Sugar might have been reading not very far - she's been glancing at his book for a while. It's more than intriguing.
"Is something the matter, madam?"
She averts her eyes. "Forgive me, sir. I forgot myself." She swallows, then explains. "I must confess your choice of reading was rather intriguing."
"Ah, you mean this."
He sets the rather fragile-looking book down carefully.
"It appears to be an authentic, if somewhat heretical, account of the coming of the Old Ones....er, that is to say, the Royal Family."
Sugar's eyebrows shoot up. "Is it now? Well that should be fairly fascinating. What of it, then?"
She vaguely remembers meeting this gentleman, from barely a few years past her time. They never got to the terrifying portrait of her Majesty, though.
Man, that thread was a year ago. I had to go re-read. XD
"It begins with the usual tales, about R'lyeh and dim Carcosa...'Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn, and so on.' It seems to also contain the suggestion that the Royal Families were summoned by certain Eastern cults. Were Moran here, I might ask him if he heard any of this during his time in Afghanistan. In any event, I can hardly imagine Them obeying the will of any humans, even did lead to Their rise to power. The usual story told in Albion has to do with the alignment of the stars...something I would be keen on seeing scientifically investigated."
Oh, Moriarty. Why must you be so logical when your universe is brimming with insanity?
OOC: I can't believe he's been here for almost a year! And apologies to Sugar for any upcoming culture shock! Universe shock? Something...
..... whoa. "I'm afraid you lost me. What is R'lyeh?" We're sorry, Moriarty. She's from that other version of your world.
The one that doesn't need the Old Ones to be insane.
Ah well. She's stouter than she looks. And it's crazy, isn't it? She's been around over a year too. Insanity, I tell you. Insanity.
"It is an ancient city made of stone, far beneath the Pacific Ocean. Her Majesty was reputed to have slept there for several centuries before her return to my world."
"Ah." So you're not from my world, she concludes - but since she's dating (and kind of unofficially married) to a boy from the twenty-first century, she can accept that. "So I understand that Her Majesty isn't quite human." Hm.
Here's another nerdy bookworm, very absorbed in a book about oneiromancy and mediation of spirits.
He has a wide selection on his table, though, including works by Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung, and a treaty on the treatment of post-traumatic disorder and shell shock.
He could be disturbed, though. Pascal is a friendly fellow (and has met Moriarty in the past.)
Moriarty very nearly bumps into the table.
"Oh, dear! Ah, Dr. Rougon! Might I ask what all of this is...for?"
He looks up, it takes him a moment to place the mathematician. "Ah, Monsieur Moriarty. Just Pascal, please." He smiles, offers a handshake. "I suppose it would be my current project, yes?"
Moriarty sets down his own books and warmly shakes Pascal's hand.
"How fascinating...not to mention rather eclectic, if I do say so myself. Might I inquire as to the subject of this project?"
It can't be much weirder than anything Moriarty's researched.
"Oh, a little project to try and bring together my field of research and my associate's," Pascal explain. "I am considering the use of magic in the healing of the human body and mind - though I am nowhere close to any clinical attempts of any sort."
"Really? Have you discovered anything interesting so far?"
"Several concepts certainly deserve to be considered," Pascal replies, carefully. "But I can't quite claim a discovery as of yet."
"I am afraid it is much the same with my own research."
Another man is in the library, but not reading. Paul is sporting a split lip and a large bruise on one of his cheeks, and trying to read something about the budding South-African wine exploitations in the 18th century. It's not working at all.
"Dear me. Were you attacked, sir? Do you need medical attention?"
Concerned Moriarty is...concerned. Probably fairly useless, as most of the injured people he is used to dealing with are either deceased or insane...but concerned, nonetheless.
He was attacked. By Helen Rossi, mind you. While she was breaking up with him, and so she could not eat him.
Worst Night Ever Award.
"I'm fine," he replies, quietly. "But thank you." He doesn't place Moriarty, though they did meet, if the typist remembers well.
"It is nothing," he replies, obviously unconvinced as to Paul's well-being.
"I believe we have met before," he continues, "You are...a historian, correct? You were conducting some sort of research in...ah, Russia, I believe? It sounds like a most dangerous undertaking, if I do say so myself. I do regret, however, that I am at a loss as to your name..."
Ah, yes, the man with the evil literary namesake. How could he forget? "Paul," he replies, quietly.
"And it was Bulgaria."
I'd just asked her to marry me. The thought is sour in the back of his mind.
"James Moriarty," he replies, unsure if Paul remembers his name.
"Ah, yes. I remember now. Something about vampires, am I right?"
Paul tries to keep his countenance. "Yes, Mr. Moriarty. Something about vampires."
"I am terribly sorry. They are something of a nuisance in my own world."
Moriarty isn't making a joke. Vampires--or men claiming to be vampires--advertise quack medical practices throughout Europe, armed with all sorts of alleged testimonies from patients cured by the...removal of blood.
That being said, there is evidence connecting certain practitioners to some recent disappearances. The link would be well worth investigating if they weren't annoyingly legal, well organized, and notorious for bribing the proper officials. None of the officers Moriarty knows would go near one.
"Is that why you were...attacked last night?"