cream-and-tea · 2 years ago
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LAY ME DOWN. chapter seven excerpt. unedited. featuring: agnes’s first meeting with several students of The Library after pallas is forced to go to them for help. mention of injuries. threats of violence and just a Lot of unresolved tension
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[Transcript under the cut.]
hello and welcome to another instalment of This Book Has More Than Two Characters I Swear! this time we have judge, calliope and max, a trio of oddballs who pallas has a history with and agnes is meeting for the first time. they’re all really fun to write (calliope especially) and have really grown on me as the plot has progressed lol
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The one all in white cocks her head to the side, face twisted in a weird not-smile. Agnes has never seen a girl with hair this short and bright before, a soft cap of copper offset by a multitude of dangling earrings, little charms hanging from pastel ribbons that tinkle whenever she moves. Her face is very oval and her smile is very crooked and wide across it, freckles wrinkling up around her nose in disdain.
“Would you look at that Judge? It’s the principal's little lapdog,” she says in a high, dramatic drawl. “Thought you’d finally gone and found a hole to die in Bloodhound, to what do we owe the pleasure?”
She bows mockingly and from behind the shelves Agnes winces, but Pallas doesn’t even blink. 
“Ah Calliope, glad to see you’ve lost none of your charm,” they say cooley. “Your nights have been restful, I presume?”
The girl in whites smirk shifts into a very unlovely snarl and she moves forward. But before Agnes has time to squeeze her eyes closed a hand comes forward to rest on Calliopes shoulder. From her narrow view between the shelves Agnes can see the third figure stepping forward, touch instantly setting her friend to rest. She’s tall, wrapped in a long tweed coat with straight, narrow black braids framing a straight, narrow brown face, and Agnes is struck in the moment by just how small Pallas is. Smaller than her and definitely smaller than this person. They look almost frail in comparison.
“Easy, it’s not worth it,” the second girl says, her voice deep and raspy and flat. Then, to Pallas: “What do you want?”
“A favour.”
“Interesting idea, one counterpoint: why would I ever do anything for you?”
“Because you owe me Judge. Because if it wasn’t for me you’d be dead.”
At this the one called Calliope starts laughing until a stern “Cal, please” cuts it off. Agnes has never been good with expressions but she thinks the girl with braids—Judge—looks more confused than anything else, a tiny divot appearing between her dark brows. “You’ve never asked for anything before, why now?”
“I’m very tired,” Pallas says and Agnes takes a moment to marvel at how a conversation can somehow sound like the clash of steel on steel. “And I don’t want to go through the mess of making Max’s little brain come out his ears to get you to listen. I'm not going to take chances on this. It’s quite delicate.”
Calliope’s face twists again and she steps further in front of turtleneck boy. There’s something off about her eyes. This is a place filled with terrifying people with weird eyes. “Wanna say that again you demented little–“
“Cal. Not. Worth it.”
“But—“
“They’re trying to rile you, it’s what they do,” Judge says, knowing and measured, straight-edged profile facing her friend before she turns back to Pallas. “Spare the theatrics Bloodhound, and tell me what it is you need. I can decide whether it’s worth my time from there.”
Agnes is starting to think that Pallas smiling is never a good thing, this one is tiny and contemptuous and probably means you are but a tiny ant and I will not hesitate before squishing you very badly under my chunky black boots, or something like that. Judge doesn’t seem like she can be squished, but there’s a first time for everything. “It’s funny you think this is a negotiation, but all right.”
And then they turn and their awful, awful eyes meet hers from between the books. They make an unmistakable beckoning motion with their hand and Agnes has to scramble to drag herself up, avoiding putting pressure on her bad ankle. She pokes her head out from behind the shelves and waves slightly, unsure of what else to do. 
“She’s hurt,” Pallas says, not even sparing a look her way. “You’re going to heal her.” 
The redheaded Calliope makes a whistling sound between her teeth and says: “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Then she turns towards Judge, who’s already looking Agnes up and down in a way that makes her feel the most awkward she’s ever felt in her life. It’s a magnifying glass stare, one that catalogues and processes, every inch of her laid bare. The line between Judges eyebrows deepens and Calliope says again, now in a tone of complete exasperation and disbelief: “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Cal–“
“Nope. No way.”
“Calliope–“
“We’re not helping the creepy little murderer! Group Rule Number One is not helping creepy little murderers!”
“Group Rule Number One is about healthy communication.”
“Semantics!”
The boy in the black turtleneck and glasses looks out from behind Calliope. The short crop of dreadlocks on top of his head have been strung through here-and-there with colourful beads that pop against his dark clothing. Agnes gives him a nervous smile, hoping that her mouth is moving the way mouths are supposed to move when they smile, and is relieved beyond measure when he raises one hand in a tiny wave. Agnes leans against the towering bookshelf, feeling a lot like she’s stepped into a place she shouldn’t be while Pallas makes a show of examining their nails. 
“It’s just one girl. It won’t cost me anything.” 
“Oh don’t ignore basics, there’s always a cost. And besides, it’s Bloodhound business!” Calliope hisses, pointing as the Bloodhound picks a tiny bit of dirt from under their left ring fingernail.
“Calliope, please,” Judge says in a voice that Papá used on Mother all the time. The I don’t wanna fight voice. The we can talk about this later but not right now voice. Agnes' face burns from just looking at the two of them. Her ankle and throat will probably be fine, why did Pallas have to bring her here at all?
Calliope puts her face in her hands in what must be defeat because Pallas smiles a smile like a crack in marble, and Judge sighs in a soft, exhausted kind of way that makes guilt bubble like mud in Agnes’s stomach. 
“Okay,” she says. “But you’ve got to do something for us.”
Pallas raises an eyebrow. “I’m not bartering with you Judge.”
“Tough luck,” Judge deadpans. She turns to Calliope and the boy in black: “Max-Attack, Cal, this’ll only take a few minutes.” And then looks directly at Agnes, who jumps: “Come on then, we don’t have all day.”
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