It was actually more like a combo of Clue, fucked up fairytales, maybe a musical here and there, classic Poe literature, and then a throwback to the 90s days of pogs and Oregon Trail on an old, beat-up computer (hi Dave). But who was keeping track anyway?
Richie was trying to keep track. Some days it went better than others.
Wrapped up in the thickest coat he had (and a blanket, worn like a cloak he could hunker down into - because he didn't have much fat to keep him warm, he was just bones and spongy marrow and some muscle occasionally) into the library he went. Just to see what was what, though he was wary of tripping over a thousand teenagers since did they still sleep in here? Whatever. It didn't totally suck in the library - the space even smelled like the very earth itself and books, the pages ancient and old much like the magic which was currently fucking with them all.
He paused, listening to that little diddy. "Wait, David? Which David?"