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A Delicate Machine
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"For the record, I am an anglerfish."

((Asha Sur's here now.))

Familiarity's an annoyingly irrational concept. In the end, there's no real difference between one kinda comfortable, kinda padded library seat and another; with the obvious exception of the lonely chair in the middle of the floor that had died far from its brothers. Still, through simple happenstance, one table in particular had captured the essence of the library for Asha, all her memories shot from that particular angle. Arbitrary comfort was still comfort.

Today this table was occupied, and not being a spiteful jerk Asha normally would have just shrugged and found a different corner, but Jeremy and Rea were having a nice little conversation, voices echoing over the international borders that usually kept the library's inhabitants in their own neat little pods. The librarians didn't seem to give a shit and the place was nearly deserted anyway, so Asha figured there was no harm in joining in.

She leaned against Jeremy's table, facing Rea. "So, what are you nerds up to?"
a tribute for the dead and dying

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The Library Is The Power House Of The Student · Beale Library