uns ist in alten mæren wunders vil geseit
Every now and then, the bookshelf would offer Dieter something that he'd, for once, deign to actually pick up. One by one, he'd been reading the spines of the books on the shelf, one finger tracking the letters, until he came across one that he recognized. The Nibelungenlied. For an instant, his brow furrowed before smoothing out again as he pulled the book from its place. (Curious, but not too curious in light of what sort of things the island got up to, he supposed. He'd been reading this right before he died.) Flipping it open, he let his fingertips trace across the ink on the pages, expression betraying a small amount of amusement at the fact that this was an English translation.
Still, slowly, he made his way to one of the chairs, eyes still wandering over the text as he sat down. Leisure time wasn't really something he'd allowed himself in Paris or in Germany, but when he had, it had usually been in the company of a book. It wasn't that he particularly enjoyed fiction; it was that he enjoyed the words. A well-written book had a certain appeal to him -- language did.
Remaining glued to the book, he got comfortable, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles as he flipped back to the beginning of the book, pointer finger tucked just under the edge of the next page, ready to turn it over. It wasn't as if he had anything pressing to tend to, after all. He had time to spare.
( ooc; st/lt welcome as always! )
Still, slowly, he made his way to one of the chairs, eyes still wandering over the text as he sat down. Leisure time wasn't really something he'd allowed himself in Paris or in Germany, but when he had, it had usually been in the company of a book. It wasn't that he particularly enjoyed fiction; it was that he enjoyed the words. A well-written book had a certain appeal to him -- language did.
Remaining glued to the book, he got comfortable, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles as he flipped back to the beginning of the book, pointer finger tucked just under the edge of the next page, ready to turn it over. It wasn't as if he had anything pressing to tend to, after all. He had time to spare.
( ooc; st/lt welcome as always! )