Mage For Hire

He's a Library Hater

(See picture above <3)

Ikaajik took a step back to admire his handiwork. On the old table in front of him lay an equally old piece of paper, with his not-so-fancy handwriting scrawled awkwardly across it. To the left of his hand was an opened Norwegian to Icelandic dictionary, which he certainly /had not/ been using. Nope. Definitely not.

"Ah, well. Looks alright, I suppose. Can't say much about the grammar..." he muttered, casually sliding the book away from his workplace as people passed by, their eyes completely set on the racks of dusty old books in which Ikaajik didn't care much for. In fact, he wanted to leave this crotchety old place as soon as possible.

"Right," he flexed his hands around and reached for his pen again, then quietly ripped a page out of a book on his lap.  The cover read something like, 'Icelandic Trolls and Where to Find Them", which Ikaajik considered disgustingly boring and irrelevant to everyone ever. He placed this paper right next to the other, copying every stroke from it onto the new copy. In just a minute or so, he had finished it. Just like the last time, he tore another piece from the book and continued to make more copies

~~~~

On the ground in a heap lay sweet little Ritva, although she wasn't so sweet, and she certainly was not little. She bled from her knuckles, which swirled in the rain and streamed down the stone road. With a muffled gasp, she hauled her upper half up and out of the dirty puddle in which she had fell, spitting out a dark liquid mixed with the crimson colour of blood. The rain dripped onto her  bare whoulders as Ritva sat there in the fog, her head lovered to investigate her bruised and bleeding arms. There was a peculiar gash on her wrist, where it semmed as it something had been caught under her skin and dragged through it. She held her arm out, allowing the blood to drip down and stain the dark stone path, trying to ignore the burning pain as she did.

People just passed by her, hiding their kids' eyes and avoiding the water she had tainted as it mixed with the incoming rain. Ritva didn't notice much, with her head between her shoulders and smoke clogging her head. Her normally curly red hair was sticking to her ravaged scalp, and there was still blood under her long nails, staining them a deep carmine, almost like the coloured glass she had in her window back home...