[Libraries do hold a rather singular activity of studying, it's true. Though history nor magical practice and theory don't really change from day to day, there's still a lot to sift through, and sometimes there's pseudo-lessons with the younger mages, as it is right now.
That is what she's doing when she hears the strangely close sound of a horse. It distracts the children; it distracts her. A few crowd the windows. There's a few scattered giggles and looks and fluster. She's curious, certainly, but it isn't until her name and the familiar voice that's calling it when she bolts for the window - or would have, if she wasn't being passed from person to person in the massing crowd who have decided this is much more interesting than whatever they were doing seconds before.
Of course, some people are giving looks due to the disruption of their library time, but no matter. They'll get over it. What matters is, Sabriel makes it to the window and the front of the crowd, peering through the glass, momentarily wrestling with a latch, and, well. Most of her higher functions take a mental holiday. Scipio Marvallo, riding, horse and all, out of one of her daydreams, there below the library window, calling her name. Sabriel was far from Andrastian, but that sight that could send her happily to the Maker's side right now if she weren't so beautifully speechless and contended to just stay in this moment forever - herself a portrait of sophistication despite her mouth being slightly open in surprise, and that she is far from dressed for such an occasion. Whatever this occasion might be. Allow her a moment to try to remember.
The Audience are looking at her expectantly. If she is Sabriel (which she seems to be), there should be A Response. Hushed whispering passes from neighbour to neighbour as she leans against the window frame, a smile creeping onto her face.]
it's as beautiful as i imagined
That is what she's doing when she hears the strangely close sound of a horse. It distracts the children; it distracts her. A few crowd the windows. There's a few scattered giggles and looks and fluster. She's curious, certainly, but it isn't until her name and the familiar voice that's calling it when she bolts for the window - or would have, if she wasn't being passed from person to person in the massing crowd who have decided this is much more interesting than whatever they were doing seconds before.
Of course, some people are giving looks due to the disruption of their library time, but no matter. They'll get over it. What matters is, Sabriel makes it to the window and the front of the crowd, peering through the glass, momentarily wrestling with a latch, and, well. Most of her higher functions take a mental holiday. Scipio Marvallo, riding, horse and all, out of one of her daydreams, there below the library window, calling her name. Sabriel was far from Andrastian, but that sight that could send her happily to the Maker's side right now if she weren't so beautifully speechless and contended to just stay in this moment forever - herself a portrait of sophistication despite her mouth being slightly open in surprise, and that she is far from dressed for such an occasion. Whatever this occasion might be. Allow her a moment to try to remember.
The Audience are looking at her expectantly. If she is Sabriel (which she seems to be), there should be A Response. Hushed whispering passes from neighbour to neighbour as she leans against the window frame, a smile creeping onto her face.]
You are seeking me, good Ser?