middaeg | Intro Overflow: May

( continued from this thread. )

[solas grasps new concepts with impressive speed, though francel cannot say that he is surprised. he's not sure why, exactly, he gets the feeling that the man is a staunch intellectual through and through, given that they've had only bare-bones conversations; he can only chalk it up to the man's sharp eyes and general demeanor.]

I wish only that I could aid you — I fear I've not the proper background. If I'd had a knack for thaumaturgy...

[how different might life have been, francel muses, if only he'd had the aptitude to become a powerful mage? would he have become a respected priest in the vault's upper echelons? would his father have been proud of him at last?

would haurchefant have loved him?

no, he decides, after a moment. haurchefant's interests lay in the physical, not the magical; he respected sinew and sweat and steel. in any case, it's not important. no one and nothing can bring him back, and there are other things francel should be concerned with, like the man standing before him.]

...But I may at least bring you some research materials. What topics had you thought to research first? I've grown familiar enough with the layout of this place that I should be able to find most anything.

Edited 2019-05-12 18:16 (UTC)

[He wishes to aid him when he already has, several times over! He cannot know where Francel’s mind goes when he trails off, but he can make a guess. Wishing his nature was different than it is – that is a point on which he dwelt upon ceaselessly – and unwisely – as a young man. And sometimes, still, as an older one.]

If you had been focused instead on the practical, perhaps you would have even less time for the theory. Your breadth of knowledge would be uncommon even among the mages of my world.

[Ordinarily, his instinct to not rely upon others would lead him to decline any help. He hesitates, however. He would not want to appear to be fobbing Francel off for his lack of a background in the arcane. And, more pertinently, Francel is working here. That would make this no personal favour, but merely professional courtesy.]

...I will avail myself of your services, then, Master Francel. Thank you. [With sincerity.]

I am on the hunt for autobiographies, papers, or diaries, from any master of divination able to walk in dreams. Ideally, I would like to find something of a dream log. What I have found of them thus far describes them secondhand, and lack for detail on the experiential.

[francel colors slightly for the compliment — but, modestly, he chooses to avoid acknowledging it, bowing his head as if he is, indeed, no noble lord but a common librarian.]

"Francel" alone will suffice. I am only too glad to help.

[and he is, he realizes, with a touch of surprise. solas is not ishgardian, and francel is not beholden to him in any way; he is neither a knight with greater service than francel's, nor a commoner towards whom francel must feel a sense of noblesse oblige. he is nothing like the other men francel has known in his life. solas is not like his brothers, not like haurchefant, not like aymeric. why, then, is it so strangely gratifying merely to speak with him?]

I surmise that what you seek might be located in both the sections on divination theory, and on the history shelves. The history collection is much smaller — I can show you to the books on magic, and look for autobiographies and diaries while you browse the selection there. Shall we?

Let us see what we can find by working in tandem.

[He smiles again, and follows.

He could hardly forget Francel is not one of his people, but he still can freely see the men of Ishgard as a kind of mirror. A distant one, but so too are the elves of his own world. That Francel towers over him by several feet is unimportant – a body is non-defining. What is important, and natural, is that sense of shared spirit. United by a common purpose, that feeling is redoubled – they are fellow elves, and fellow researchers.]

[francel leaves solas in the section of the library dedicated to divination for quite some time; as promised, he has taken it upon himself to peruse the historical books himself. the young lord returns to solas's table in due time — he comes bearing a small stack of books, all of them loosely related to the matter of divination.]

Solas? I managed to find some texts in the history section, but, er, as things go...

[slightly sheepish, he shrugs, looking over what he deems are unhelpful books — though there may yet be nuggets of wisdom to be found in their pages.]

I'm not certain any of these are quite what you're looking for. This is not an autobiography, but a biography of a renowned master of divination... whereas this tome is a dream log, but the author is no mage — just an ordinary woman attempting to analyze her subconscious.

Edited 2019-05-14 23:52 (UTC)

[In the meantime, Solas has already set himself up in the beginnings of a little fort of books he himself has selected, at a desk large enough to accommodate two people. He’s unscrewing the cap of his inkwell, blank parchment and Trevithick’s Encyclopaedia before him, when Francel returns. Solas raises a hand to signal his location when he glimpses him, setting the inkwell down and rising to meet him.

He listens politely, but only perks up when Francel introduces the second book.]

A second-hand source is useful to understand the common Geargadas perception of divination [he says of the first, evidently as a dismissal] but the author seeks to examine her subconscious, you say?

Interesting. Ordinary people are no less dreamers than any master of witchcraft, and the untrained eye can at times perceive more truly than the educated one. May I? [He makes to take it, if allowed.]

Of course... [though he worries what solas will think of the contents.] Er, here... but as I said, it's...

[it reads, in part, as follows:

...

— eighteenth of noveuer. cold and rainy.

i dreamt that my teeth were all cracked again. i'd broken them trying to bite into a piece of cake, and camden took one look at me and threatened to break off our engagement. i spent the dream begging him to reconsider. now that i'm awake, i keep checking my mouth to make sure all my teeth are in place. they look a little crooked. maybe one of these days i could pay a witch at the coven to help me line them into place, but i'm worried they'll mess up and just make them even worse than before. i wonder what this could all mean. perhaps i'm more self-conscious than i thought. i think perhaps i should put less effort into maintaining my appearance, that it's all making me a bit of a nervous wreck, but after remembering what my teeth felt like in that dream, i'm only more worried about them than ever before.

— twenty-first of noveuer. sunny.

at first the dream was very nice. camden and i were dancing in this grand hall, except that i was wearing this absurd bonnet with a giant frog in it. isla, who lives across the way, told me that wearing a large hat in a dream could mean that i'm anxious about being concerned and manipulated by others, like i'm being controlled by too many forces. i don't know what the frog means. but then the dream turned terrible, as when i went home, i came across an intruder and we struggled and i wound up with the woman dead at my feet. i don't know why she was a woman as most thieves are men anyway. in the dream, i wound up asking my father in a panic to help me do something about the body, but i feel disgusted now that i am awake, as i never thought i would be the sort of person to murder someone and then try to get away with it. isla told me that killing someone in a dream means i have some latent anger that i'm not addressing, and also that it's very rare, that most people dream about being killed instead. perhaps i have the potential to be a murderer. i don't know.

— twenty-second of noveuer. haven't looked outside yet.

lewd dream. shan't repeat the details here, save that both camden and alec were involved, and far more well-built than they are in reality, and now i can't look at either of them. they might be twins, merissa, but it's not a package deal! you are engaged to the one man and not the other! they're not even identical twins! am i attracted to alec? i'd never thought about it. what if this means i should break off my engagement? i must admit alec is quite the looker...

...

francel looks a bit sheepish.]

Edited 2019-05-17 20:14 (UTC)

[Solas takes up the book, and reads it quickly, with his usual considerate, scholarly air unshifting. He does not appear offended or annoyed. Evaluating it with a rapidness, he says, thoughtfully:]

Merissa may benefit from integrating a third party into her bedroom: whether Camden or frog is a matter of preference.

[- then, without missing a beat, as though he hadn’t just told a sex joke -]

This, indeed, elevates the personal psyche at the expense of a more profitable exploration of the boundaries of dreaming.

[It’s unimportant, but -] These things tend to be suggestive. I wonder if all Aefenglom literature is as fascinated by the anxieties of the human mind? [Hm. A pity.] It is a waste, and egotistical, to view the symbols and mysteries of dreams as purely reflections of the self, rather than of the wider world.

[a snort of what might be laughter — or perhaps a scandalized shriek, duly suppressed — escapes francel, mostly because he did not at all expect... solas... to tell... a sex joke. involving a frog, no less, after all they have been through with frogs. the young lord recovers quickly from the gaffe, however, and shakes his head.]

I'm not certain. From my interactions with the populace, they seem... well, simply put, they seem as people often are. Some are self-centered; others less so.

[although something has been bothering him — needling at him — ever since he met solas.]

...May I ask of you a question, Solas?

[If he’s amused as well by Francel’s reaction, if he entirely knows the shock caused by the contrast between his words and his worn demeanour, his humour is so dry that he doesn’t show that either. Putting Merissa’s dream log to join the pile, he tilts his head and quirks the corner of his mouth in response.]

Yes?

[He’s very interested in answering questions, especially academic ones, but he somehow appears to scale back his enthusiasm. There’s a shadow of reticence – he is more wary of personal ones.]

[francel opens his mouth — closes it. he presses his lips together, briefly; he seems to be wrestling with some great internal struggle. after a moment, however, he speaks again, calm and measured.]

...I would like to preface, firstly, with the fact that I mean no offense, and that if I cause you any, you are most welcome to refuse to answer.

Edited 2019-05-21 04:20 (UTC)

[And now he is quite prepared for a question of a personal nature. He has a reservoir of distrust and unease for such questions. Still - Francel clearly is treating this with consideration, and approaching whatever it is carefully, which he notices and appreciates. Though on guard, Solas’ demeanour is nothing less than pleasant.]

I will endeavour both not to take offence, and to answer, if I may.

[for a moment, the young man looks as though he is going to just spit it out, get it over with, thrust the matter like some unwieldy thing into solas's hands. but then his nerve, apparently, fails him. he closes his eyes, almost grimaces. he tells himself he has to get it out.

he meant for it to at least sound dignified, but it comes out in a strained whisper, as if francel himself cannot believe that he is asking this question... which, to be fair, he can't.]

...Why are you bald?

[...evidently this has plagued him the entire time.]

[He takes this moment to pick up another book for reconsideration (it is titled An Enchanting Otherplace – Or How An Idea May Be Most Eccentric, Yet Remain Very True!: Containing An Extended Refutation Of Mr Addington’s Ill-Considered Defamation Of Miss Chaucer’s Seminal Travelogue.)

If the pause is deliberate – if he’s noticed Francel is a self-conscious man, and believes he need only give that self-consciousness room to abash him, in place of Solas himself needing to say it is a foolish question – well.]

A physical distinction between our kind? You are possessed of distinguishing height. We are both elves, yet I do not reach your shoulder. Similarly, my people are, on occasion, bald.

I — y-yes, but — that is, I did notice — well, it is not that Elezen cannot be bald, but rather, I have not known baldness to afflict any man who has not seen at least some seventy-odd summers, and even then, it is most uncommon, and mine own father, er...

[blushing in furious self-consciousness, as he feels more and more that he is digging his own grave with every word, francel tips his head to one side, studying solas's features as if for the first time. the man is neither old nor young, in a strange way; francel would be hard-pressed to give his age, and finds it near impossible to even guess it. older than thirty, more like than not, and not as aged as the archbishop — but then, francel's own father, a man of fifty and six, looks infinitely more youthful.

the longer francel thinks on it, the more he gives himself a headache.]

I-I mean to say... you look... fine.

[...the sad truth is that he meant it, but, having delivered that in the worst way possible, francel promptly shuts his mouth and looks as if he is praying for the library to conveniently burst into flame.]

Edited 2019-05-22 15:51 (UTC)

[Solas opens An Enchanting Otherplace, and appears to be deeply immersed in it at once. So much so that he is offhanded in replying to Francel’s observations of his appearance.]

That is relieving.

[There is a heavy pause.]

Ah! Among Miss Chaucer’s claims, she has stated that the Faelands can be entered consciously if the sufficiently cultivated divinator dreams, as they sleep, that they are stepping into a circle of mushrooms. That is fascinating.

[there are, francel supposes, around three different ways this could be playing out. the first possibility is that solas is politely changing the subject to spare him further embarrassment. the second is that he is so offended that he is implicitly telling francel to drop the subject. the third is that the man really doesn’t give much of a damn one way or the other, but in any case, in all three possibilities, francel has proven himself for an enormous fool.

he tries to focus his attention on the meat and bones of what solas has discovered in his reading... but instead his mind conjures an image of solas stepping into a circle of mushrooms, meditating in them, until finally the mushrooms grow on his head. an inexplicable peal of laughter escapes him; he is still red in the face. now, apparently, he is the one who has been fae-cursed with unstoppable giggling.]

I — Fury have mercy — apologize, Solas, I think — [why is it so funny?!] — I need a... a moment’s air. Do let me know if I can... be of any more assistance...

Edited 2019-05-23 14:07 (UTC)

[It’s best for the both of them if Solas is just this deeply engrossed in his research, so if his eyebrow does twitch with vexation it’s probably at some illogical conclusion he’s just read.

(Also this book is fascinating.)]

Of course.

[Have a good day, Francel. Twelve guide you.]

Intro Overflow: May

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