It takes him too long to recognise the name, which is funny because not too long ago -- and how long has it been? He can't tell -- he was convinced that was where he is. His eyes have a slightly unfocused quality as he's looking vaguely at nothing just beyond her left shoulder. It feels like he should know, but then he's confused because that steam-powered creature and the presence of the HIT Mark read to him as Technocracy (Bad Suits, as he knows them) and they don't have a foothold in Baedal. He shouldn't have a presence there, either, then.
But he does. But this is.
But it isn't.
No, of course he's from Baedal. Of course this is Baedal, then it all makes sense -- danger and monsters and fighting. Right. That's where he is. The change in her attire seems utterly mundane, as if that, too, is just something that happens here. This has to be real because it's happening to him, and if you can't trust your eyes or your ears or how your lungs burn when you're running for your life, what can you trust? He already knows memory is a liar.
"Yes," he says, but he furrows his brow in confusion. "Aren't you?" Aren't we there? is the question unasked there.
(That he apparently doesn't find it odd that there are things like that creature from before in Baedal is telling and also rather worrying, even with allowance made for dream logic.)
no subject
It takes him too long to recognise the name, which is funny because not too long ago -- and how long has it been? He can't tell -- he was convinced that was where he is. His eyes have a slightly unfocused quality as he's looking vaguely at nothing just beyond her left shoulder. It feels like he should know, but then he's confused because that steam-powered creature and the presence of the HIT Mark read to him as Technocracy (Bad Suits, as he knows them) and they don't have a foothold in Baedal. He shouldn't have a presence there, either, then.
But he does. But this is.
But it isn't.
No, of course he's from Baedal. Of course this is Baedal, then it all makes sense -- danger and monsters and fighting. Right. That's where he is. The change in her attire seems utterly mundane, as if that, too, is just something that happens here. This has to be real because it's happening to him, and if you can't trust your eyes or your ears or how your lungs burn when you're running for your life, what can you trust? He already knows memory is a liar.
"Yes," he says, but he furrows his brow in confusion. "Aren't you?" Aren't we there? is the question unasked there.
(That he apparently doesn't find it odd that there are things like that creature from before in Baedal is telling and also rather worrying, even with allowance made for dream logic.)