[Canterlot] On the subject of a Diary [Open, ask for invite]

[Halide]

Books. For Quillhorn, it was always about books. Not any books, but many books; not every book, but what felt like a fairly staggering majority of those available to him.

It was fairly calm outside, a light distribution of cloud cover and another fresh dusting of snow added to the 'feel' of the season. The day had started rather quietly – it was still mid-winter, and for all the life and energy Canterlot had generated during the holiday season, the chilly season was now keeping the city quieter and a bit more lethargic, with far fewer ponies spending their time outdoors than the rest of the year. He, for one, was a bit happier for the quiet serenity the weather afforded him, and so he took the opportunity to get into his studies a bit more.

For now, Quillhorn sat alone in a somewhat secluded corner of the library, amidst the records and history, settled at a fairly large table with several wooden stands keeping books upright for him. Front and center of him was a rather old, slightly sandy tome – a diary, one that was much older than he was, and it was this that had most of his attention. Next to him, a notepad and quill, upon which he wrote from time to time, and around him, two atlas', a few rather heavy-looking Canterlot census copies from many decades prior, and the records from several docks around Germaney.

He was, for the moment, investigating something. Such would likely be rather readily apparent. What he was investigating, however, had yet to be disclosed. For all of his reading from one book or the next, for all that the quill beside him would touch upon paper for but a few moments, for all that he was surrounded by information, he made no verbal mention of what he was doing. There was no muttering, no announcements of discovery, nor any dictations of what he read. His eyes were firmly affixed on one book or the next, brow slightly furrowed from time to time, his expression oscillating between scrutiny, sharp focus, curiosity and consternation as time progressed.

He did, of course, have reasons for this particular collection of books, and though for the moment he was engrossed in his current study, he was nevertheless in a library, and thus if anypony else were to show up, he and his work would be be quite open to scrutiny.

[Inkwell]

As a matter of fact, there was another bibliophile in the library, though she didn't feel the need to gather nearly so many books around her at the moment. Rose Madder just wanted to browse the fiction section and look for any gems that had escaped her notice, both actual gems and ironically-named gems, novels that were so incompetently put together that they served as a guide for what to avoid.

She found a few books, mostly ones she expected to be in the former category, and carried them on her back to a table. An afternoon of quiet reading was ahead of her. But as she read the first chapter of a page-turning adventure romp, her eyes kept getting drawn to the stallion who'd practically buried himself in books. So when she finished the chapter, she shrugged and marked her place with a bookmark, then got up and peeked at all the open books. The thought didn't occur to her to talk to him about what he was reading. It was a library, after all.