Chapter Thirty-Nine: Beginning of a Library
by inkadminTHIRTY-NINE
His name was Deacon and he was from the deep south. He was some blend of ethnic groups that Roan couldn’t place. His skin tone was deeply bronzed with sun-bleached blonde curly hair. There were faint scars on his wrists and forearms, thin and faded from time. Billie and a few others clustered around him while most of the others faded away into the background. They weren’t ignoring Roan, but rather were poorly eavesdropping.
“Alright, pitch your idea,” Deacon said. Without the large group around him he seemed calmer, but there was an intensity to his eyes that made Roan suspect that he was merely a good actor.
Billie and another woman, who had introduced herself as Vanessa, sat side by side. Vanessa was their age, in her early twenties, just like most everyone who entered the tower. Youth and folly was often accredited with entering the Thirteenth Tower. She was of African descent, dark eyes and short curly hair. Most people had cut away their excess hair the first time a skeletal hand had grasped them.
“Your goal is to buy manuscripts and share them. Pooling money together similar to how the association does.”
“They didn’t want us. Not really. We weren’t special enough for them. They wanted twenty-five percent of our earnings. Nobody would agree to it,” Deacon said.
“Greedy bastards. I wonder if Taoya knew that or if I got a discount because I fought with him?” Roan kept his face blank and nodded slowly to them, trying to keep them going.
“We started working together when the anomaly quest started. We could fight them one-on-one, but in groups they were too strong. We don’t have the abilities the others do but we figured it out. But we couldn’t kill them as fast as the others could. They kept us relegated to the side, kept the majority of the kills to themselves.” Deacon’s words were full of heat and anger as he looked at the others who nodded in agreement with him.
“So you decided to pool your money together to buy manuscripts. Went cheap on the healing items, focused on skills, right?” Roan cut to the chase.
“Yeah, that’s about it. None of the compulsory shit. We share because we know we’re not special or talented or whatever the fuck they call themselves. Think of it as a library of sorts. We all contribute what we want when we want and share what we want. We can organize groups here, but no coercion,” Deacon said.
“That sounds good, but I doubt that it’ll work.”
“I like the library idea,” Roan said that truthfully. He did like the idea of a library. He liked it very much.
“So you have one manuscript. You can join of course, we’re not exactly limiting guests,” Billie cut in before Deacon could say anything.
“What manuscripts do you have?” Roan asked, hoping that they’d have the body tempering manual and he’d be able to save his last few hundred credits. There was a collective grimace as they all looked toward each other with a hint of shame.
“None at the moment. We were talking about which ones we should buy. We’re a bit thin on funds,” Vanessa admitted. She leaned back and looked over the groups of people talking.
“Food, water, and bandages have consumed most of our money. Nobody is going to sell the weapons we’ve collected so far,” Vanessa said.
“So this library is just my manuscript?” Roan asked.
“Yeah. Problem?” Deacon challenged.
“He’s really got a chip on his shoulder. Can’t tell if he wants or needs to be the big man. Insecurity about not having a talent. Could cause him to try to go beyond his limits and get himself killed.”
“No. But if I’m going to join, I have a suggestion of a manuscript to buy. I’ll even pay for half of it,” Roan offered.
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“Which one?” Deacon asked, suspiciously.
“Body Tempering. I think that’s what’s going to give us our best chance at catching up with them,” Roan said with a straight face. It wasn’t even a lie.
“It’s one of the special level one skills, right?” Deacon asked, looking at Vanessa who nodded.
“Eight hundred credits for a manual. You’ll put up four hundred of them?” Deacon asked, leaning forward suddenly intent.




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