WHO: Sirius Black...AND YOU?
WHERE: A) His warehouse, B) Sandust Bookstore, C) Xavier's Institute, D) Central Park
WHEN: Anytime over the weekend
WARNINGS: YOU HAVE ALL HEARD SIRIUS TALK BY NOW.
SUMMARY: General post for CR purposes!
FORMAT: Paragraph, but I ain't picky
(
A) The warehouse... )
Ah, a treatise on the fall of the Second Reich. He put that one back. He'd been there, he had no need to hear someone explaining why they'd lost. They'd died more than the allies, the end. When you try to punch the whole world in the eye, things tend to go wrong, don't they?
He eyed a volume of Goethe, skipping entirely over a biography of Wagner. He'd never cared for the man or his music.
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It was almost like the man thought this was a store and not a glorified sunbeam and dust mote factory! People these days..
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"Sorry, old chap," he says, smiling, "I have no treats for you. Next time I will come prepared." He picks up his pile of books, heading for the front counter. He places them down with a satisfied sound, and rings the bell for service.
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"Hang on, hang on, I'm coming. Hullo sir. I hear you want helping." The young man who emerged a moment later is a bit sleepy eyed and shaggy-haired himself, but he smiles benignly enough. "Find everything you wanted?"
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"That is an exceptionally well trained dog. Friendly, too. And yes, I did, thank you very much. First shop I have found with texts written in German. I was beginning to lose all hope."
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"Yes, he's a treasure. [Our collection is not large,]" Sirius replies, switching to somewhat rusty German, "[and it is mostly supplied by estate sales. However, if you are looking for a particular tome, Mr. Lupin has contacts that may be of help.]"
It's an odd accent - British and Upper Saxon, somewhat archaic. The speaker seems to be pretty proud of it, though.
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"[Nothing in particular,]" he replies, in German that is fluid, formal, and in a tone of voice clearly used to command, "[But philosophies and poetry and novels are to be preferred. When one has lived what is now considered history, it is rather odd to see historians commenting upon you and your age like long-departed ancestors.]"
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A good salesman would offer to take Von Hammer's contact information, and get in touch with him if they found more German books, regardless of personal prejudice. Sirius is not a good salesman.
All the same...
"[There are some antique tomes. Goethe, and an illustrated Parzival.]"
They're in a glass case behind the counter with other rare books. Sirius takes out the Sorrows of Young Werther, and a slim volume from the 1920s containing a modern transcription of the story of Sir Percival, with color plates of the original illustrated manuscript. Both are lovely. Both are expensive.
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"Your German is positively Imperial, sir. I was surprised to hear it spoken. I spoke it rarely, even when I was young. It was always...what is the English word...stultifying? Formal and swaggering."
His relationship with nobility is complicated, too. The scions of the old families all signed up in 1914, for Emperor and country. They mostly died. He did not. His world was always one apart, his authority from the desperate struggle to keep others alive. Death is, he would point out if pressed, without social prejudice.
He looks at them, shaking his head.
"Beautiful works, but I could not afford such things. These modern...softcovers? They simply do not compare to the craft of such things."
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The Parzival goes back too, and he pulls out the ledger to record and total up Von Hammer's purchase.
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"A wise being, for that age, I should hope."
He pulls out his wallet.
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