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[Somewhere in the library, there is a map spread open on a table, held in place with a few books on every corner. Most of them are language books, and they are all dog-eared and bookmarked. The map itself is dotted with about two dozen little tabs, and nearby is a list of location names, ranging all over the world and beside it is a list of Constellations, with a small hyphen to correlate the two. There's a half-empty cup of tea on the table, an open thermos resting by the table leg, and several sounds of general frustration coming from a few rows away. ]
How is it that in a library this large, I cannot find a single, simple, English book?
[He'd headwall, if doing so wouldn't upset the entire floor's worth of books. So instead, he rubs at the bridge of his nose and sighs.]
And how is it that in the entirety of those left at Sanctuary, there are so few languages amongst them?
How is it that in a library this large, I cannot find a single, simple, English book?
[He'd headwall, if doing so wouldn't upset the entire floor's worth of books. So instead, he rubs at the bridge of his nose and sighs.]
And how is it that in the entirety of those left at Sanctuary, there are so few languages amongst them?