09-09-2016, 11:12 AM
The second pair of guards watched him pass with furrowed, quizzical brows. Clearly the thermal thumbprint that the Fake White exhibited did not match their records of the real one. However, they closely scrutinized the man that passed, the one giving them little extra thought, looked at one another and shrugged the instinct away. It didn't make sense, but their eyes didn't lie. They were otherwise too afraid of White to confront him. A factor that worked in Jaxen's favor.
The lower levels beneath the Baccarat mansion were old. Jaxen could tell that much. But they'd been updated well. That explained the records of contractors and permits Jaxen had been able to source off city websites. But never did he find a blue print of a map of the place. Even that one time he'd been able to hack into their system, never did he find such practical information.
So he explored off instinct.
Luckily, some of the main areas were open to see off the main passage. They passed what appeared to be a sparring room, for instance. A place to eat. Restrooms. Practical stuff like that. But it was the library that Jaxen searched, all under the guise of inspection by the Fake White.
The library itself was a room full of floor to ceiling shelves, like a padded cell for the insane, spines of all shapes, ages, and materials lined every surface. Ancient leather-bound books filled the lower-most and tallest shelves like a foundation. Small, pocket or palm-sized spines lined the rows closer to the ceiling. Some of them looked a thousand years old. Or older.
The Fake White was careful not to let the awe touch his eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze narrowed. The Fake White had seen all this before. He didn't care about books. Or about the shiny things on display or held behind glass cases.
Jaxen cared, though. His fingers itched to caress every object. To tease the secrets from their pages out of sheer, covetous desire.
Instead, he left Oriena and went to a work station on the wall, careful to keep his gaze angled toward the door, eyes flicking up every once in a while as he worked to establish an uplink with his Wallet and begin keyword searches.
Scrimshaw
Ireland
Manx
Heroes
Gods
Treasure
Weapons
Ancient power
Naga
....
and so on.
The lower levels beneath the Baccarat mansion were old. Jaxen could tell that much. But they'd been updated well. That explained the records of contractors and permits Jaxen had been able to source off city websites. But never did he find a blue print of a map of the place. Even that one time he'd been able to hack into their system, never did he find such practical information.
So he explored off instinct.
Luckily, some of the main areas were open to see off the main passage. They passed what appeared to be a sparring room, for instance. A place to eat. Restrooms. Practical stuff like that. But it was the library that Jaxen searched, all under the guise of inspection by the Fake White.
The library itself was a room full of floor to ceiling shelves, like a padded cell for the insane, spines of all shapes, ages, and materials lined every surface. Ancient leather-bound books filled the lower-most and tallest shelves like a foundation. Small, pocket or palm-sized spines lined the rows closer to the ceiling. Some of them looked a thousand years old. Or older.
The Fake White was careful not to let the awe touch his eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze narrowed. The Fake White had seen all this before. He didn't care about books. Or about the shiny things on display or held behind glass cases.
Jaxen cared, though. His fingers itched to caress every object. To tease the secrets from their pages out of sheer, covetous desire.
Instead, he left Oriena and went to a work station on the wall, careful to keep his gaze angled toward the door, eyes flicking up every once in a while as he worked to establish an uplink with his Wallet and begin keyword searches.
Scrimshaw
Ireland
Manx
Heroes
Gods
Treasure
Weapons
Ancient power
Naga
....
and so on.