down, and with his barefeet padding quietly on the floor, he ran to the other study and searched through the books.
He came back with a few more books. On the floor, he settled to sit between the two chairs. Meraki sorted the books out into three stacks:
Physical, Static, and Living Conversation.
This was far preferable over the coins, the safe, and the tempting liquor – combined. The young man turned on the study lamps so he could see, and then he picked up a book from the Physical Conversation stack. He took out his worn and tattered almanac, readied the tip of his trusty pen, and held it open to a blank page toward the back cover.
He opened the book and he started to read. Slowly, carefully, and he scribbled words down that he didn’t understand. There were some he’d heard before, in his eavesdropping of gollies, but he didn’t quite understand what they meant or how they were spelled. Still, this didn’t deter Meraki. Like a starving man, any food was better than none.
Meraki flipped through the books, reading them far quicker than he could understand them, and he muttered to the mona, “How’s this the shit y’ want to hear? Spoiled, you is, eh? Pampered little mona.”
His neck ached after a while and he stretched out with a yawn. He picked up a book on Static Conversation, and started into it at a random page. His eyes were growing heavy though. His body was starting to feel a bit hot. Which meant sleep was trying to take over. He drifted somewhat, dozing beside the books, then he forced himself back awake.
Meraki took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a silver lighter he’d found in a drawer, and took to smoking to keep himself alert while he continued to make his way through the Conversation books.
Ash fell on the carpet beside him, but he didn’t think to realize it. Eventually the cigarette was gone, and he still had more books to look through, and had three back-and-front pages of poorly scribbled words that he didn’t understand, and his head hurt and-
-he drifted to sleep, laying on the floor between the many books.
Until he heard a door shut. Meraki jolted awake from the sound. He breathed quietly. That had been the front door. He could tell by how heavy the closing sounded. In the distance, he heard the faint sound of a voice: a woman?
Meraki hurried to close the books and brush away the cigarette ash (though it only left an ashen smear behind on the carpet), and quickly rolled up his almanac to set it back where it belonged in his vest. Still dressed, but his boots and socks were left in the hall next to the room where Aremu had gone to sleep. He glanced at the nearby windows and saw it was light out.
How long had he been sleeping for? He didn’t know. He could only hope Aremu hadn’t died in the bed. How it would look, if that was the case... Shit, should have left last night. He didn’t know how he’d get out of that one. Who would believe the grungy wick had been acting respectable and helping the man? What a laughable notion. Maybe he should leave through the window, he considered. But he didn’t want to leave his boots behind and part of him wanted to make sure that Aremu hadn’t died.
His heart raced, while he hurriedly stacked the Conversation books into his arms and got up to put them back on the shelves. He listened, to try and hear if the woman was still out in the hall…