open

[bouchonne]

WHO: Byerly & Kitty & you
WHAT: Open log! Assorted prompts!
WHEN: Months of Harvestmere & then Firstfall
WHERE: In and around Kirkwall
NOTES: If you're not into this junk tell me what junk you're into and I'll give you that junk

Prompts in comments my pretties. If none of em catch your fancy, then just throw up something that does.

Comments

[propulsion]

[ Tony does so, a faint impression of amusement at quasi-correction in the corners of his eyes as he moves towards the indicated desk. Pulling up a chair, eyeing off the writing utensils with the look of a person who has gotten used to using them, by now.

But under duress. ]

Probably you might give a crap about this stuff. What's your world called?

[ Patpatting out the crumpled parchment leaves. Once he gets started, his handwriting looks very suspiciously similar to the one that got river'd. ]

[rathercommon]

[ It's a question that sounds strange enough to make her squint, but upon thought, which makes a lot of sense. ]

Earth. Yours?

[propulsion]

[ That gets his attention, eye contact direct and thoughtful, but he's cautious about reading too much into it. Time disparity's one thing he's already wrestling with conceptually, and 'Earth' is something of a basic bitch name.

No, okay, it's because he wasn't immediately recognised and acknowledged is what's giving him pause.

Still. He fidgets the pen between his fingers. ]

Also Earth. United States of America, 2013.

[rathercommon]

United States?

[ Her brows draw down slightly. But: ]

I'm from London. 2002.

[propulsion]

[ Forgetting about his notes for now, Tony lists back in his seat, expression speculative. ]

Okay.

[ He points at her with the pen. ]

Why'd you sound italicised just now?

[rathercommon]

[ Baffled: ]

Why do I sound what?

[propulsion]

[ Still pointing, undeterred; ]

You were like 'United States', question mark. So what's the question.

[rathercommon]

Oh.

[ A shrug. ]

Just - I know the American colonies, obviously. So America's a name I know. But I've never heard of any states out there, united or divided or anything. You've heard of London, though, right?

[propulsion]

[ The pointing remains for a moment and a half of pause, before his hand drops. Huh. ]

Sure. God save the Queen.

[ And he pivots his attention back to the notes in front of him. He scratches out more rows of numbers, some clarifying notes. ]

It's a small infinite universe.

[rathercommon]

Have you got some theory, then?

[propulsion]

Not really.

[ That's an easy thing to confess, genius or no. ]

Gigantic pool of possibility, not a lot of data to chart it out. I guess surveying rifters and compiling the commonalities and differences would be a starting point, but that sounds--

Uh. Boring, [ admittedly, ] and super unreliable. And literally no one native to here cares. Probably not most rifters, either.

[rathercommon]

[ A shrug. ]

Seems more likely that their theories are right. [ A small gesture - ] About how we're dreams from the Fade.

[propulsion]

Yeah I don't care for that.

[ Which isn't to say he wholesale disagrees with it, not looking up as he continues to write.

But for the sake of argument-- ]

If you come from a world where gatecrashing aliens via interdimensional portals is the norm, you're gonna theorise that we're aliens from other dimensions. Or you exist in a virtual reality so maybe we're rogue programmes coded in, who knows, right. If you come from here, everything fits into categories demons, mages, or dream-stuff.

[ He finishes his list of notes with a slight flourish, and sits back in his chair. ] Thedas-bias. How's this?

[ He means the parchment, which he holds out for her to take. Legible if a little inexplicable. ]

[rathercommon]

[ Kitty takes the notes, and looks at them, and then returns them to him. ]

And now try writing them in a way that'll make sense to someone who's not you, please.

[propulsion]

[ Tony narrows his eyes at her, but goes ahead and takes the pages, shuffling back together as if they were individually pristine pages and not a mess of differently abused parchment.

He stands up. ]

Report on your desk, eight o'clock? Are we grading on a curve, by the way.

[rathercommon]

[ A brief moment of confusion in her face makes it clear enough that she doesn't understand on a curve. But - ]

Take the time you need, I guess. But honestly, that's not going to be much use to anyone. Even someone as clever as Thranduil.

[propulsion]

Okay.

[ Agreeing to do his homework, mostly so he can better pivot to-- ]

You work with him long?

[rathercommon]

[ She continues sorting through the papers, frowning. As she does - ]

A few months. Why?

[propulsion]

[ The why is shrugged off. ]

What do you think?

[rathercommon]

Of Thranduil?

[ She frowns at him now. ]

Why?

[propulsion]

[ A beat, then, flatly; ] So I thought that last question kind of made that obvious so I was hoping you would roll with it. Your energy is just crazy.

Why do you think? He's not an easy read and I wanna know what working for him's like.

[rathercommon]

[ A deeply unapologetic shrug. ]

Yours is too.

I'm not going to give you any dirt on him, if that's what you're after. In terms of what it's like to work with him...

It's good. He's fair. He was something very grand back home, and he gets treated like something really grand here, too. But he never acts like it. He's got real care for people and really listens to them.

[propulsion]

[ 'That's fair', says a twinge of a smirk out of Tony, as to mutual energies. ]

Mmh, that tracks. He's very hashtag not like other elves, but his wife tipped me to that ahead of time. And, uh-- for next time I ask what colleagues are like, please assume I absolutely do not care about dirt. [ Really. Please don't give him gossip, he doesn't know what he's supposed to do with it. ] And I'm not sure dirt would attach to him anyway, it would-- just evaporate on contact.