(01.04.35, late afternoon) Stacked (O)

The library was a quiet place overall, but no wing was quite as silent as the anthropology wing. Even the hum of the life support seemed more subdued here. At least, so it was to Sitala Jagram Pendharma. He didn't loathe his post, but the lack of noise was certainly unsettling. Turning on any sort of radio, internal or externa, was strictly forbidden by library policy. (It was believed, said his supervisor, to encourage low productivity.) Jagram's connection was spotty at best anyway, but often he wondered how he could actually get less productive. The library was up to date with all the newest technology, largely automated in almost all arenas. It could help patrons locate materials, identify authors, and conduct research without Jagram so much as lifting a finger. It even put the books away on its own. The whole setup gave him quite a lot of time to perfect the castles he made from packets of sweetener nicked from the employee break room. Being an assistant under-librarian, Jagram decided, was not as exciting as it had seemed in school.

It certainly fit him at least, he thought with a sigh. A weak body like his that had so much difficulty accommodating mods-- what higher, more exciting position could he realistically hope for? Jagram's mind wandered. His shift would be over in mere hours, but he didn't want to go home. His honored mother was there, and his honored little sister. Maybe he could go to the temple. Chittering and sweetly-perfumed vezyanvaa were always nice to be around. Even if they always cooed over how sweet he was, in this strangely insulting way. He suspected none of them thought of him as any sort of man at all. (This was for the best, really. What Jagram would do when someone started to take him seriously, one could only shudder to contemplate. He would follow such a person to the ends of the stars.)

The time ticked by. Someone, anyone, had to come in, or he'd simply go insane from the tedium.

That plucky librarian in the History wing had pointed him to the Anthropology wing. He would not and did not except books from other departments, supposedly. It was, for some reason, extremely messy and against protocol to accept an anthropology book, specifically, The Bones of Pura Ralasa. This infuriated Rushil Arlet Ugra. He had spent many days in the library and had never been a hundred feet near the Anthropology wing. But now, thanks to his forgetful best mate and cousin, he had to set foot in the silent department.

Upon reaching the wing he stood in the door-way. The size of the wing was astonishing, not because it was the largest, but because of its subject. Rushil did not know that the subject contained so many books. He thought it was as useful as horology. Why would one - except for Rushil's eccentric cousin - waist their time with such frivolous books. Did it matter what happened to a humerus five thousand years ago? Rushil thought it was very odd.

Finally loosing the astonishment he was feeling a minute before, he entered the department and went straight to the returns desk. Now, Rushil had been exposed to Sitala from an early age, but upon meeting the Sitala at the desk, he thought everything that he had seen was wrong. This one was not the most ideal Sitala. (Probably the reason he was working in the Anthropology department) His lanky figure was just not pleasing to the Ralasi eye. He must have been put through various trivial trials to even work at the library.

"Hullo," said Rushil, coldly. "I would like to return this book."

While Jagram had, in fact, been sitting around mentally begging for someone to come and relieve his boredom, he hadn't actually expected it to happen. So when the Jagat with nice face showed up at his desk and have him the once-over (that found him lacking), he was a bit startled. The sweetener castle collapsed when his hand jostled the desk, much to Jagram's dismay.

He blinked slowly, trying to process the person before him. "Ah-- apologies, Jagat-Natha-erhi." What he was apologizing for was, perhaps, unclear, but to Jagram's mind an apology was in order. "A book, erhi?"

A look of pure and utter confusion had formed upon Rushil's face. This Sitala, the startled librarian, seemed to have a stuttering problem. He was obviously confused about what was proceeding in front of him. Either the Sitala's mods were malfunctioning or he wasn't using his processing chip.

"I need to return this." Repeated Rushil. "I assume you are the one that processes them, then returns them to the shelves." He said all this in a condescending tone. Rushil looked the librarian once over, again. It seemed as if the lanky Sitala had trouble understanding others through speech. He didn't like the Sitala for some reason, he received an odd, disgusting feeling in his gut when ever he saw him. It was quite odd.

Rushil placed the book down on the counter in front of him, disturbing the ruins of the sweetener castles. I thought all Sitala were geniuses. Thought Ruhsil. It seems this one belongs with the Sihabahu, though he wouldn't be able to survive with them either.

Jagram nodded his head in a clipped, abbreviated version of a bow. Internally, he sighed. Why did everyone assume he was stupid? It wasn't actually his job to return things to the shelves. Being an assistant under-librarian was more of an. An advisory position, really, or so he told himself. The library systems did most of it.

He did, however, process the returns first, so he supposed it wasn't entirely unfair to assume he put them away. Jagram wasn't the type of man to correct the Jagat on this particular point, anyway. "Yes, Jagat-Natha-erhi, I do. If you could put your hand on the panel to your left, erhi?" He'd slipped into a sort of dull monotone, trying to fight it and failing miserably.