Second Floor, 33 Apocalypse Avenue - Tuesday Morning
There would probably come a time in Thursday Next's life when she didn't care if she never stepped foot in The Great Library of the BookWorld again. That time wasn't now. A few weeks ago, she had lost contact with her Jurisfiction associates inside fiction. Shortly after, Thursday realised that she had also lost the ability to read herself into fiction using her TravelBook, severing her connection to the world between the pages. She thought nothing much of it at first. She lived in Fandom, after all, and strange things happened.
As the silence continued, however, she began to grow concerned and started to explore alternative ways to gain access. She'd even gone as far as to get Uncle Mycroft to send her the Prose Portal Mark II piece by piece to assemble so she could try it without anyone getting their hands on the complete thing. None of her attempts were successful and Mycroft was most disheartened by the failure, although he was pleased that the new prose portal was a good cheese grater and somewhat reliable food processor.
Frustration and a mental block had set in a few days ago only to be dispelled by a suggestion about the causeway by the new owner of Caritas. The idea hadn't worked, but it had given her a few new ideas to try. The efforts were also unsuccessful and Special Collections was now particularly grouchy at her for setting part of it on fire. She'd apologised for the inconvenience and trouble, but thought it best to stay out of there for a few days nonetheless.
Thursday planned to go into the library again today and try a few more things, but for now she was content to sit on the floor of her son's room and spend some time with him. Friday was busy trying to build the Eiffel Tower out of Duplo blocks (even though it looked more like a supermarket after a minor earthquake) while Thursday browsed through a children's book about a hairy dog from a dairy farm who got into trouble on a regular basis. It was Friday's favourite book and one they'd read together many times.
That was why Thursday was absolutely sure that the book wasn't supposed to have a velociraptor in it. She was doubly sure that the velociraptor wasn't supposed to hunt down the protagonist dog and do some things that really weren't suited for children to read about.
Frowning, she set the book aside (out of Friday's reach because, really, he didn't need to have nightmares), stood up and went to her own room where she started browsing through her bookcase. One by one, she checked the books, even going as far as to compare editions to make sure it was widespread. The books were changing. Things were going on inside the BookWorld that weren't meant to happen. If such drastic changes were being allowed to occur, it didn't mean a PageRunner. It meant dozens of PageRunners, possibly hundreds or even more. Jurisfiction wouldn't allow that to happen and, although she didn't have the highest regard for the Council of Genres, she knew they wouldn't let this kind of anarchy go unnoticed.
That could only mean that the members of Jurisfiction, all of her fictional friends and co-workers, were in deep trouble. She knew she couldn't give up. There had to be a way in and she had to find it.
Friday watched quietly from his doorway, then shook his head and walked back to his blocks. If she didn't figure it out today, he was definitely going to have to step in.
[OOC: Establishy for I must go do that thing with the laying down and the eyes closed and the dreaming of electric sheep and Ghostbusters.]
As the silence continued, however, she began to grow concerned and started to explore alternative ways to gain access. She'd even gone as far as to get Uncle Mycroft to send her the Prose Portal Mark II piece by piece to assemble so she could try it without anyone getting their hands on the complete thing. None of her attempts were successful and Mycroft was most disheartened by the failure, although he was pleased that the new prose portal was a good cheese grater and somewhat reliable food processor.
Frustration and a mental block had set in a few days ago only to be dispelled by a suggestion about the causeway by the new owner of Caritas. The idea hadn't worked, but it had given her a few new ideas to try. The efforts were also unsuccessful and Special Collections was now particularly grouchy at her for setting part of it on fire. She'd apologised for the inconvenience and trouble, but thought it best to stay out of there for a few days nonetheless.
Thursday planned to go into the library again today and try a few more things, but for now she was content to sit on the floor of her son's room and spend some time with him. Friday was busy trying to build the Eiffel Tower out of Duplo blocks (even though it looked more like a supermarket after a minor earthquake) while Thursday browsed through a children's book about a hairy dog from a dairy farm who got into trouble on a regular basis. It was Friday's favourite book and one they'd read together many times.
That was why Thursday was absolutely sure that the book wasn't supposed to have a velociraptor in it. She was doubly sure that the velociraptor wasn't supposed to hunt down the protagonist dog and do some things that really weren't suited for children to read about.
Frowning, she set the book aside (out of Friday's reach because, really, he didn't need to have nightmares), stood up and went to her own room where she started browsing through her bookcase. One by one, she checked the books, even going as far as to compare editions to make sure it was widespread. The books were changing. Things were going on inside the BookWorld that weren't meant to happen. If such drastic changes were being allowed to occur, it didn't mean a PageRunner. It meant dozens of PageRunners, possibly hundreds or even more. Jurisfiction wouldn't allow that to happen and, although she didn't have the highest regard for the Council of Genres, she knew they wouldn't let this kind of anarchy go unnoticed.
That could only mean that the members of Jurisfiction, all of her fictional friends and co-workers, were in deep trouble. She knew she couldn't give up. There had to be a way in and she had to find it.
Friday watched quietly from his doorway, then shook his head and walked back to his blocks. If she didn't figure it out today, he was definitely going to have to step in.
[OOC: Establishy for I must go do that thing with the laying down and the eyes closed and the dreaming of electric sheep and Ghostbusters.]