Chapter Text
The soft chatter within the college library gave the room some life, that’s for sure. Reminiscent of his own days as a student, studying away in hopes of a bright future. He thought that maybe, just maybe, his brilliance would lead him somewhere. But it appeared that the path he chose was some intangible fractal, a never-ending search for vanity.
And he gained being considered the butt of every joke, but that’s beside the point.
Dr. Petrikov, dressed formally for the forthcoming presentation, walked down the labyrinth of aisles possessing books, in search of a certain subject. His eyes briskly scanned through the spines, hoping that something would catch his interest.
He had no other way to spend his time. Some may consider it pitiful, others would courteously put it as “nerd.” Although, he supposed that not many people use that term for a grown man in his twenties.
Nevertheless, anxiety churned through his gut, in a fruitless belief that this presentation would end any different than his previous lectures. Statistically speaking, it won’t. But his mind cannot help but yearn for someone to take his word seriously. He has gotten rhetorical questions from audience members, ones whose only goal is to heckle his points. He tried not to let that get to his head.
The money made up for the mockery.
Many would say it’s obvious that it did drag him down, but many don’t. The sole reason is that he doesn’t have enough people to care for him in general, maybe not even himself.
But he had done this whole charade a million times before. He would introduce himself, his points of discussion, his evidence, his analysis, and then his conclusion. A play rehearsed till it had no soul.
In the end, he knew, he wouldn’t truly make a difference in the perspective of the audience. A cycle that repeats, but his heart said otherwise. It wanted to believe that it could end at this presentation. He held onto the notion dearly.
He snapped back to the book he paused in front of, his finger hovering in the air as he read over the title engraved onto its spine. Letters to a Young Poet. Not quite the subject he was in search of, but interesting nonetheless.
Dr. Petrikov pulled out the text, brushing his hand over the cover. It was in mediocre condition. The man had seen books in tatters and that hadn’t even been the worst of his encounters. He flipped the cover open, its shell falling limp, hanging onto the backbone.
He skimmed through the summary, intrigued but not astonished by its content.
He decided that, perhaps, a synopsis should not be the main reason he did not give this book the light of day. His thumb divided the novel into two unequal proportions and he broke the book in two. His eyes jumped to a passage in hunger for more context.
“Do not now strive to uncover answers: they cannot be given to you because you have not been able to live them,” it read. “And what matters is to live everything. Live the questions for now. Perhaps then you will gradually, without noticing it, live your way into the answer, one distant day in the future.”
He shut the book. Philosophical, he must compliment, but not what he was looking for.
He neatly inserted the novel back where he first found it. It slid in with ease and a satisfying “thwip” accompanied the action. He kept his gaze on all of his choices, lips pressed in a fine line as he was deep in thought.
Dr. Petrikov leisurely walked down the aisle, eyes trained on the repetitious sight. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have even been here this early, but the university that invited him seemed to have last-minute plans regarding the hall he would’ve been teaching and switched the time far too late.
Annoying, he couldn’t help but think, but it was kind of them to at least give him a notice.
And now he found himself boredly strolling from one shelf to another. As he reached the end of his current aisle he immediately spun into the next, wasting his time away. His mind continued to wander, planning for what to do if no one were to ask questions.
It would be in poor taste to conduct the presentation and promptly dip. What if a member of the audience had a genuine question? He anticipated that this probably wasn’t the case, but he believed that his self-esteem could take one more bruise; it was his job.
Dr. Petrikov huffed, letting the bitterness from his previous lectures fester within him before it eventually simmered down.
He stopped and squinted his eyes to read the text of another book nestled between countless of others. He read: The Shape of Time: Remarks on the History of Things.
He reached out to grab it, but his hand collided with another.
In a panic, the man swiftly withdrew his hand and looked at the person he just humiliated himself in front of. His eyes met a woman of similar age to him, who shared a kindred look to what his face might have been reflecting.
She was quite pastel, a pinkish tint distributed throughout her skin, though he couldn’t tell if that was her actual skin tone or a flush due to her flustered state. Her auburn hair complimented the pink sweatshirt she was wearing while her browline glasses perfectly framed her eyes. Her face still held a polite look, but it was obvious her eyes seemed to be picking him apart, recollecting something Dr. Petrikov had no knowledge of.
He meant to apologize for his previous completely oblivious state. Maybe pull an excuse out of his ass as a way to get this whole embarrassing ordeal over and done with.
Instead, he fumbled with his words. “Oh- I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s okay,” she said, cautiously. “It was my fault, guess my mind was just drifting off, as per usual.” She awkwardly laughed.
Dr. Petrikov stayed silent, feeling quite ashamed that he wasn’t the first to take the blame. He glanced over to the book they both seemed to take a liking to, desperately wishing that he had never read its spine.
He then finally decided to gather his disoriented thoughts and looked back over to the girl. “Apologies,” he found himself saying. “It was just as much as my fault, I was just… distracted,” he said and looked down to the ground, his hands now shoved into his pant pockets.
The woman tilted her head, she herself was staring at the book. Then she began, “If you want-”
“Oh, no, no, no,” he cut her off. “Please, the book is all yours.” He warmly smiled. “I was just, well, browsing. You appeared to have a genuine interest, I wouldn’t want to ruin that.” He nodded.
The girl, stunned by him cutting her off, didn’t reply.
He opted to make the first move, purposefully plucking the book off the shelf. He took a glimpse of the front cover, unsure of how to feel. A small selfish part of him wanted to read the book, but he guessed he could do that whenever. Again, that part of him was small and did not coerce his instincts of kindness off track.
He presented her the book, expectant of something to happen. But in lieu of his expectations, they just painfully stood stiffly in place. The professor attempted to maintain an illusion of courtesy, his lips tilted up in an awkward manner. As time went on, he became hesitant about whether or not the girl even understood what he was silently hinting at.
“You can-” he started and then stopped as the girl gratefully took the book.
She studied the book, perhaps believing that he might have poisoned it with his touch. Though, the scrutinizing did not seem to be out of any sort of suspicion. Rather it was an absorbed examination, deeply encapsulated by the front and back of the novel.
She looked back up at Dr. Petrikov, an indication that the book passed her overview. She then tucked the book back under her arm, an inkling of a smile engraved within her features.
“How about this,” she began. “I’ll read it for the time being, and then you can check it out next. How’s that sound?” she asked.
The professor chuckled. “I was already planning on doing so.”
She rewarded his plan with a grin. Dr. Petrikov mimicked the gesture.
He checked his watch, unsure of what the clock’s face would display. His eyes widened as he realized he spent far too much time perusing his way through this library. He still needed time to set up his lecture and the slideshow he created. He doubted the pictures of uncharted artifacts would even make a partial difference to his audience, but it never hurt to have them. He put a lot of work into those bad boys.
“Oh, shoot,” he muttered to himself as he glanced back up at the girl. “Sorry, I should leave. I only meant to drop by, not take a tour of this place.”
The woman seemed to have been taken by surprise, eyebrows raised. “Oh? Could you tell me the time? I don’t think I have my phone on me,” she said, sounding somewhat distracted as she checked her pockets.
“Uhm, yeah,” he responded, feeling a sense of urgency to leave as soon as possible. “It’s about ten o’clock.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, looking far more in a hurry than Dr. Petrikov had ever felt in his life. “I had plans with Babette! Thanks again for the book!” she said before hastily walking off.
Shell-shocked, Dr. Petrikov watched and then glanced back over to the empty space left by the book that the girl took. He then sighed, he had no idea why he agreed to that lecture. Especially now that he knew he could have been reading his day away.
It didn’t take long into his presentation before he could feel the change in atmosphere. Prior to this, the listeners probably regarded him as intuitive, but it is clear he was losing them as time went on. A shame.
Rather than paying attention to the entertained crowd, Dr. Petrikov concentrated on his research. Whether they considered his work “impractical” didn’t really affect his outlook toward his end goal.
He knew one or two things about tuning out critics.
The man stood behind a podium, his papers regarding his findings scattered across its top. He all by now gave up on keeping them in order. He has had better results with improvising, anyhow. Sticking to the script did seem to put less emphasis on the dedication he had for this subject, his emotions lost to the words on paper.
He raised his head from the mess on the podium to the audience. Their faces blurred from one person to the next; none stood out in his mind. None wanted to be there, he concluded as he took in his quick survey before continuing on his train of thought.
“And although I wasn’t able to locate the actual Armor of Zeldron, the Wand of Disbursement, or the freaky Porcelain Lamb, I believe they are still out there, waiting to be found.”
He paused, switching the slide to the next, displaying a promotion for the latest book he had written.
“Thank you,” he finished, resting his arms on the podium as he gave his full attention to the crowd.
Surprisingly, from the crowd he heard one person enthusiastically clapping their hands away. Whether it was out of pure ridicule or if the action was indeed a genuine one, it still boosted the man’s morale. His orthodox smile lifted a little bit into a more authentic one.
A voice came from beside him. “Dr. Petrikov,” the official professor who was the one to reach out to him for this lecture in the first place, started. “You can’t actually believe that these objects exist,” he skeptically said.
A statement he had heard a million times before. It made him out to be the outlandish one, but this is much different from conspiracies and other fictional theories made up for the refined purpose of bringing other’s studies down. His research, while admittedly not having much of a basis, offered more to the table. Something actually noteworthy.
Dr. Petrikov cut him an earnest look. “I do,” he said, resolute in his belief. “We just need sufficient imagination to seek them.”
It was somewhat of a critique of the underlying, established biases many universities have when regarding who to aid and who to condemn. However, he tried not to poison his optimism with thoughts like those. He knew sometimes research is just one man’s burden.
A member of the audience determined it was their time to speak some of their mind and interrupted Dr. Petrikov’s session.
“What’re you gonna look for next? Magic beans?”
The insulting question caused an uproar of laughter throughout the audience, making the scholar wince. It appeared that his previous verdict within the library was indeed the correct one. He frowned as the laughter continued on before slowly dying out.
Even the university’s professor chuckled at the one man’s question, immensely disappointing Dr. Petrikov.
He adjusted his rounded glasses on the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat, attempting to dismiss the crowd’s disrespect.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said, frustration leaking into his tone. He gathered himself once more, looking back on his past experiences and his future plans. “Much like the Jack of legend, I am attempting an arduous journey into the unknown. An expedition to find…”
He paused for dramatic effect, looking back onto the picture the projector unveiled. A lone book, its cover garnished with bulged metals, trimming its edges and encircling an image of a sword, a skull, and a cluster of grapes. And atop the circular frame, its title reads Enchiridion. The many symbols contained within just the cover alone are magnificent, and the prospect of him getting his hands on that book brightened his spirit.
“The Enchiridion,” he finished, raising a finger into the air.
Sure, the action might’ve been dorky, but to hell with it. He’s already this far in his presentation, might as well burrow himself deeper into this ditch he had made for himself.
“Here it is!” someone shouted and a notebook followed their voice. It smacked his face straight on, making a bap sound as it connected with his face.
When the notebook hit the floor, Dr. Petrikov was scowling, more than displeased by the results of his enthusiasm. The class professor seemed to be trying to hide his own smirk with a hand covering his mouth.
That was an undeniable first and it succeeded in souring his mood further.
“Alright, uh, thank you, Dr. Petrikov for your unique vision,” the university professor said, not sounding very sincere. “We’ll be sure to look into our next guest speaker,” he murmured to himself, though saying it loud enough for the audience to hear. The jab earned a few chuckles from the crowd.
Dr. Petrikov’s lips became slightly downturned as he tried his best not to react much to the man’s remark. He just prayed that no one decided to record this specific speech. What’s even sadder about this whole situation was that this might’ve been his greatest turnout yet.
He stood in silence as the people began to file out of the hall, caught up by many mixed emotions. He didn’t exactly have much to say either, so he began to pack up his belongings, ready to get this day over with. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. He let the lecture settle in his mind, and a sense of apathy towards people started its course.
But that’s a cynical way to think, it’s not their fault his studies sound… too good to be true. And maybe, he considered, maybe they’re right. Maybe these artifacts, the ones waiting to be found wherever they reside, maybe he isn’t the one meant to discover such mystery. Such sanctity.
Could he accept that thought?
“Excuse me, Dr. Petrikov?” a familiar voice asked, snapping the man out of his distant reflection.
He shut his briefcase, and perhaps he shut something beyond just the case. A debate waiting to be resolved later. Most likely at night when all your deepest introspections surface in your head.
He looked up from the case and noticed that one person had not left the hall just yet. Obviously, the person who called out to him, of course.
“Oh-” he said, startled that he actually recognized the audience member. “Uh, library girl,” he began, unsure of how else to refer to her. He was surprised that the woman he met in the library had planned on coming to his presentation of all things.
“Oh,” the girl responded, sounding equally shocked. “You, uh, you remembered,” she noted, a nervous laugh followed her statement. “It’s Betty,” she paused, glancing down at her book. “Betty Grof,” she finished.
Dr. Petrikov politely nodded as he watched her excitable mannerisms. He was somewhat amused that she seemed to be so anxious around him, considering one of her most recent impressions of him was him getting smacked in the face with a notebook.
The girl, Betty, he corrected, looked down at the book she was holding, seeming to contemplate her next course of action.
“Um, I was wondering if you could sign my book?” she respectfully asked.
The man followed her gaze, and to his astonishment, the novel she held of one of his very own. He didn’t even realize that in the first place, how removed of him.
His eyes widened, much more absorbed in the conversation now. “You’ve read my work?” he asked, an incredulous look carved into his features.
Betty appeared to perk up at his question, an ingenuous smile forming as she began to open the book.
“Oh, yes. I was fascinated by the runes on this vase you found.” As she said that, she flipped through the contents of his novel and then held up the page that displayed the artifact she was referencing.
He already knew what she was citing, it was one of the pieces of pottery that stumped him the most. Well, all of them did, but it was exceptionally frustrating when he recognized that this could be somehow related to the Enchiridion.
Betty continued on, not waiting to let Dr. Petrikov provide some of his own input. “Perhaps the designs could actually be pictographs. A clue on how to find the Southeast Cove,” she excitedly informed. He could tell that she’d wanted to share this information for a while.
The professor’s brows raised in thought as he put his hand to his chin. That was indeed something he never minded, he never was one to evaluate artistic qualities. He felt the interpretations could be too subjective, but this girl seemed to know what she was talking about.
Dr. Petrikov stepped off the slightly elevated stage, walking to get a better look at what he might have missed in his former evaluation. He took hold of the book as he let out a short hum, impressed. She steadily held it in place, observing his reaction.
“Y’know, I never thought of that,” he eventually said. He then gently pulled the book closer to his line of sight and Betty allowed him to do so.
His eyes briefly swept over the passage, rearranging his previous conclusions as he stood there. New speculations came to light and his mouth hung slightly agape as the shock began to set in. It was about time for a new lead to show its face around here. He then lifted his head up, locking eyes with Betty.
“I wish I had run into you sooner.” He let out a brief laugh. “Maybe you should come on this next expedition with me.”
He really had wished because then he wouldn’t have wasted all of his time studying that one red herring. Y’know, when someone titles an archival portrait, A Hero’s Guide and Its Consequences, it’s hard to look past its connection to the Enchiridion. He spent months attempting to track down where it had originated, only to eventually figure out a Victorian toddler painted it instead of some millennium-years-old writer. His reputation was in shambles when that discovery came to light and he has been slowly trying to rebuild it ever since.
Betty’s smile slowly faded, appearing to actually consider the offer. She glanced away, holding her hands away from her body as if she was trying to stop herself from agreeing.
“I was going to leave next week on a six-month trip to study petroglyphs in Australia,” she revealed, sounding conflicted.
Dr. Petrikov’s eyes widened. He hadn’t actually wanted Betty to throw away her future like him, throwing away her name in the process. While it would be nice to have a partner in his research, he has already managed this far alone in his studies. Anyways, her research in archeology would probably be far more beneficial in contributing to the field considering--from what he could tell--her good judgment.
She opened her mouth but Dr. Petrikov hastily tried to put her inner discourse to rest.
“You shouldn’t give up such an experience like that!” he backtracked. “While I am grateful for your willingness, this is a much safer and financially stable course to take. Also, it sounds much more pleasurable,” he said, presenting Betty with his book for her to reclaim.
Her brows drew together in thought. She distantly reached and took back the book.
Not forgetting her initial question, he pulled out a pen from one of his pockets. He then flipped the cover back and neatly signed his name on the flyleaf. Satisfied with his signature, he closed the book.
“Right.” He stepped back from Betty, giving themselves some space apart. “Thank you, honestly your word really enlightened me. I’ll always keep it in the back of my mind,” he complimented.
Betty’s face flushed a little red at the compliment but swiftly died down as she came back down to reality.
“Of course, it was a joy to talk to you. Even if it was this brief interaction,” she said, a sadness soaking her words.
“Well.” The man cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s time to get going,” he awkwardly said, trailing off.
“Oh, yes!” Betty agreed. “I didn’t mean to take so much of your time,” she apologized.
Dr. Petrikov shook his head, “Nonsense,” a smile tugged at the man’s lips. It was casual and short, but he supposed it got his point across. He didn’t have much time to say more anyway, Betty was already climbing up the stairs when Dr. Petrikov glanced up from his briefcase.
He watched her go, a layer of wishful thinking had begun to cloud his own judgment. He supposed that the sheer exhilaration of meeting someone who looked up to his work really did a number on his common sense. As he walked through the door frame, all of the “what ifs” ran its course through his head.
For a day or two, there was an embarrassing amount of mental energy in deploring his previous statements. He wondered what she was going to say before he cut her off, but the questions faded. And in a week’s time, he vaguely thought about her. He pondered if that girl from his lecture made it to Australia safely.
But that encounter sunk to the back of his head, forevermore lost to memory.
And that was that. He failed to live his answer.