[ even when he isn't at his best, he's more observant than he seems, noting the slight tentativeness to her, so unlike her usual self. ]
You tore a hole in the universe. [ wouldn't that have, like, consequences? this reminds him of dutch saying she gave someone a war. how do people phrase shit like this so blasé? he decides questioning it won't help in the slightest, so he decides to accept it uncritically. ] That's, uh — it's good that you had each other.
[ because her childhood hadn't sounded terribly enjoyable otherwise. ]
[It's a sentiment he absolutely means, but still Rosalind smiles, amused by it. She's not unaware of the fact she and Robert are a terribly strange case; it's a point of pride, in fact.]
You can ask questions if you'd like, you know. Though I thank you for the sentiment.
[Her smile warms as she tips her head back, glancing at the stars.]
He, ah . . . we only had an atom to communicate through at first. We were both experimenting with it, encasing it in light-- and being the same person, we naturally chose the same atom. He would turn on his machine and I'd grow frustrated, because I was certain I'd left mine off, and yet there the atom was, encased in light yet again.
It took us a fortnight to figure out what was happening. And once we did . . . we used it as a morse code. Off and on, dots and dashes . . . painfully slow, but manageable.
[ It's not that he doesn't want to ask questions, exactly — he has no idea what to ask (lacking much of background that would contextualise her discovery). She fills in some blanks unasked, but the picture in his mind remains hazy. All he gathers is the main idea: they chatted across universes using the same science. ]
You might've guessed this, but I barely attended science classes. [ by way of explanation for not inquiring further. ] 'Course it sounds clever as anything.
[ He cards a hand through his hair. It's late, so disturbing it bothers him less. ]
So, you two teamed up then and figured out how to... make a bigger opening?
[ more atoms or tearing the universe or whatever. ]
[A beat, and she gestures, drawing a little rectangle in the air with her finger.]
Think of it like a doorway. Every universe is a room, self-contained and separate, but they're all packed in side by side. If you can figure out how to open a window from one to the other, though . . . it's as simple as stepping through.
We made a doorway. It took us years, but we managed it, shaky and able only to stay open for a few seconds. But that was long enough. He came through, and he never looked back.
[. . .]
Though it came with a few unforeseen repercussions. Universes don't like it when you mix them like that. And they certainly don't like it when two of the same person occupy one world. Robert suffered hemorrhages and memory problems for months before he recovered.
He kept thinking he was me. He had two sets of memories, and he couldn't reconcile them, which caused him to bleed out. Did he attend Cambridge or Girton? Did he love our parents or resent them? Both were true, and yet both facts couldn't be true . . . but the brain adapts. We learned how to cope with it.
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tailorable) wrote2017-08-29 10:15 am
the madam.
[ even when he isn't at his best, he's more observant than he seems, noting the slight tentativeness to her, so unlike her usual self. ]
You tore a hole in the universe. [ wouldn't that have, like, consequences? this reminds him of dutch saying she gave someone a war. how do people phrase shit like this so blasé? he decides questioning it won't help in the slightest, so he decides to accept it uncritically. ] That's, uh — it's good that you had each other.
[ because her childhood hadn't sounded terribly enjoyable otherwise. ]
no subject
You can ask questions if you'd like, you know. Though I thank you for the sentiment.
[Her smile warms as she tips her head back, glancing at the stars.]
He, ah . . . we only had an atom to communicate through at first. We were both experimenting with it, encasing it in light-- and being the same person, we naturally chose the same atom. He would turn on his machine and I'd grow frustrated, because I was certain I'd left mine off, and yet there the atom was, encased in light yet again.
It took us a fortnight to figure out what was happening. And once we did . . . we used it as a morse code. Off and on, dots and dashes . . . painfully slow, but manageable.
no subject
You might've guessed this, but I barely attended science classes. [ by way of explanation for not inquiring further. ] 'Course it sounds clever as anything.
[ He cards a hand through his hair. It's late, so disturbing it bothers him less. ]
So, you two teamed up then and figured out how to... make a bigger opening?
[ more atoms or tearing the universe or whatever. ]
no subject
[A beat, and she gestures, drawing a little rectangle in the air with her finger.]
Think of it like a doorway. Every universe is a room, self-contained and separate, but they're all packed in side by side. If you can figure out how to open a window from one to the other, though . . . it's as simple as stepping through.
We made a doorway. It took us years, but we managed it, shaky and able only to stay open for a few seconds. But that was long enough. He came through, and he never looked back.
[. . .]
Though it came with a few unforeseen repercussions. Universes don't like it when you mix them like that. And they certainly don't like it when two of the same person occupy one world. Robert suffered hemorrhages and memory problems for months before he recovered.
He kept thinking he was me. He had two sets of memories, and he couldn't reconcile them, which caused him to bleed out. Did he attend Cambridge or Girton? Did he love our parents or resent them? Both were true, and yet both facts couldn't be true . . . but the brain adapts. We learned how to cope with it.