Sample Post from the Other Genre this Month:
Peter Crow posts in The Diogenes Club
Peter climbed, leaped, and scurried his way through the narrow lanes, mews, and alleyways of the West End without an incident; since his arrival from India the previous year, he'd made an art of escaping the police's watchful eyes. Midnight tolled as he cautiously stepped into the sparsely populated Pall Mall, reflecting upon M's instructions in the pub earlier that evening. Peculiar to Peter was the inability to cast a shadow, a phenomenon no one had ever been able to explain. This proved very useful when circumstances required him to step into gaslit streets; he could do so without unfurling a long, conspicuous silhouette across the pavement.
No. 15 was Peter's destination. He gazed up the imposing, Palladian edifice and smirked upon spying an open window near its dome. With Pixie Dust in his blood and Big Ben's chime in his ears, the boy was reminded of the Tinker's bell and his merry thoughts lifted him from the ground. Between a lamp post and the iron railing, Peter hurled himself onto the quoins, which he climbed like a ladder; spung from ledged gables; and hurdled balustrades, loping upward, this way and that, with the grace of an ibex.
A cold, November gust gave Peter just enough of a nudge to clear the open window's ledge; the curtains surged like waves on the sea as the boy crouched down and let his eyes adjust to the dark room before him. The book that M had sent him after was one Peter knew very well, and though the library he cautiously crept through contained volumes too numerous to count, he was confident that he would find exactly what he needed before dawn. Surely his cat-like tread would not rouse any of the club's lodgers.
Peter struck a match and lit a lantern on the table before beginning his search. He dragged his finger across the book spines in the nearest case, dismissing the lot as unfamiliar. So many tomes on pseudoscience, arcana, the occult, Masonic city planning, Knights Templar history, engineering, alchemy, and other volumes in foreign script so embrittled with age they looked as though they might fall apart if Peter attempted to remove and open them.
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