Thursday looked out at the small yard from her chair on the back porch. Anyone inside could see her through the glass sliding door curled up with her feet tucked beside her. Chilly was how she would describe the weather, but that was underestimating it. It was cold. She didn't care. Thursday raised the mug to her lips and sipped her coffee. Her decision was made. She and Friday were returning to Swindon by the end of the week. The decision hadn't been easy, and she knew there were things and people here they would both miss, but they had been in hiding long enough.

While Friday slept, Thursday enjoyed the morning and the sounds of Fandom waking. This place had become home and that was never easy to let go of, but they would leave soon. There were things to do and possessions to pack and people to say goodbye to.

For now, she had her chair and her coffee and the crisp morning.


[OOC: For the early risers, if any live here.]

Thursday managed to put Friday to bed only after a song about a coyote by an Australian childrens' group stopped playing in both of their heads. Well, it had started in Friday's, then he hummed it and sang along in Lorem Ipsum and the song was contagious. Thankfully, it stopped when Friday seemed to run out of steam and now he was fast asleep and the singing was gone. Unfortunately, she was never going to be able to get the song out of her head forever.

The entrances to Friday's room were firmly closed and set up with rudimentary alarms should anyone try to get in. The purchase had been made earlier in the week in light of Pheces' threats, but after hearing on the radio that the town wasn't safe, it was serving a dual purpose.

Thursday retreated to her room and checked the page of her TravelBook she was using for messages to and from the BookWorld. She hadn't been able to return yet since they were still perfecting the filtering system. Right now, no one could get in or out but they were working on altering the system so she could pass to and from the BookWorld without being forcefully knocked back into the real world if she tried.

With Jurisfiction out of touch, a job that didn't require altogether much active work and nothing much else to keep her occupied, Thursday couldn't help but dwell on the last year - turning into a child, Logan and then Logan leaving, Nighten, older Friday, the incident at the church, almost losing Jurisfiction and the BookWorld and, most of all, Landen's absence throughout the whole year - as she sat in bed, settling down for the night.

I wandered through fiction to look for the truth buried beneath all the lies.
I stood at a distance to feel who you are hiding myself in your eyes

Thursday glared up at the song. "Don't start."

As Lee, Bridge and Mac disappeared, Thursday led the others to the level where the Council of Genres chambers were held. "I don't know who or what is behind this," she told them. "Follow my lead, but if you're in doubt of what to do, run. It's a big library. There's plenty of room to hide." She pulled out her gun and loaded an Eraserhead bullet into it. "I only have one bullet. Guaranteed to turn even the most well-described character into loose text, never to be retrieved. Let's see if we can do this without resorting to violence." She was sceptical that it could be done. "Remember, fictional characters may be fictional but that doesn't make them any less real, especially in here. Be careful, especially if you're injured. Injuries in here are either nothing more than a scratch or they're near-fatal. There is no in between."

( Sneakiness, a lover's quarrel, villains, treachery and a not so happy climax )

[OOC: I am totally spamming your flist. One more post to go, I swear! NFI, NFB, pre-played with the exalted death_of_hope, psychic_wonder and vkandis_son with a guest appearance from a guy I did a plot about a year ago.]

On the 'A' floor, the sheer amount of Jane Austen books was astounding. Pride and Prejudice was right where it was supposed to be, although there were enough that it would take a while for the trio to find the most recent edition if they didn't know where to look.

( That didn't stop them from getting started. )

[OOC: NFI, NFB due to distance. Pre-played with the marvellous bridge_carson, imac_kenzie and stupid_toasters!]

They were in a long, dark, wood-panelled corridor lined with bookshelves that reached from the richly carpeted floor to the vaulted ceiling. The carpet was elegantly patterned and the ceiling was decorated with rich mouldings that depicted scenes from the classics, each cornice supporting the marble bust of an author. High above them, spaced at regular intervals, were finely decorated circular apertures through which the light gained entry and reflected off the polished wood, reinforcing the serious mood of the library. Running down the centre of the corridor was a long row of reading tables, reach with a green-shaded brass lamp. The library appeared endless; in both directions the corridor vanished into darkness with no definable end.

On all the walls, end after end, shelf after shelf, were books. Hundreds, thousands, millions of books. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather-bound volumes, uncorrected proofs, handwritten manuscripts, everything. Anyone who stepped closer and reached out to touch the spine of any one of the books would find it was warm to touch and, anyone who put their ear to the book would hear a distant hum, the rumble of machinery, people talking, traffic, seagulls, laughter, waves on rocks, wind in the winter, branches of trees, distant thunder, heavy rain, children playing, a blacksmith's hammer and a million other sounds all happening together.

That wasn't the sound that concerned Thursday. She walked a few paces ahead of the group, head tilted as she listened carefully.

After a couple of hundred yards, they came across a junction where a second corridor crossed the first. In the middle of the crossway was a large circular void with a wrought-iron rail and a spiral staircase bolted securely to one side. Not more than thirty feet below them, if anyone was to look, was another floor, exactly like this one. But in the middle of that floor was another circular void through which they could see another floor, and another and another and so on to the depths of the library. It was the same above them, more circular wells and the spiral staircase reaching up to the dizzy heights above.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, leaning against the balcony. None of them did. That was because there was nothing to hear. "Neither do I." She pursed her lips together and her expression hardened.

( The Great Library was empty. )

[OOC: NFI, NFB due to different dimension. Description of the library blatantly stolen from Jasper Fforde. Pre-played with bridge_carson, death_of_hope, imac_kenzie, psychic_wonder and stupid_toasters and featuring vkandis_son with permission!]

Once everyone arrived and gathered around the service desk, Thursday moved to the front doors and locked them. She returned to the group which consisted of her library aides, minus Adah Price for a number of reasons. "Thank you all for coming. I know we don't regularly have library meetings, but this is a special case. I don't know if any of you are aware, but I'm currently the leader of an organisation called Jurisfiction. They police the on-goings within fiction itself. You may be doubtful, but at least where I come from and here in Fandom, the world inside books is very real. The problem is that I've lost contact with the rest of the BookWorld and, despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to find a way back in. You may have noticed the changes occurring in books that you know very well these past few days. Characters are disappearing, plots are changing, that sort of thing. Things are out of sorts and that generally means that something is very wrong. Unfortunately, I've run out of ideas for getting back in and I need your help. All of the regular methods of getting into the BookWorld have failed. We need fresh ideas and, if you're willing, I could use your help if we can get inside as well."

She looked at each of them, not used to having to ask for help.

( Brainstorming. Novel concept. )

[OOC: Not for interaction, but public for broadcast. Pre-played with bridge_carson, death_of_hope, imac_kenzie, psychic_wonder, vkandis_son and featuring stupid_toasters with permission!]

After yesterday's failure, Thursday was back where she started. She knew that things were going wrong in the BookWorld but so far was unable to get in there to help out. She'd tried everything conceivable and even then some things that were inconceivable (and yes, she knew what that word meant). All she could do was sit in Friday's room and frown, deep in thought, hoping that the answer would come to her.

Friday, on the other hand, had had enough. He huffed and put his blocks down, then rested his head on his hands. "You're doing it wrong, Mum," he said in clear English. He'd only spoken English to Thursday once before and that was to stop her from starting a car that had a bomb underneath it that would have killed them both.

Thursday blinked. "Friday!" she exclaimed. "You can talk! Wait." She stopped herself. "I knew that. What do you mean I'm doing it wrong? Trying to get into the BookWorld?" She wasn't above taking advice from her 4-year-old son considering he'd been born and raised within the pages of a fictional book.

"You can't get in. You've tried everything. Ask them for help."

"Ask who?"

Sometimes Friday felt like dealing with adults was the most frustrating thing in the world. "The kids who know lots about books."

She paused in thought for a moment. "The library aides."

Friday threw his hands up in a 'hallelujah!' mime and went back to his blocks.

"You're not going to speak English again until you're ready, are you?" she asked, pushing herself to her feet. Friday shook his head, smiled and went back to building while Thursday went to make some calls.

There would probably come a time in Thursday Next's life when she didn't care if she never stepped foot in The Great Library of the BookWorld again. That time wasn't now. A few weeks ago, she had lost contact with her Jurisfiction associates inside fiction. Shortly after, Thursday realised that she had also lost the ability to read herself into fiction using her TravelBook, severing her connection to the world between the pages. She thought nothing much of it at first. She lived in Fandom, after all, and strange things happened.

As the silence continued, however, she began to grow concerned and started to explore alternative ways to gain access. She'd even gone as far as to get Uncle Mycroft to send her the Prose Portal Mark II piece by piece to assemble so she could try it without anyone getting their hands on the complete thing. None of her attempts were successful and Mycroft was most disheartened by the failure, although he was pleased that the new prose portal was a good cheese grater and somewhat reliable food processor.

Frustration and a mental block had set in a few days ago only to be dispelled by a suggestion about the causeway by the new owner of Caritas. The idea hadn't worked, but it had given her a few new ideas to try. The efforts were also unsuccessful and Special Collections was now particularly grouchy at her for setting part of it on fire. She'd apologised for the inconvenience and trouble, but thought it best to stay out of there for a few days nonetheless.

Thursday planned to go into the library again today and try a few more things, but for now she was content to sit on the floor of her son's room and spend some time with him. Friday was busy trying to build the Eiffel Tower out of Duplo blocks (even though it looked more like a supermarket after a minor earthquake) while Thursday browsed through a children's book about a hairy dog from a dairy farm who got into trouble on a regular basis. It was Friday's favourite book and one they'd read together many times.

That was why Thursday was absolutely sure that the book wasn't supposed to have a velociraptor in it. She was doubly sure that the velociraptor wasn't supposed to hunt down the protagonist dog and do some things that really weren't suited for children to read about.

Frowning, she set the book aside (out of Friday's reach because, really, he didn't need to have nightmares), stood up and went to her own room where she started browsing through her bookcase. One by one, she checked the books, even going as far as to compare editions to make sure it was widespread. The books were changing. Things were going on inside the BookWorld that weren't meant to happen. If such drastic changes were being allowed to occur, it didn't mean a PageRunner. It meant dozens of PageRunners, possibly hundreds or even more. Jurisfiction wouldn't allow that to happen and, although she didn't have the highest regard for the Council of Genres, she knew they wouldn't let this kind of anarchy go unnoticed.

That could only mean that the members of Jurisfiction, all of her fictional friends and co-workers, were in deep trouble. She knew she couldn't give up. There had to be a way in and she had to find it.

Friday watched quietly from his doorway, then shook his head and walked back to his blocks. If she didn't figure it out today, he was definitely going to have to step in.

[OOC: Establishy for I must go do that thing with the laying down and the eyes closed and the dreaming of electric sheep and Ghostbusters.]

Friday toddled off to play with his toys in the living room while Thursday went to prepare dinner. She was not in the best of moods and Friday knew when it was best to make himself scarce to let his mother brood or take her mood out on some pots and pans. Hopefully the end result would be edible. It was hit and miss when it came to her cooking.

This mood of hers had been going on for at least a week now and, even though Friday was four, he knew well enough when something was wrong. Then again, he wasn't your average four-year-old. Sometimes, he mused while smashing a red plastic block against a green one, she became frustrated when she thought of Dad. There was more to it this time though, of that he was fairly sure. It all started when that older boy Friday came to visit (Mum had thought he was sleeping, but he listened in - for her own good, of course). The conversations with Bowden and Gran after that made her even moodier and the book people (and cats) bugging her in the middle of the night to come and fix something in the BookWorld weren't helping things.

Oh well, Friday thought as he reached for another green block, she'll snap out of it. She always does. He glanced towards the kitchen. Either she'd snap out of it or they would have to move again. Friday hoped she managed to work it all out. He rather liked it here.

Thursday emerged from the kitchen and walked over to crouch next to him. "Want to help me with dinner? Something with potatoes, I think," she said and offered her hand.

[OOC: Open for the housemates or anyone who would drop by.]

Friday was home with a cold so Thursday was home as well, keeping an eye on him. He had finally fallen asleep and she was happy to take a few minutes to have lunch and write a letter.

Her break was interrupted by a knock at the door. A teenage boy with slicked back hair and a pristine blue uniform smiled at her from the other side. "Hello Mum. Mind if I come in for a bit?"

Fandom really needed to stop making her potential future children show up.

[OOC: For me and any housemates or anyone who would drop by]

After a day at the beach and ice cream, Friday was thoroughly exhausted. He had fallen asleep on top of some drawings he was doing, prompting Thursday to scoop him up and carry him up to bed.

She returned downstairs a short time later and curled up on the couch with page 73 of Persuasion. She wasn't able to reach page 74 before the phone rang.

( Hello? Oh, hi Mum. )

Yesterday's blackout hadn't been good for the food in the refrigerator or the freezer, so Thursday was up early cleaning everything out and making a list of what needed to be replaced.

Friday was colouring pictures at the dining room table and, on occasion, colouring the table.

She had to go up to the library again later today, so her mind was on the fridge, reshelving books, looking into day care groups on the mainland for Friday and whether a black market cheese ring would be profitable back home.

[OOC: For the housemates, especially the soon-to-be housemate!]

Thursday was in the dining room with a cup of coffee, a croissant and a copy of one of the local Virginia newspapers. Friday was in the next chair, determined to learn how to sit at the big table and eat cereal on his own without spilling it too much. He was only partially succeeding, but there was a change of clothes upstairs with his name on it when he was done. It was just another Saturday morning, even if the owner of the house was now several decades and a continent away.

"Having fun there?" Thursday asked, peeking over the top of the paper.

"Mauris et diam," Friday replied and shovelled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Well, mostly into his mouth.

"I thought so."

[OOC: For the housemates, including the one yet to come.]

The faculty party had been a hit, despite some of the more rambunctuous members of staff being trapped in a confined space with water for a few hours. Thursday and Logan eventually returned home and decided to bypass dinner. After thanking the babysitter and putting Friday to bed for the night, Thursday returned to the ground floor of the house and glanced around. The back glass door was open and Logan was sitting outside on the back porch. She went to the kitchen, then returned with two bottles of beer.

Thursday crossed to the back door and leaned against the edge of it, offering a bottle. "Drink?"

[OOC: For behindeyesonly and the ailing Mr UST.]

Thursday wasn't about to let a little thing like a demon fight, mental possession and losing her jacket stop her from holding her last office hours of the semester. She had grading to do, a final exam to tweak and a Jurisfiction complaint about the use of psychotic plot twists in the upcoming final Barry Plodder book to deal with.

This would have been much easier without the headache and her arm in a sling, but at least she had coffee.

The door was open for anyone who wanted to stop by.

Thursday Next's intuition was a hard thing to define. You could never tell when she was going to pick up that something amiss. You could never tell what would trigger her gut instinct that something was wrong.

As she moved a chair on the back porch back to where it was supposed to go, she looked out over the fence to the church. This in itself wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the frown the formed on her face as she saw activity over there. People usually came and went (and that wasn't even including the regular graveyard stalker). It was a church, after all, albeit with strange operating hours. But there was something - something that Thursday couldn't quite pin down - but it was something.

She returned to the house, went upstairs and came back down with her jacket and her sidearm. "Logan," she called, then found him. "Can you watch Friday for a few minutes? I'm going to check something out."

[OOC: For the hot guy with glasses and the rest of the housemates if they'd like! Thursday's disappearing for a bit, but she'll be back a little worse for wear. Post is before the church, comments will be mostly set after.]