text; deamon: obscured (backdated to pre-war!)

[repressings]

To whom it may concern,

I write this letter with caution and timid optimism, and not without a dash of confusion. This creature at my side has been most helpful in explaining the various dalliances that makes up this world but I can't help but realize there are things that even this mouse can't answer. As such, my only option seems to be turning to this 'network.'

I have a lot of questions, but to spare you, dear reader, I'll keep them to a minimum so as not to disturb any possible daily communicating or activities. Please also feel free to disregard this message entirely, although any response at all would be absolutely wonderful.

Firstly, is anyone dead here? For clarification: not those who have come back to life in this place if such a thing happens, but before moving to this paradise has anyone perished? I'd like to make a tally. Any of those from The Village who have also escaped, please contact either myself or Mr. Graves at once.

Secondly, if there is a Mr. Akiyama, a Miss Carter or a Miss Gibson, I'd very much like to be alerted to their presence. One is an Japanese man from New York with short cropped hair and lazy stature, one is a British woman with long wavy hair and a very beautiful smile, and the other is also a British woman but blonde and doesn't smile much even when she's happy. Any assistance I could have in finding these three would be optimal.

I'd also like to know who owns the most books here. And if it's not too forward, I'd like to ask about green carnations.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
-C. Barebone

Comments

text;

[repressings]

[ Oh. Oh, this is something he'd thought he'd politely bring up, but no one would probably answer--Credence may or may not have glanced furtively around before bringing himself to reply. ]

Sir or Madam,

I'm aware of what they are for, but unsure of how to exactly go about to look for those who also admire them. Thank you for your prompt response, as well as your willingness to help.

With many thanks,
-C. Barebone

[tangleofgarlands]

Either's fine, but my name's Arthur.

Firstly, I'd like to assure you that I understand your caution, but there's not much need for it here, as far as I've experienced. But if you'd like to see for yourself, you're welcome to visit Mandy and I down at the masquerade. Not just because it's our place of business or anything--but both of us, and most of our customers, have had...personal experience.

I suppose you'd call it a meeting place for admirers of green carnations, along with others who admire similar flowers.

You're welcome. It's not easy to be alone with; I just hope I can help.

[repressings]

Mr. Arthur,

There seems to be quite a many people who are alright with those that admire anything from a garden, let alone flowers. It's wonderful but it's all very new. I have a few questions if you could possibly answer them regarding your place of business.

Is it anonymous? Do they have an age restriction? Is there alcohol served? Is it solely a club for gentlemen, or are women allowed as well? Is there a dress code expected to be followed? Are we to arrive with someone else or alone? Is there a secret knock or password of some sort?

With thanks,
-C. Barebone

[tangleofgarlands]

It took me a while to get used to as well, but it's been about six months since I arrived and nobody's given me any trouble. The general attitude seems to be that people should grow whatever they like in their own gardens.

[The metaphor is extending into something complicated, but Arthur remembers all too well the knife-like stab of anxiety at the thought of revealing himself to anyone, so he keeps it up. With a little luck and some reassurance, hopefully it won't be necessary too much longer.]

It's nothing nearly that formal.
We'll certainly respect your privacy, but there's no requirement of anonymity. I don't serve alcohol to anyone under eighteen, but other than that--and, of course, treating the other patrons with respect--there's no rules or anything.

Wear what you like, bring who you like (or don't bring anyone), and you can just come in through the front door.

[repressings]

[ This is interesting. This is more than interesting--this feels real. It matches up with what Kira's told him about the future, so much so that he's a bit dizzy with excitement. He re-reads the text once, twice, three times, eyes scanning over the most important part 'people should grow whatever they like in their own gardens' and response after a few moments of silence. ]

Mr. Arthur,

I can't thank you enough for answering my questions with such careful thought and consideration. You have been more help than you know! Once properly settled, I would love to visit. After the library, of course, I feel like I have to catch up on a lot more before venturing into the metaphorical abyss.

What of payment?

With fondness,
-C. Barebone

[tangleofgarlands]

[The message is less formal and, if Arthur isn't mistaken, a little brighter, and the thought that he might have helped in that regard makes his stomach tighten with a tentative pride.]

I'll meet you at the library,
if you like. I can't catch you up completely, but I can't certainly help, and I seem to be missing about forty years myself.

We can commiserate over how bloody weird that is.