WHO: Adrasteia, Erik, other folks. WHAT: It's an open log WHEN: Mid to late Guardian WHERE: Kirkwall, &c. NOTES: Erik curses. That's about it. Open starters in threads.
Erik makes a little huff of a laugh at that. Between Wysteria and Tony, he can picture an exact framework in which someone would end up just listening to them go on and on forever. "Dunno if it's for me, but I guess we'll see."
There's an interesting spread of books between them, now that Silas has started organizing them. Erik recognizes the titles on religious traditions and mages, at least, and most of the rest he can sort out based on what he's stacked together.
"Damn." That's a while. Erik scratches at his chin and the beard that is getting a little unruly there. "Did you have the dream the first time it happened too?"
Dick doesn’t have to go far to fit the first few volumes back onto shelves; many of them appear to be housed nearby. Conveniently. It helps that he seems to have the sections mapped out on the underside of his brain, there for easy reference with a pause here or there for ragged, ale-soaked recall.
“The episode during the previous Wintersend?”
That’s the only dream incident that comes to mind for him, after a longer pause for thought, two books in hand. The little grass snake at his collar has slipped almost entirely out of sight beneath it.
“It consisted of a smaller series of incidents that spanned a month or two. I was only very tangentially affected.”
Dude's affinity for, what, familiars or some shit is actually pretty cool, in Erik's consideration, though he keeps being worried that the cat is gonna make a meal out of that garden snake one day. Well. That's not entirely his problem is it?
He dos miss the dog from the dream though. That mabari was pretty fucking cool. Erik picks up a book and scans the shelves before he finds another title by the same author. Does this go here? About to find out.
"I don't know when or what, just that it happened last year. Sister Sawbones told me about it." She'd been pressed as a starched shirt about it too, by his recall, but he'd been worried about brain trauma at the time and hadn't thought much of it.
There’s a blip of uncertainty to him catching it out of the corner of his eye -- a hitch in the process of him shoving one of his own books back up into place. It’s probably fine. Richard is just rotten enough not to trouble himself with checking.
Erik was in here first. Surely he knows what he’s doing.
“Dwarves are naturally incapable of dreaming,” he explains, as he follows it up with book #2. Between them, they’re making quick work of it. “These events tend to be especially unsettling for them.”
Well, it goes there now, and if Erik comes across a librarian or some such lamenting people putting books back in the wrong places, well. He won't stand up and declare himself their enemy or anything.
He presumes librarians are used to that kinda thing, even here.
"Yeah, she mentioned that," it's just real fucking weird, imagining an entire race of people who can't dream. Literally. How do their brains process their shit, he wonders? Be fascinating to see a dwarven brain in a CT scan, but he knows that's not about to happen. "What about where you're from? Prophetic dreams a thing there?"
Returned to the table to sweep up the last three, he pauses to think.
“They are. Gods occasionally use them as a means to impart guidance to a given -- ‘conduit.’” The word ‘cleric’ is so loaded here. He dwells on the nature of his chosen substitute for a beat with books in hand, slow 0with drink, but swift to change the subject once he’s deemed it satisfactory.
“Most of Riftwatch was unhappy to see me in the wilds,” he says. “It was kind of you to speak with me.”
"Huh," is all Erik has to say to that because he's not used to such an easy response that includes god of the multiple varieties. He's not even sure he's a theist, most days, but he believes that there's definitely more than one hand in the pot, all things considered.
People come from all over the fucking place.
He doesn't expect the next thing that Silas says, not even a little bit. Erik blinks, and then shakes his head, shrugging. "I could imagine bein' in your place, easy. Havin' someone to talk to would'a saved my sanity."
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no subject
There's an interesting spread of books between them, now that Silas has started organizing them. Erik recognizes the titles on religious traditions and mages, at least, and most of the rest he can sort out based on what he's stacked together.
"Damn." That's a while. Erik scratches at his chin and the beard that is getting a little unruly there. "Did you have the dream the first time it happened too?"
no subject
“The episode during the previous Wintersend?”
That’s the only dream incident that comes to mind for him, after a longer pause for thought, two books in hand. The little grass snake at his collar has slipped almost entirely out of sight beneath it.
“It consisted of a smaller series of incidents that spanned a month or two. I was only very tangentially affected.”
no subject
He dos miss the dog from the dream though. That mabari was pretty fucking cool. Erik picks up a book and scans the shelves before he finds another title by the same author. Does this go here? About to find out.
"I don't know when or what, just that it happened last year. Sister Sawbones told me about it." She'd been pressed as a starched shirt about it too, by his recall, but he'd been worried about brain trauma at the time and hadn't thought much of it.
no subject
There’s a blip of uncertainty to him catching it out of the corner of his eye -- a hitch in the process of him shoving one of his own books back up into place. It’s probably fine. Richard is just rotten enough not to trouble himself with checking.
Erik was in here first. Surely he knows what he’s doing.
“Dwarves are naturally incapable of dreaming,” he explains, as he follows it up with book #2. Between them, they’re making quick work of it. “These events tend to be especially unsettling for them.”
no subject
He presumes librarians are used to that kinda thing, even here.
"Yeah, she mentioned that," it's just real fucking weird, imagining an entire race of people who can't dream. Literally. How do their brains process their shit, he wonders? Be fascinating to see a dwarven brain in a CT scan, but he knows that's not about to happen. "What about where you're from? Prophetic dreams a thing there?"
no subject
“They are. Gods occasionally use them as a means to impart guidance to a given -- ‘conduit.’” The word ‘cleric’ is so loaded here. He dwells on the nature of his chosen substitute for a beat with books in hand, slow 0with drink, but swift to change the subject once he’s deemed it satisfactory.
“Most of Riftwatch was unhappy to see me in the wilds,” he says. “It was kind of you to speak with me.”
no subject
People come from all over the fucking place.
He doesn't expect the next thing that Silas says, not even a little bit. Erik blinks, and then shakes his head, shrugging. "I could imagine bein' in your place, easy. Havin' someone to talk to would'a saved my sanity."