[Father Winchester, who Evelyn can only surmise is a genial, elderly priest (with a drinking problem, she's sure, all the Irish Catholics have one), must be the most blessed of saints to be willing to organise a collection as extensive as the one she's arranged to see today. The research project on her plate requires religious manuscripts and, with such an expansive archive as this at her disposal, it shouldn't take more than several months to gather the pertinent information.
Smoothing the front of her dress - even out of respect for whatever the Church considers abominable womenswear, she wasn't about to change what she'd normally don - Evelyn click-clacks down one of the side halls, directed by a hand-drawn map and determination that she won't have to ask anyone which of the many doors she ought to take. The cathedral itself is a labyrinth in its own right, marble stretching far into the walls, every sound echoing up through gothic arches and pointed vaults.
Spiral steps down, two more narrow corridors, cool temperatures and the slightly-musty smell of old parchment. Grinning to herself, knowing she must be close, Evelyn rounds another corner and moves beneath a stone lintel with vague trepidation.]
...hello?
[Tucking the little sheet of paper away, she moves into a half-lit room crammed with wall-to-wall shelves and stacks of books, a single reading table in the center.]
no subject
Smoothing the front of her dress - even out of respect for whatever the Church considers abominable womenswear, she wasn't about to change what she'd normally don - Evelyn click-clacks down one of the side halls, directed by a hand-drawn map and determination that she won't have to ask anyone which of the many doors she ought to take. The cathedral itself is a labyrinth in its own right, marble stretching far into the walls, every sound echoing up through gothic arches and pointed vaults.
Spiral steps down, two more narrow corridors, cool temperatures and the slightly-musty smell of old parchment. Grinning to herself, knowing she must be close, Evelyn rounds another corner and moves beneath a stone lintel with vague trepidation.]
...hello?
[Tucking the little sheet of paper away, she moves into a half-lit room crammed with wall-to-wall shelves and stacks of books, a single reading table in the center.]
Father Winchester...?