Large words in small talks

"I'll never find it at this rate", Elio growled and dropped another heavy tome onto the pile to his left.

A sigh escaped the agitated Starlyng as he pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to rub the headache away that was starting to brew inside his skull. He loved his work, genuinely, even if he wore a sullen expression throughout most of it. He let his head fall into his claws and looked out the window, where heavy rain was drumming against the glass. Heavy downpour, the light of a few dimmed lanterns, the smell of rows upon rows of old books that enveloped him and beckoned him to seek out the knowledge they held … it should've been the perfect night for a bit of scholarly research if Elio only managed to find that damned book.

"Have you found what you are looking for?"

He perked up at the sound of a familiar voice. A pale-colored, large Starlyng peered into the slim space between the bookshelves, his eyes landing on the disgruntled man sitting huddled over a desk littered with books. It was Bartholomew, the owner of the library. Elio met his gaze with a frown.

"Frankly, I wouldn't still be sitting here if I had."

Bartholomew huffed.

"What is it you're seeking, exactly?"

Elio grumbled and waved his claw at them dismissively.

"An autobiography for the lecture I am supposed to hold next week. I wanted to use a couple passages from it to offer a different perspective on the subject from the eyes of a member of the Preservation. I know I read it ages ago but I can't remember the title for the life of me."

"You never told me you were a teacher."

Elio gave them a pejorative laugh before he got up and turned his attention to the shelf behind him. His claw danced over a couple worn spines before it landed on a tome with golden lettering and pulled it out of the shelf. Adjusting his glasses, he flew over the summary on the back before returning it to its slot on the shelf. 

"I am a professor, not a teacher. I hold lectures at the local university about history, philosophy and classic literature."

The hint of a smile crossed the librarian's face before he took a seat at the opposite side of Elio's desk and put down the lamp he had been carrying in his mouth. The gentle light flickered across auburn covers and yellowed paper, the soft sizzle of the fire barely a sound against the heavy rain.

"Pardon the question but I don't see a difference between the two. Even as a professor, you are still a teacher."

"Oh there are worlds between them", Elio snapped back as if Bartholomew had just personally offended him.

"As a teacher you educate students of lower grades, the ones who are forced into studying without seeing it's value or purpose. These kids genuinely believe knowledge isn't worth obtaining if it's all readily accessible through the hivemind."

The professor's tail had begun to whip, shedding orange leaves and beige hairs that lost themselves in the cracks between the warped floorboards. Turning around to face Bartholomew, he continued his rant with a book in his claw that he waved around to shape animated gestures.

"The students visiting my lectures however, they know why they are attending. Pursuing knowledge, developing your own perspectives and learning how to think for yourself are crucial things to one's development as an individual. If you pick up a book and read it you are going to experience it in a way no one else can because knowledge isn't just facts, it is your views and feelings on a matter, your taste in writing, your idea of morality. It is another puzzle piece to slot into your concept of how the world functions. But lower grade students don't care about such things and neither do their teachers."

Bartholomew gave him a thoughtful nod but Elio didn't seem to catch it, as he had turned to face the shelf again. His claws were swift to leaf through another book, then a second one, before he settled on a few he'd carry back to his desk. Gently, he paced the books onto a pile on his right before returning to his seat across from Bartholomew.

"I assume what you are talking about are books on history and philosophy. But what about natural science, a subject fundamentally rooted in facts? You have to agree that it doesn't leave much room for personal interpretation."

The older Starlyng's words caused Elio's eyes to gleam. They were like a hunter's eyes, mocking the foolish animal that had fallen for his trap. He leaned further over the table.

"If everyone were to think that, the scientific community would run dry of new discoveries. If all of us accepted the sky being blue as a simple fact, then nobody would bother to do research on the reason why. The thirst for knowledge is something every one of us needs to foster, turning to the hivemind for quick and simple answers is poison to every scientist's mind."

There was a moment of silence between the two men. Elio had leaned over the table so far that Bartholomew could see the light of the lamp dance across the surface of his glasses. He could see the spark in Elio's eyes and smell the comforting, musty scent of autumn that his leaves and branches carried everywhere he went.

"But enough of this …", Elio muttered and let himself fall back on his heels. His eyes wandered elsewhere.

"I am not here to do small talk. If you are not intending on helping me then leave."

"How To Walk Through Shallow Water: A brief look at the history of Arcadia by Oristoan"

"What?"

"The book you are looking for, it's on the top right", Bartholomew said and pointed at the shelf behind Elio. For a moment, the other Starlyng gave them a look as if the librarian had just insulted his entire bloodline before his eyes darted to the shelf and he jumped up to retrieve the book. He leafed through the pages with a deep frown on his face before turning back to Bartholomew, who only gave him a knowing smile.

"The why wrap me up in conversation?! I could have been done with this hours ago if-"

Elio interrupted himself. His anger evaporated in a snap and he was left standing in the dimly lit library, his head crowded with the sound of pouring rain. He contemplated Bartholomew for a few more seconds before gently placing the book onto the table and picking up the others he had pulled out of the shelves.

"Will you … help me put them back?"

"Of course."