Once upon a time...

[timefather]

[ For the residents of Märchenstraße, and all the land surrounding it, the eighth of December was a day to look forward to. Looking at it from an outside perspective, strangers and travelers could easily assume it to be a holiday. At the very least, a day for a festival, if a modest one. A day that shopkeeps spent all morning preparing for, that all manner of creatures spent days traveling to the city to witness. They'd heard the talk that passed around, the rumors from those still left. But would it work? No one knew for sure, no matter how confident the stories seemed to be. But hope was very quickly becoming all they had left.

They had decorated the whole town. Streamers, banners, wreathes and garland made of autumn flowers, plus whatever the Fairy Godmother had cooked up. Oh, she was just giddy. No skepticism could be spoken around her, not if you wanted to escape the wrath of her wand! Rumor had it that she had caught wind of a few piglets squealing about the likelihood that their magic would fail, and that they were subsequently transformed into the band of musicians who could be found performing in the park.

Well, at least the music was festive.

Of course, the decorations weren't for the newcomers alone. Autumn was coming to a close in just a few weeks, and Old Man Winter would take the reigns like he did every year, and their weather would turn cold and harsh. The chill was already there, cool and biting when the wind picked up speed. Lady Autumn was much preferred to the citizens of the city with her gentle nature, even if she failed to show up, finishing her work in the orchards instead. That was what they liked about her.

It was mid-morning when Father Time was found outside of his tower, checking one of the numerous pocket watches he kept on his person. "Unnecessary, but comfortable," he called them, and closed the watch again. It was twelve o'clock in the afternoon, and where empty space had been just seconds before, now they were. Sitting on benches, lying in flower patches, scattered about the city and outside of the gates in peaceful slumber. They would awaken to the bells of the clock tower. Some, to many friendly and relieved faces all around them, some to grateful ones carrying gifts of food and clothing and magic, and some to fearful, cautious faces. Regardless of how the town treated them, they would awaken to a celebration of their arrival, and choices to be made, and the books. Each and every one. ]

Comments

[unaccepted]

[ Grantaire wakes to the bells but does not bother to open his eyes. It is much too bright and much too cold, so he places his book over his face and tries to fall back asleep in the midst of a field. He has a terrible headache, and cannot care about where he has passed out. ]

Quiet down, would you? [ He grumbles it every so often, to tweeting birds or someone walking a little too loudly. ]

[seventhsimon]

[ When Simon knew that others would be arriving, he expected them to land in town. Not in the middle of the fields. His fields, really, given how much he tends to them.

He lifts the book gently off of the mans face and closes it carefully, a slip of fabric between the pages in case they happened to be important. ]

It will save you trouble if you just get up now. The town will suit you better.

[ He tucks the book beneath his arm and offers a hand up, rather perfunctorily. He rather wants the man off his law the field as soon as possible. ]

You'll likely be summoned there soon enough.

[unaccepted]

[ Grantaire can only grunt when the light hits his face once more and he reaches out to pull his book back up only to find that it is gone and someone is speaking to him instead. He sits up and does not bother to take the other man's hand. ]

I should think this--[ he looks around ]--field suits me well enough. If livestock may spend their lives here, why should I not? I am not so different from them.

[seventhsimon]

There is no shame in sleeping in this field, [ He has done it often enough himself; such is the life of a farmer, after all. ] but I still need to work in it. And you are rather in the way.

[ Simon offers the book back instead, and points to the west. ]

There's a meadow not far over, if you wish to avoid people, or drink. [ Simon has frequented a tavern enough to know drunk when he sees it. ]

Though I would strongly recommend the town. You'll end up there whether you will it or no eventually, and with tales such as these it is best to get it over with.

[unaccepted]

[ Grantaire takes his book possessively for no particular reason other than because it was stolen from him; he hardly spares it a glance. ]

A drink in a meadow, you say... [ He glances off even though he has a bottle of wine near him. ]

How far have I wandered, sir? I do not need a town, I need a city. Which way is Paris?

[seventhsimon]

[ He lets the book go without protest, it is of little use to him, at any rate. ]

There is no Paris on this world. I wanted nothing to do with the business, but there you are. [ He isn't happy about it, that much is clear, but there really isn't much more information he can offer about it. ] But the nearest town is Märchenstraße, and you will likely find your answers there.

[ He jerks his head in a different direction, and sets about trying to finish his work around Grantaire. ]

I'll be headed that way soon enough, and faster if you want to help.

The beer is better in town, though I am sure you could find a good vintage if you wanted it.

[unaccepted]

[ Grantaire squints at him and does not appear to even consider moving. The effort to stand is far too great for him. ]

There is always a Paris. In any time, and in any world, as you say, one will always come across a Paris. I think I shall sleep until it comes to me. Do you mind? [ He does not believe that they are not near Paris, because he could not have walked off the earth so quickly. ]

[seventhsimon]

[ Simon is half-tempted to kick him, really, but not quite enough to actually follow through. He's actually feeling surprisingly rather calm about the whole thing. ]

If Paris is a place near your home, then you are no longer near enough to reach it. You have been lifted from whatever place Paris existed within and brought here. [ Paris is definitely in no kingdom Simon has ever heard of. ]

But if you must sleep, there are far better places than in the way of honest labour. Like the town. Or the meadow. Or even my own bed, if an actual mattress is enough to tempt you. [ Or, really, any place not right here. ]

[unaccepted]

[ Grantaire makes a point of coughing considerably loud, as if Simon is pushing a sickly man away. He stands, though, and picks up his things. ]

Are you my guide for this spiritual world, then? Show me your seas of fire and such, go on. I will follow you to this town.

[seventhsimon]

[ Spiritual world indeed. That would require a patience that Simon does not hold, and a desire for trouble he'd rather not seek. ]

I'd hope no sea of fire has sprung between this field and Märchen, it would make the journey all the more difficult.

[ Simon only just keeps himself from rolling his eyes, and once Grantaire has gathered all his things makes to help the man towards Märchenstraße. Given what today was, he had not expected to get much work done, anyways. ]

Would you prefer to seek answers, first, or shall I lead you straight to the tavern? You might rent a room, there, and sleep in avoidance of your troubles.

[unaccepted]

[ The only right answer is to seek answers. He is apparently in a strange land, and to be offered answers is far better than searching them out on his own. So he replies: ]

I must find my bearings first, and no doubt they lie at the tavern and in a room more comfortable than grass. But then, does this tavern accept francs? Or do they go by generosity?

[seventhsimon]

I've know few enough taverns that work on generosity. [ That's a strange question, and it leads Simon to a smile before he realizes he has no idea what sort of currency a franc is. That is something to ponder. ]

Gold and silver pieces, are the moneys I know, but neither do I spend enough time in the tavern to be certain. [ A pauses, as Simon gathers his things and begins walking towards the town ] You can certainly try, and if not they will find some other trade to make it worth their while.

They would probably prefer to trade, in any case.

[unaccepted]

[ Grantaire belatedly goes along with him, hurrying to catch up. His eyes dart around their surroundings and his frown only deepens. ]

Trade, is it. I've only--[ He only now looks down at his belongings. Dominoes that he stuffed into his pocket, the strange book in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other. ] Would they take this book, then? I've no time to read at the moment, much less of Pylades.

[seventhsimon]

[ Simon stops to let the other catch up, brows furrowing when the stranger offers up the book. ]

That book is yours and yours alone, lad. Even if they'd accept it, I am quite certain you'd have need of it later. [ He pauses, and squints at the book's binding. ] It's a terrible name to be stuck with, though, I must admit.

[ Simon moves to pick up his pace again, it's already a little later in the day than he'd like. ] I'd reckon it's empty at the moment, so there isn't much reading you need to worry about for now.

[unaccepted]

It's hardly terrible, and hardly marvelous--and what am I stuck with exactly? [ Grantaire has finally caught up, and takes the time to look through the empty pages of the book. ]

What is the good of this? Am I meant to write in here?

[seventhsimon]

Your name. Or, the name on the book's spine. It is your name, now. At least according to most who live in this land.

[ He nods towards the book and pulls out one of his own. ]

You write within it, and the words show up in all other books. It is... more convenient than sending multiple letters to others, and good for spreading information swiftly.

[howherolls]

[ Peeta, preoccupied with his own concerns as he had woken up that morning in a wooden box next to a gun that seemed to appear wherever he went, was oblivious to the man sleeping in the field until he tripped over him

Gracelessly, he hits the ground, rolling over with a wince]

Sorry.

[ it sounds flat. With the way today's been going, Peeta's not 100% sure if the man on the ground is actually there ]

[unaccepted]

[ Grantaire grunts into the grass, though it's really not the first time he's woken up outdoors, feeling as though he might as well have been shot, only to be kicked around by a stranger. His book has been dislodged, though, so he rolls onto his back is forced to face the sun. ]

Is that all you can offer? I am man all the same as you! Brothers, we are brothers, and you've harmed--spilled my blood! [ He puts a hand to where Peeta's foot landed as if he is in terrible pain. ]

[howherolls]

[ Peeta just stares at him. He must be a hallucination. ]

I've spilled blood before. [ he eyes where his foot connected ] I would have needed more force in the kick for it to happen.

[unaccepted]

[ Grantaire sits up to get a better look at whoever has attacked him, and frowns when he finds a young man talking of spilling blood. He is not the first Grantaire has seen. ]

Those who have spilled blood are usually not so proud of the act. And they should not think of how to inflict it either! [ He guards his wound with both hands. ]