Physically, you may as well be in a trance. And for me to remain focused, I might as well be, too. Any interruptions in the outside world on my end would sever this outright.
[Better hope nothing sneaks up on them in the canteen! It's probably fine.]
I'm in your head as much as you are in mine, going through memory... Though you did tell me to limit it to the observatory, so I haven't been privy to much.
[ meaning, this is more or less analogous to concentrating on a spell. her brow clears; she conjures her floating peacock quill and starts scribbling this down on a piece of scrap. it's that same unreadable language as her other works ]
And you standing here, is this "real"? If book fell on your foot, would it hurt? Would injury in here affect you out there?
That depends on what you consider “real.” Anything experienced here is valid. Pain, pleasure, all of it.
So for your example: yes, it would hurt. But I wouldn’t have a bruise on my physical body correlating to where you were clumsy enough to have dropped a book on me.
[There can be physical ramifications, of course. Of the murdery sort. But best not to address those when they do not apply.]
[ as if she's pursuing pleasure within her own mindscape when there's magic to be learned. well, that's a pleasure all its own. and it's the one she thrives from.
she does not drop a book on his foot. she DOES come over and squeeze his arm, experimental ]
This is not happening in physical space, but I cannot tell difference. You were right.
[She can take that as a rhetorical question if she likes.]
You can cast magic in the context of this memory. You can do whatever you like in your own head — but the “real” you out there won’t be doing anything at all. Remember that.
Top shelf, on left... [ trails off. he'll figure it out. in the meantime, she works the claw of her thumb into the cork and pops it ] If nothing I do in here could convince you to let me out, should you not wish it, then I suppose I ought to do my damnedest to endear, hm?
[ making light of something that absolutely terrifies her? more likely than you think. ]
[ why does he have to say it like that? her posture tightens microscopically when he does—these intermittent reminders that she's opened the door and it cannot be closed again. ]
Of course. Wine loosens everything, Mister Creel. And it is very good wine.
[ it is a generous glass that she pours, once she's stood; the liquid a deep maroon, nearing purple. then she gestures for the other glass, to fill herself up.
sinks onto the edge of the. bed. sliding her one foot out in front to brace her, because she really is just perching there. it is almost completely closed-in and strewn with bits and bobs ]
[A shame that Henry nearly cannot appreciate the boldness of its color; since when he has he ever had a chance to share a glass of wine? With anyone? But he looks at it like an oddity all the same, his gaze appreciative in a distant way.]
Next to you?
[Glancing at the, ah, bed, it appears as though he may have to scoot and few odds and ends out of the way to make that a reality. If that’s where she meant.]
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Physically, you may as well be in a trance. And for me to remain focused, I might as well be, too. Any interruptions in the outside world on my end would sever this outright.
[Better hope nothing sneaks up on them in the canteen! It's probably fine.]
I'm in your head as much as you are in mine, going through memory... Though you did tell me to limit it to the observatory, so I haven't been privy to much.
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And you standing here, is this "real"? If book fell on your foot, would it hurt? Would injury in here affect you out there?
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So for your example: yes, it would hurt. But I wouldn’t have a bruise on my physical body correlating to where you were clumsy enough to have dropped a book on me.
[There can be physical ramifications, of course. Of the murdery sort. But best not to address those when they do not apply.]
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she does not drop a book on his foot. she DOES come over and squeeze his arm, experimental ]
This is not happening in physical space, but I cannot tell difference. You were right.
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Of course I’m right. I know how my own abilities work.
Impressed?
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[ #stillnotoverit ]
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How long are you going to stay angry about that?
[It’s been like 2 days, Henry.]
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Now. Can one cast magic while in this state?
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[She can take that as a rhetorical question if she likes.]
You can cast magic in the context of this memory. You can do whatever you like in your own head — but the “real” you out there won’t be doing anything at all. Remember that.
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finally she casts another look across the room, back towards the ?bed? in the corner, half-hidden.
...
why not. slinks over and crouches down, reaches underneath ]
In that case.
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He follows, halting just a few steps behind.]
Keeping something hidden?
[Under her? Bed?]
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Mirrors her expression.]
Better than the cheap beer.
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Why not? I’m already here.
[Give him a moment to locate said cabinet and rifle around for two glasses. Clinking noises undoubtedly ensue.]
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[ making light of something that absolutely terrifies her? more likely than you think. ]
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Hoping to loosen my grip on your mind through ingratiation is a new one.
[He could comfort her by saying that he does not intend to keep her as a prisoner in her own mind. But he doesn't.]
But wine's a good start if that's your plan.
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Of course. Wine loosens everything, Mister Creel. And it is very good wine.
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I trust your tastes over mine, Ms Vaux. Loosen away.
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[ it is a generous glass that she pours, once she's stood; the liquid a deep maroon, nearing purple. then she gestures for the other glass, to fill herself up.
sinks onto the edge of the. bed. sliding her one foot out in front to brace her, because she really is just perching there. it is almost completely closed-in and strewn with bits and bobs ]
You may sit, if you like.
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Next to you?
[Glancing at the, ah, bed, it appears as though he may have to scoot and few odds and ends out of the way to make that a reality. If that’s where she meant.]
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