redshiftlogs | september 2019. welcome to the void.

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september 2019. welcome to the void.

Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Third Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of September 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.

a. turrets.

That power surge kicked off some sh... stuff, all right. It took a while for the systems to cycle back on, but two new areas of Anchor are now accessible and usable. One of them is nice and relaxing and safe, and we'll get to that one in a minute. The other one, addressed first, is not very nice and not very relaxing and definitely not safe.

The internal defense systems on the upper levels have come to life, and have targeted anyone within their range as a hostile entity. Get ready to run the gauntlet if you want to turn them off - you'll have to dodge lasers, bullets, and aggressive defense bots (that can be rewired and/or rebooted to assist characters instead of trying to murder them). The reward? Getting to the heavily protected (think many many murderbots and lasers) security control room. If you can make it, you'll be able to reboot the internal defenses, turning off the aggressive targeting and having access for the first time to surveillance of almost all of Anchor. Those areas your characters didn't know were there? Revealed. Those dense patches of jungle-like growth in the agricultural center? You've got a spotlight into their heart.

Though, huh, not all the cameras seem to be working. What's with those screens that show up from time to time that are nothing but static?

Oh well, doesn't really matter, does it?

b. hot springs episode.

One of the areas adjacent to the bar and intimacy lounge has been sputtering on and off ever since the power surge. One evening, with a loud crack and a humming sound that slowly dissipates, the lights come on and water starts flowing down the artificial waterfall into the fountain out front. The spa is back online!

The lobby is inviting and zen, with holographic walls that depict scenic locations (some of them very unlike Earth), with fountains splashing delicately on either side of the door. The attendants are slightly malfunctioning bots, but the most harm they'll do is bring you six towels when you ask for one, or a bucket of massage oil to work on those knots in your back with.

There are three areas in the spa, each of them fully-outfitted with towels, robes of all sizes, fuzzy slippers, the works. One has all the amenities of a Turkish bath, right down to the fantastically arched roofs and mosaics of Istanbul. One is designed not unlike a Japanese hot spring, though the spring is heated artificially rather than naturally. The springs are large enough to be communal in some areas and small enough to be private in others, varying in depth from deep enough to swim on one end and shallow enough to sit on the bottom on the other. All hot springs have a stone shelf around the edges where those who don't want to swim can sit. The last area is more Western, with steam rooms, saunas, massage tables, and mud baths for the adventurous.

One thing all of these areas have in common: the settings on virtually everything can be adjusted to taste. Not in the traditional way, either. The steams and waters can be tweaked to be soporific, can serve as muscle relaxants, can ease anxiety, and can even bolster moods. None of these effects are involuntary, and none of them are brought on by drugs - it's more an advanced mix of pheromones and harmless compounds that can affect a single person or a given pool or room. Also, the baths and hot springs have adjustable bubble settings. The water colors can change, some of them even allowing characters to dye their hair the color that's been selected for the tub without staining their skin. Bubbles of all kinds can rise up out of the water, from the foamy comfort of childhood bubble baths to hovering golden bubbles that chime when you pop them. Characters can choose from a variety of bath salts, scents, and oils - the spas were designed not just for relaxation, but for pure and simple fun.

c. joe's dirt.

So you've survived the security malfunction. You've washed off the dirt and anxiety at the spa. But the newly reactivated security stations throughout Anchor have revealed something odd. There's a blip in the power systems in one area of the agricultural level, like something is siphoning off power from the main lines. Tracking down the source in the deep tangle of underbrush won't be easy, and there may be a few mutated, fanged, clawed cattle that maneuver shockingly well between the trees, but eventually you'll come to a breach in Anchor's wall. At first it just looks like a crack, but it's large enough to squeeze through and there's the darkness of an open space behind it. A tunnel, leading down into the earth outside, well below surface level and thus largely safe.
Wires run along the roof and floor, though the tunnel itself is dark. Walk long enough and you'll come to a wider space, open enough for two or three people to move around comfortably at the same time. It's still dark, lit only by screens that show the same security feeds that are available at the stations throughout the city. And others. Angles on the surface that show Anchor from a distance, and other visuals that don't show Anchor at all, trained instead on massive structures or formations or lakes out on the surface somewhere. But there's something more disturbing: there are cameras set to record some people's rooms. And the only rooms that are shown are occupied.

Someone has been here, recently enough to track where new people have moved in.

On the floor in one corner, there's a crumpled photograph of a man some might recognize as Creepy Joe, happy and whole, with a little girl sitting on his shoulder. It looks like it's been stamped into the dirt.

Navigation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[That's a lot to take in -- and Carlisle is actually scribbling some of it down on the page opposite the latest rune, so his interest in more than passing. This fellow stumbled upon him in those baths, of all people, took the time to rescue him from overly helpful constructs -- and it turns out he's a mage on top of that? One who works in a craft so seemingly close to his own? Or at least it's one Carlisle can recognize, and that certainly counts for something. Whether a sign from his goddess or serendipitous circumstance, he isn't willing to let such an opportunity to learn go to waste. Perhaps there is something to this method he can glean for himself, use in the service of his deity. Perhaps he is not completely worthless yet, despite... well, everything about him at this point.

He wants to ask about a few things, but sticks to one point for now, mostly because it may clear up some of the others.]

Immune? Immune to what?

[ Reynir feels a little daunted by just how much Carlisle is writing down. A little part of him is waiting for the other shoe to drop - for Carlisle to laugh and reveal it was all a prank after all, and he's somehow a friend of Sigrun's that just wanted to see how long Reynir would keep going before realizing he was being duped. He's not really used to being... respected. Not as a mage, or in other ways. It's completely weird.

But that moment doesn't come, and so Reynir keeps going. The first few times he had had to explain the history of his world, it had been very strange. He's used to everyone just... knowing. It's so strange, being the person who has to summarize it. Explain it. He feels like he never quite manages to capture the reality of it in words. ]

There's an Illness. It nearly destroyed the world I come from. There's no cure when you're infected and- and it's a fate worse than death.

[ Reynir is really trying to tell this as neutrally as he can, but he stops for just a moment, thinking of Tuuri. It had been smart, killing herself the moment she knew for sure she was infected. Reynir knows that. He only wishes she'd said goodbye to him, first.

But he sighs, pushes those thoughts aside. He is supposed to be explaining. ]

You become- something monstrous. Trapped in the living world but no longer human. Wretched and tormented. That's... another thing about mages. Most people... can't hear them at all. The trapped souls. But - we do.

[ And from the sound of Reynir's voice, that is very much not a good thing. ]

There're a lot of people in the world now who are born immune to the Illness. If they're bitten by a Beast they might die from, like, blood loss, but they're not going to be infected. So the military only takes immune people and most interesting jobs only want immune people.

[Carlisle's pen gets significantly shaker the longer he writes, the words on the page before him hitting too close to home. Something Monstrous. Trapped in the living world, but no longer human. Wretched, tormented. The undead, then? Revenants? Or something unknown, an otherworldly aberration he cannot fathom? How odd it is that only mages can hear them, but perhaps that is the source of their power. What an interesting, but horrible prospect.

It occurs to him then that Reynir would likely see his existence as abhorrent, given the description of the infected fits him to a painful degree. It's all the more reason to conceal his true nature, but... at least they may agree on his being more creature than man.]

I- I see. It makes sense, in a way, but would mages not be just as useful outside the military? It seems like a waste of good talent, particularly if such gifts are uncommon.

[ Carlise's distress - perhaps fortunately, perhaps unfortunately - goes completely unnoticed by Reynir. If he detects some small amount of unease in Carlisle's voice, once he's explained the state of the world he comes from, that only seems reasonable. Who could hear about the Illness and not be shaken up? Reynir has learned here that most people come from worlds where there are huge populations and people wander around, just travel wherever they want, unafraid of attack, unafraid of infection. No quarantines at all!

He shakes his head when Carlisle insists that it's a waste of talent. He's really preaching to the choir, here, but he's just slightly off the mark. ]

Oh yeah, they're useful alright, and that's why they'll teach any mage who turns up. It's just that all they'll teach you is farm magic. How to look after livestock and make the harvest yield more and keep the grain storage safe. And all that is useful, I know it is, I just -

[ Reynir sets down the bucket, turning to look at Carlisle, his expression defiant and stubborn. ]

I just want more. I want more than that kind of life! And I've done more. I snuck onto a ship into the Silent World and joined an expedition. I helped to defend them from these trapped, angry spirits and- and I found the temple for their ancient religion and- [ A pause, and he can't help smiling at himself: ] -well. I shepherded the ghosts there, so they could finally move on to their afterlife. Hundreds and hundreds of them. I did that. Even without being immune.

[ People keep doubting him, all his life. Telling him what he cannot do. That he is too naive, too stupid, too weak, too vulnerable. But it's harder to make himself believe their words when he looks at what he's already accomplished. ]

[They apparently have a "farm magic" equivalent in his world, as he rolls his eyes at the very notion. Such forms of magic are indeed important, but they are not for everyone. A homebody like Carlisle is perfectly suited for such work, given his general fear of everything and inclination toward gardening; however, more adventurous types, like his uncles, vastly preferred endeavors that took them beyond mere farms and fields. He assumes Reynir to fall into the latter category, given his impassioned statements toward that end.

And it sounds like he is better suited for the work as it is, if what he claims to have done is true.]

You exorcised hundreds of specters? All at once? That's incredible!

[ That eyeroll encourages Reynir. It would be ridiculous for this stranger from a whole other world to invalidate what he's saying, argue with him, tell him that just staying on the farm is what's best for him. But a little part of him did still expect it. Hard not to, after hearing it from everyone pretty much all his life. Onni is really the only one who had acknowledged he has potential, has power. Of course, Onni still thinks he's woefully under-trained, but at least the flaw he sees in Reynir isn't inherent and unchangeable. ]

Well... not exactly.

[ Reynir had been boasting before, wanting to make it clear that he could still accomplish things even without immunity. But when Carlisle asks that follow-up, he feels a pang of guilt, walks back the credit he is claiming a little. ]

It's sort of more complicated than that. I had talked to the spirit of a pastor - like a kind of priest - of their religion, in a dream. She had been turned into a troll, but she... wasn't like all the others. Just mindless and screaming. She was still herself. She was waiting to help the followers of her god to move on. She had totally refused to abandon them, for 90 years. I really just... led them to the ancient temple, and to her. She was the one they needed.

[ And if Carlisle had been worried before that Reynir would automatically hate him for being anything like one of those infected trolls he mentioned, the warmth with which he speaks of this woman might alleviate that, a little. She had been a troll, but... different. Reynir had had to stop Sigrun and Mikkel from attacking her; he'd gone to sleep with her in the very next room, trusting that her religious calling and devotion to those ghosts would be stronger than her monstrous transformation. ]

So, like... why all the questions? Not like I mind, I mean, I'm just curious - are you a mage, too?

[Carlisle gives Reynir a nod along the lines of understandable, but still impressive as he continues to scrawl notes. The mention of someone turning into a troll catches him off-guard, given trolls are a race of people where he comes from. She hadn't been a troll before? How does one entirely change what they are from birth? The concept sounds utterly terrifying, like some kind of bodily transfiguration gone horribly wrong -- or right, if one wanted that outcome. The idea is too gruesome for his tastes, given the physiological differences between humans and the bestial peoples.

If nothing else, at least Reynir seems... accepting of what this woman had become. A leader of a church, like him, changed into something monstrous. Chances are she hadn't brought an end to her congregation, but it's a similarity Carlisle decides is worth noting, at least mentally. That acceptance is something he wasn't met with often in life; he's sure he'd get even less of it now.

He closes his book with a nervous laugh.]

Aheh. I did not mean to inundate you with them. I am clergy by trade. A, um, healer and exorcist. There are several forms of magic in my world alone, and I conjectured there would be more in others. The possibility of gleaning something from these other crafts -- something I could use, or even share -- is a newfound passion of mine.

[Not that he hadn't been interested in magic before, particularly the academic study of it, but now that he's got a new problem -- being a Revenant -- that needs a solution -- ensuring he will not lose himself again and revert back to the Blight Heir -- he's taking to it with as much fervor as he can muster.]

Edited 2019-09-26 19:42 (UTC)

[ ~~Reynir's mind sure is going to be blown when he someday finds out what Carlisle thinks a troll is.~~

Reynir waves Carlisle's apology away; he really doesn't mind answering as many questions as Carlisle has, he is just also curious in turn. When Carlisle answers him - and from the sound of it he must be a mage - Reynir says brightly: ]

Oh! You're clergy! That's awesome.

[ Reynir genuinely does seem to think so, his freckled face breaking into a smile. He may not be an expert on religion, but he also has no negative associations with it at all. All he knows is that if Carlisle is a kind of priest, he must be clever, and good, and respected in his community, and probably it explains the extremely modest and specific way of dressing. That's one question he won't have to ask now.

But when Carlisle mentions wondering if he could use the sorts of magic Reynir does, he makes a hmm sound of consideration before explaining: ]

Ah, I'm sorry.... I don't think you could use this sort of magic at all. Mages, where I'm from, are chosen by the gods. I don't think Odin or Freya would grant you power, if you worship different gods.

[ Reynir isn't an expert but he's sure they're not big on sharing. But he has only just now thought of something, now that he knows Carlisle can do magic, himself: ]

Wait! You're Carlisle! You said that's your name? I've heard of you! I've heard people telling me about your magic! I forgot until just now, but Pratt and... oh, someone else, I don't remember!

[ He seems delighted by this coincidence. ]

I would love to hear more about your magic, too! Even if I can't do it, either. We should compare notes.

[His mask may hide it, but Carlisle smiles at Reynir's reaction to his being clergy -- exuberance toward his position isn't something he often sees. He keeps writing, something about might not be able to use these and (experiment later) toward the bottom of the page. His scribbling finally comes to a stop as Reynir realizes who he is, mentioning Deputy Pratt.

Yes, Deputy Pratt, someone who knew him when he was alive, knew what magic he could do at some place and time he can't remember. Carlisle was apparently a much better glyphcrafter then, if the sigil-covered rock he'd made the Deputy is any indication. It's a shame he couldn't remember that either, as he would prefer to be an adept glyphcrafter to a mediocre one, especially when the form would undoubtedly be useful in channeling the restorative energies that now injure him.

However, restorative magic is so dependent upon the healer's control of their own energies that using it through glyphs is unwise, at best; if someone is critically wounded and he must heal them... well, he can cross that bridge should he ever come to it. How injured can people possibly get in Anchor?

Hm. Perhaps he shouldn't tempt fate with questions like that.]

Yes, compare notes. What, um. What did the Deputy tell you I could do?

[He hopes it's about glyphs, and not about the fact he can rot the ground around him when he loses his temper.]

[ If there's hesitation in Carlisle's reply, Reynir doesn't notice or think much of it. He comes from a very small town - he understands that hearing someone has been talking about you might be a little alarming at first. Reynir doesn't wait to respond, voice still bright; his demeanor if nothing else should clue Carlisle in that perhaps he hadn't heard about the ground-rotting: ]

Oh, it was uh, something about a rock with a rune on it that would protect crops but it needed to be... re-invigorated? I don't remember the words he used exactly. But it interested me because that's so not how my magic works. Once the shape is made, the magic remains unless the pattern is damaged.

[ And he glances over to the drying rune on the wall beside him - it would function until the paint faded or was scraped or scratched badly. ]

I wanted to ask him more about how it worked but I realized that'd be kind of unfair to him since he said he wasn't a mage himself, so I'm really glad that I've met you, and you're Carlisle.

[ Since he's convinced now that Carlisle really doesn't mind if he is doing both at once, and is interested in his magic, Reynir picks up his bucket and nods his head in the direction he was going to walk, to begin his next rune. They are spaced far apart, but still visible, in the same corridor. Once he and Carlisle have done far enough, he dips the brush a few times, scrapes off the excess, and begins anew. The circle he paints is, once more, just freaky neat. Just absolutely a perfect circle. It's totally weird he can just do that. ]

So you're a healer, too? That's a huge relief to hear - I've never done that kind of magic and I didn't know if there were any doctors here in case somebody gets hurt, because somebody always gets hurt eventually, that's just life...

[Oh good, it's just about that magic rock after all. Carlisle has to admit that a magic rock that allowed someone untrained in glyphcrafting to protect their garden does sound a lot like something he'd come up with. He makes a mental note to try to reverse-engineer how he crafted that glyph, to attempt to brush up his skill in the craft when he has the time. He was better than he is now at a point before his death, and even if he can no longer remember it, surely he can reach that level of expertise again.

He follows along behind Reynir to the next spot, sheepish at the thought that he's somehow not the Carlisle Reynir was hoping to meet -- the alive, glyphcrafting, gardening, happy one of Hadriel rather than a literal husk of his former self. He can't even draw a circle that perfect. Reynir would be a much better glyphcrafter, he chides himself inwardly. Pratt would be better off with him helping tend to his crops.

Realizing that line of thinking is more like a Revenant than a logical line, he stifles it for the moment, tucking his pen into the pages of his journal as he waits for Reynir to finish his rune.]

It is life, unfortunately. It is the nature of life to eventually end. It was my duty to ensure it did not happen prematurely.

Edited 2019-09-28 23:45 (UTC)

[ Carlisle is a quiet sort of guy, isn't he? He hadn't seemed that way at the hot springs, but then again he'd been freaking out. This is, most likely, closer to his average self. And Reynir doesn't mind those stretches of silence; he'll either fill them himself or inhabit them happily.

When Carlisle mentions keeping life from ending prematurely, Reyni asks: ]

So how'd you become a clergy healer and exorcist? Do you have schools, too? Or are all those things put together normal for priests of your religion? Do you speak with your gods or are they more the distant type?

[ Yes, it's his turn to be full of questions, and while he might not have a notebook to write it all down in, he trusts he will remember.

And even if Carlisle doesn't know anything much about Reynir's religion, it's clear from his unperturbed attitude that he has no problem acknowledging that people from other regions have their own set of divine being to worship.]

[Carlisle's brow knits. Being on the other end of a myriad of questions isn't quite as endearing as he'd imagined, but he does his best to answer them one by one.]

Right. [Said more to himself than to Reynir.] Exorcism is common for practicing clergy, but true talent in the restorative arts is quite rare. I was taught to hone my gift from fellow members of my order, mostly healers and physicians themselves. We serve the Clarity, one of the primary deities of our world.

[ Reynir can see that Carlisle looks maybe a little uncomfortable, but he just smiles encouragingly as he listens. Some people aren't great at talking about themselves, and just need a small amount of kindness to help them get past feeling shy. Perhaps Carlisle is like that. So he listens attentively, and says: ]

That sounds like a really good way to learn, if you ask me. Waaaay better than sitting in a classroom with a bunch of strangers for a few weeks and then never seeing each other ever again.

[ Clarity sounds like kind of a weird name for a god, but Reynir supposes the reverse is probably true for people hearing about his own gods. It doesn't escape his notice that Carlisle hadn't exactly answered the question as he'd asked it, but maybe that was a rude thing to ask. Possibly? He doesn't want to step on toes so he lets it go.

He continues with the rune, filling in the pattern in assured and confident brushstrokes. This one is less intricate than the last, and he is tucking the brush into the paint once again in just a few moments. He turns to Carlisle and asks: ]

I was gonna take a break when I finished this hallway and get some tea, and I just finished! D'you want to come with me? I can tell you more stuff about mages if you want or we could just hang out.

[ Maybe Carlisle can't drink tea around other people because of the mask thing (which Reynir has just accepted is a religious garment) but he is still going to offer! ]

[Reynir keeps drawing, and Carlisle quiets down so he can focus on copying that rune as well, even noting the direction of the brushstrokes in case they're important. While he does agree that apprenticeship is more appealing than a classroom, he likely would have done well either way. He has always been the studious type, much to the chagrin of his father. To not be an adventurer of some sort is practically an affront to his bloodline.

A bloodline that ends with him. Ended, even. Does he still count, being what he is? He's not sure, and he's not sure he wants to know. Reynir draws his attention with a question as he finishes copying.]

I would appreciate that, actually. I have yet to explore much of the lodgings here.

[ They are not too far away from the little area that Onni and Reynir had marked off as their own. Reynir leads the way there, cheerfully unlocking the door and letting Carlisle inside first. The door is covered in a huge rune, painted on thickly in black paint - it's spikier than many of the others, and stretches past the door and onto the walls around it. Reynir doesn't explain it, just gestures for Carlisle to go in, saying chipperly: ]

Explore away!

[ He follows his new friend (good news Carlisle, you've talked twice so Reynir considers you a friend now) in and heads for the little kitchen area - not much more than a small table with two chairs and some basics for food prep. A thought occurs to Reynir belatedly as he is putting a kettle of water on to heat up (No fire required! This place is absolutely bizarre!) He turns to Carlisle and asks: ]

Wait, so where have you been staying if it isn't around here?

[As Reynir heads to the kitchenette, Carlisle starts exploring immediately, taking note of the way the space is arranged, from the furniture to the personalized touches that indicate what kind of people are living there. All the beds in the open -- not good. He's glad he's turned away as Reynir asks him that question, or he might've seen just how wide-eyed Carlisle goes behind his glasses.]

Staying. Of course.

[In truth, he hasn't been staying anywhere -- not just because he hasn't properly had a chance to explore the options in the barracks, but also because he hasn't needed to sleep since he arrived. He should, he really should -- he needs to establish more of a routine, something that makes him appear alive even if he isn't. His hands come together, allowing him to wring them nervously.]

I've been... in the park area, mostly. The lowest level. [That much is true, and he handles a half-lie better than a bald-faced one.] It's peaceful there, with the trees and whatnot.

[ This time, Reynir again picks up on what seems like a slight reluctance in answering questions that, to him, seem very normal. But of course, normal is such a subjective matter. People had treated him as if he was peculiar, for asking questions about quarantines and trolls and things that are standard to him. Perhaps inquiring about another person's living quarters is very personal in Carlisle's world, and culturally, people keep that sort of thing discreet.

But Reynir at least pretends he doesn't notice the nervous hand wringing, as he gets down two mugs suitable for tea. They're mismatched, one of them chipped. Detritus that had slipped through from other worlds, in the shift. One is made to look like a bizarre stylized orange cat, and the other has some words in a curly script surrounded by small hearts.

He nods, accepting that the park is a reasonable place to have chosen to stay. ]

Onni and I thought about setting up down there, but we decided this was more secure. Even if it's all so lifeless and strange.

[ This place is so different from the textures and materials and colors that they are both used to. ]

This house... [ A pause, because it's not really a house but Reynir isn't sure what other word he would use for it, so he gives a little shrug and just goes on - Carlisle will understand, probably. ] is mine, and Onni is in the one next door. You're the first person I've brought back here, actually. I wonder where Kisa is...

[ He peers around to see if he can spot the little cat snoozing anywhere, but she's either hiding or out and about with Onni. Probably the latter. Reynir goes back to brewing the tea, asking: ]

Do mages visit one another's areas while they're dreaming, where you're from, or is that... rude? Should I try to avoid it?

[ Personal growth! He had just barged in on Onni and Lalli without permission. He's at least trying, now. ]

[Carlisle sighs quietly to himself, relieved that Reynir found his answer believable. He's aware there's only so much of the truth he can avoid regarding his condition, and mentally kick himself for not having considered this possibility sooner. First thing he's doing when he leaves is finding a proper room, one that is hopefully unoccupied.

In good news, they get away from the topic almost immediately.]

Pleased as I am to be your first guest, I have to admit I am not familiar with... anything you just said, really. Visiting another's area when dreaming? Is that something mages do in your world?

[ Reynir blinks at Carlisle a few seconds, one of the tea bags still held in his fingers, about to be dropped in a mug. A mage that isn't familiar with the dream space is something very foreign to him. There is so much that is extremely different, between the way that Reynir and Finnish mages like Lalli or Onni do magic. But dreaming is their common thread. Customs around how mages interact in them might vary based on culture, but it is still far more a point of community and shared experience, more than a difference. ]

Y...es, in my world, mages dream. We... have areas. Places we go every time we sleep, where we are in control, and mostly safe. But there is an in-between space and we can travel to find one another. Talk to each other, regardless of language or how many miles away the other person is. We can share visions, and memories, and communicate with spirits.

[ Even if it weren't clear from the abilities Reynir is describing, his way of talking about it shows how fundamental it is to magehood, for him. Tucking his braid back over his shoulder, he offers: ]

I - could not remember my dreams before I realized I was a mage. Maybe it's like that for you? You go to your area when you sleep, but you just don't remember it since nobody's ever visited you. I could try to find you tonight, if you'd like, after you go to sleep. I might not... be very good at a lot of stuff, but I'm really good at finding people and crossing the in-between place.

[ The kettle is beginning to whistle, and Reynir drops that tea bag finally and pours some of the hot water in each mug. ]

Edited 2019-10-01 10:22 (UTC)

As fascinating an idea as that is, I don't believe I have an, um. Area. And if I did, it would be unpleasant.

[And in all honesty, would he want someone from who knows where walking into his mind, into some 'area' that is 'mostly safe'? The concept is both incredible and disturbing to a man as private as Carlisle, one who would prefer to keep to himself in both the sleeping and waking worlds.

He hasn't slept since his reawakening, but he still remembers the dreams of his living years well. When they weren't nightmares about bears, bugs, drowning, failure, or any of his other fears, they so often involved an empty, colorless plane of existence, one where he was damned to be forever mired in regrets he could not escaoe for sins he could no longer remember. That was said to be the end for all twice-cursed, something that plagued him more and more in his sleep as the years passed.

Of course, what was said and what was reality were two different things. No one knew what he would become upon death. Had that been present in his dreams, and he'd simply forgotten? Or was his case an unfortunate fluke?]

You would waste your time searching for me, but I appreciate the offer. I need no confirmation of my magical potential from dreams.

[ Reynir blinks a few times at that. He's a straightforward sort of person, so he immediately and plainly asks: ]

Why would you assume that?

[ It seems strange to him, to just jump to the conclusion that his area would be unpleasant. Especially since this is apparently the first he is hearing about how dreams work for mages. So to automatically think that... it seems to suggest Carlisle is troubled in some way, and if so, Reynir wants to know about it. Maybe he could help!

If Carlisle had merely said he would prefer not to have visitors, Reynir would have respected that (at least, unless there was an emergency). But he's worried now that something is wrong. So he sets the tea in front of Carlisle, steam curling up from the mug, and takes a seat near him. ]

Okay. I guess I won't try, if you don't want me to. But even if I didn't find you, I don't think it would've been a waste of time to look or anything. It's super nice, meeting another mage! I haven't had a lot of people I can really talk to about all this stuff.

[ And Reynir smiles, earnest, good-natured, friendly. He nods to the tea cooling in front of Carlisle and says: ]

I hope you like it!

[Carlisle tries to address Reynir's concerns as he eyes the tea before him, procrastinating on facing the obvious problem of drinking he'll have to deal with shortly.]

Neither my dreams nor my mind have ever been generous to me. I see no reason that would change now. [Especially now. He wraps his fingers around the mug, feeling only the barest amount of warmth through his gloves despite the steam rising from the top. Even then, it's not warmth as he's used to -- it's more the feel of the heat butting against the energies keeping him animated, the sensation of two incompatible forces colliding. He feels the heat radiating from the mug in a sterile, clinical sense, and nearly nothing more.

He tries to get away from his fear of that detachment -- and what it means for him -- by moving to (figuratively) warmer topics.]

But let us not worry about my dreams. It is good to meet someone else capable of spellcasting. Most that I have met so far have been technologically inclined rather than magically.

[ Oh no! That doesn't sound good at all. Reynir frowns, a worried little expression that would doubtless be more severe if he had ever had a single nightmare in his entire life. But while he's had a few frightening moments in the dream space, and an extremely alarming vision of the future or two, he's never had an honest-to-goodness nightmare. And his mind, for the majority of his life, has been very kind to him. So he doesn't really get it, even if he does get that Carlisle's unhappy.

He can tell Carlisle is trying to end the conversation about dreams there, and part of Reynir wants to insist on lingering, until he figures out if there really isn't anything he can do to help. But... Carlisle is a guest here and he should probably let it go, for now. ]

Yeah. I'm really out of my depth, too. We've got some of the technology from the Old World still around, where I come from, but even most that stuff is pretty new to me.

[ He's not rich and he's not from the city. The house he grew up in has electricity, but not computers; it wasn't until he was on the expedition that he used a radio all that much, and it was certainly the first time he'd driven a vehicle that wasn't a cart with a horse attached to it. ]

By the way the uh, constructs. I can see how they would be really scary but uh, I don't think they're actually dangerous. Pretty much everyone I've talked to here is fine with them.

So I have been told.

[Unfortunately, someone telling Carlisle the robots are harmless and him believing they're harmless are two very different things, and Carlisle is the type to cling to his own opinion until directly proven otherwise. Even then, he may still cling to it out of pure paranoia or stubbornness, especially when it comes to something he naturally distrusts like constructs or the undead.

He stares down at his mug, having not attempted to take a drink -- or even remove his mask.]

I assume that 'Old World' you mentioned is the one beyond the borders of safety, the one ravaged by the illness.

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cw brief suicide mention

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