Peony Min (blackmagicks) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-04-05 21:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !thread, peony min, siana banes |
Who: Peony & Siana
What: Shopping for books, because books are amazing
Where: The booksellers' shops and stalls in the bazaar
When: late afternoon/early evening, sometime after this.
Rating: G
Status: Complete
A visit to the bazaar disctrict could not be complete without wiling away an hour or two wandering through the shops and stalls of the many booksellers hawking their wares. If Peony had one marked weakness - aside from her aversion to cold, which she considered only good sense - it would certainly be the love of books. She loved books in all their forms: the histories, the biographies, the treatises, the grimoires, and of course, the stories both belletristic and literary. No one had ever had to coerce her into studying; rather, it was tearing her away from her studies that had always proven difficult. To this day, the smells of ink and parchment reminded her of home and of her father's study.
The Grande Grimoire was always a required stop anytime she made it down here - occasionally, there were tomes here which even the tower library did not possess, and she had gotten lucky before, discovering a spell that none of her tutors had known existed, but more often, she found books that she thought might help her students along, especially those who were struggling. Today, she saw nothing to hold her interest, but that was all right, as there were half a dozen merchants to visit yet.
She saw copies of The Dawn Rose in several places and smiled, thinking that she should write to her father and tell him it had been well-received here in Emillion. He would appoeciate that, she thought; he wrote, in the way of truly gifted storytellers, for his own sake and the sake of the tale he had chosen to tell, and was occasionally surprised to realize that he was really quite famous. That honest humility was a trait she respected and strove to emulate; although she saw the amusingly garish cover of The Corsair's Choice at several stalls, she did not count their number. The publishing house told her it was selling well and sent along royalties which fed an army of street cats and street children, and really, what more could a woman desire from what had once been an extremely amusing hobby?
She stopped at a tiny stall displaying a number of foreign books - surely in for the festival, this vendor, for she had never seen her before - and began to peruse the tomes on display in hopes of discovering something unique, useful, or entertaining.