@cthulu Hey Nessa, doesn't Thaler have anything to add on what's going on IC?
Dark Jack
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The Jack of Darkness
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Though grateful that she was allowed to lower her hands – she was mindful to keep them out to the side, lest Enn interpret one of her moves as trying to get to her own gun – it was at this point that Kay’s smile began to wane, and she leaned away from Enn slightly, unconsciously trying to put even that tiny extra distance between them. Up until then she had managed to sustain a surprisingly good mood for the situation she found herself in, and on top of that she was aware that she had been quite accomodating in regards to answering the questions she was being asked...
But despite what most people seemed to assume when they observed her demeanor, Kay was not stupid, nor was she quite as reckless as one might be tempted to suspect. Enn was alone, she had deduced that much already, he had her at gunpoint and his questions until that point had been relatively innocent, so she did not really mind telling him a little about herself and Eighfour, especially if she could manage to gain his trust enough so that he might tell her about his own faction, and perhaps the faction he had been fighting against last night. Even most of his next barrage of questions seemed innocuous, or at least the kind that would mostly serve to underline her own vulnerability, which should be self-evident anyway, given her current circumstances.
But there was certainly nothing harmless in asking about Eighfour’s defenses, nor could it really be chalked up to inquisitive curiosity similar to the one that drove her. He was essentially asking whether Eighfour was an easy target, and wanted her to divulge the strengths and weaknesses of its defense. It was a question with an undeniable hostile goal in mind... unless he wanted to seek refuge there from whoever was after him?
It was not that Eighfour did not have effective defenses, of course; otherwise a faction as small as it would have been pillaged, if not completely wiped out, long ago with so many bigger factions around. Of course, most of its active defenses were pretty basic and small-scale, suitable for fending off thieves and marauders, but far too weak to even slow the approach of an organized military force. Against that kind of threat, their first line of defense was the forest itself, which served both to make them harder to notice and as a natural bulwark against such an attack.
The final line of defense, or perhaps the true first line... well, she was not sure whether any larger factions actually knew about Eighfour, but if they did, then that alone would be enough to dissuade most people from trying anything. Destroying Eighfour was well within the ability of almost any faction, but it simply was not worth doing.
“I’m scouring and I’m civilian, yeah,” she said, much more hesitant now that she had started growing suspicious of Enn’s motives. She was willing to tell this man as much about herself as he cared to know, but she was certainly not going to betray her faction to save herself. “I’m not just a scourer, though. I tinker, take stuff apart and put it together, build stuff. I made my gun myself, and this cart here. I’m still learning, but Gramps says I’m a fast learner.”
She drew a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second as she gathered up her courage to face torture and death if necessary, and then glared at Enn with newfound determination. “Eighfour keeps to itself, but it’s not so helpless that a single soldier could do anything. Why? Should Eighfour expect trouble from one of those warmongers from last night?”
But despite what most people seemed to assume when they observed her demeanor, Kay was not stupid, nor was she quite as reckless as one might be tempted to suspect. Enn was alone, she had deduced that much already, he had her at gunpoint and his questions until that point had been relatively innocent, so she did not really mind telling him a little about herself and Eighfour, especially if she could manage to gain his trust enough so that he might tell her about his own faction, and perhaps the faction he had been fighting against last night. Even most of his next barrage of questions seemed innocuous, or at least the kind that would mostly serve to underline her own vulnerability, which should be self-evident anyway, given her current circumstances.
But there was certainly nothing harmless in asking about Eighfour’s defenses, nor could it really be chalked up to inquisitive curiosity similar to the one that drove her. He was essentially asking whether Eighfour was an easy target, and wanted her to divulge the strengths and weaknesses of its defense. It was a question with an undeniable hostile goal in mind... unless he wanted to seek refuge there from whoever was after him?
It was not that Eighfour did not have effective defenses, of course; otherwise a faction as small as it would have been pillaged, if not completely wiped out, long ago with so many bigger factions around. Of course, most of its active defenses were pretty basic and small-scale, suitable for fending off thieves and marauders, but far too weak to even slow the approach of an organized military force. Against that kind of threat, their first line of defense was the forest itself, which served both to make them harder to notice and as a natural bulwark against such an attack.
The final line of defense, or perhaps the true first line... well, she was not sure whether any larger factions actually knew about Eighfour, but if they did, then that alone would be enough to dissuade most people from trying anything. Destroying Eighfour was well within the ability of almost any faction, but it simply was not worth doing.
“I’m scouring and I’m civilian, yeah,” she said, much more hesitant now that she had started growing suspicious of Enn’s motives. She was willing to tell this man as much about herself as he cared to know, but she was certainly not going to betray her faction to save herself. “I’m not just a scourer, though. I tinker, take stuff apart and put it together, build stuff. I made my gun myself, and this cart here. I’m still learning, but Gramps says I’m a fast learner.”
She drew a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second as she gathered up her courage to face torture and death if necessary, and then glared at Enn with newfound determination. “Eighfour keeps to itself, but it’s not so helpless that a single soldier could do anything. Why? Should Eighfour expect trouble from one of those warmongers from last night?”
Heh, somehow I didn't notice the question at the end of your post until now. Eh... well, it would depend on the context, really, but in regards to the "thinking" referred to in regards to "can only think of one thing at the time", I guess my definition would be along the lines of... "can only run one process at the time" or "can only follow one train of thought at the time without consciously switching between them", though I'm not even entirely sure how I feel about the latter. I guess when I say "think about *blank*", I mean "process *blank*".
So I guess by my definition, thinking can be a is all complex analysis.
And I got what you meant in regards to the way I recall/hear music, and that is what I meant. I, uh, apparently work in horizontal layers? I also very rarely have any trouble separating one sound from another (unless one is significantly louder than the other to the point where I actually have trouble hearing the one I want to separate) and am practically never distracted by sound per se. The only time multiple sounds can really start to confuse me is if there are multiple layers of sound that I feel like I should pay conscious attention to (most notably, if multiple people speak to me at once; I actually find it particularly confusing and downright disorienting when that happens). When I listen to music in real-time I have no problems shifting my focus from one layer - the vocals, for instance - to another - like a particular instrument - and sort of "fade out" the rest.
When I still played Battlefield I remember usually doing pretty well, because even with a cacophony explosions and gunfire everywhere, I still never had trouble registering footfalls beneath it, which in turn meant that no one could manage to sneak up on me (unless they were actually sneaking, but everyone sprints in Battlefield). So I guess I just naturally separate sounds into layers? Heh.
So I guess by my definition, thinking can be a is all complex analysis.
And I got what you meant in regards to the way I recall/hear music, and that is what I meant. I, uh, apparently work in horizontal layers? I also very rarely have any trouble separating one sound from another (unless one is significantly louder than the other to the point where I actually have trouble hearing the one I want to separate) and am practically never distracted by sound per se. The only time multiple sounds can really start to confuse me is if there are multiple layers of sound that I feel like I should pay conscious attention to (most notably, if multiple people speak to me at once; I actually find it particularly confusing and downright disorienting when that happens). When I listen to music in real-time I have no problems shifting my focus from one layer - the vocals, for instance - to another - like a particular instrument - and sort of "fade out" the rest.
When I still played Battlefield I remember usually doing pretty well, because even with a cacophony explosions and gunfire everywhere, I still never had trouble registering footfalls beneath it, which in turn meant that no one could manage to sneak up on me (unless they were actually sneaking, but everyone sprints in Battlefield). So I guess I just naturally separate sounds into layers? Heh.
The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest
Although the young squire had been surprised at Olan suddenly speaking in a language he had never heard anyone speak before, which his expression had openly betrayed, it was nothing compared to what he felt when the old Nightwalker spoke... that. The impossible non-language, or maybe all-language, he replied to Domhnall and Iridiel in. It was not just that he was stricken with amazement or shock that such a thing was even possible, let alone that Olan could do it. No, while he did feel that on those accounts, and was dimly aware of the fact deep in his heart, there was something else that made Jaelnec’s eyes open wide and stare in helpless awe and horror at the man he thought he knew to be feeble and absent-minded, but at the same time also was the one who had successfully attacked and destroyed one of Rilon’s physical manifestations. Hearing him speak like that, in that unnatural – or primordial? - way awakened certain memories, one of which he had not been conscious of, but had been storing somewhere in his mind nevertheless.
A child’s voice, coming from the lips of a creature that appeared to be, but most certainly could not be any further from that of a child: Rilon’s voice. His speech had been the same, and the word he had used to make everyone in the borderhouse barracks collapse on the spot had been in the same non-language or all-language Olan was speaking now. “Cease.” Jaelnec had not even dwelled at the sound of that word until now, simply because the power and effect of its command was so much more notable, and because he had had other things to worry about...
But there was more. After the explorer extraordinaire had added “God-slayer” to the titles that could be applied to him, Jaelnec’s mind had been forced to hibernate by Mother Tigress, and thus he had not consciously experienced what happened afterward. But he had been made to sleep at that time, not rendered unconscious; he had still heard, and now he realized that this was not the first time Olan had spoken like this.
“Release.”
Unlike now, there had been power in that word... immense power. Comparable even to the power Rilon had put in his own command, which had subdued everyone in the room...
Except Olan. He got right back up again and became a God-slayer.
Swallowing, the young Nightwalker closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down rather than let himself be carried away by the implications of what he had just realized. Olan... just what are you, really?
“Oh, I guess I am,” Olan laughed at Domhnall’s description of the manner of speech the old man was using. Was he not even aware that he was speaking like that? “That’s handy, you know? I have to remember I can do this. Might be useful.”
Moments later Domhnall diverted his attention to the squire, asking whether he could perform the same feat his older kinsman just had.
“No, I...” Jaelnec shook his head, still somewhat dazed by shock, “I’ve never come across anything like this either. Never even heard of something like that before. I... I didn’t know.”
And finally, the outlander naturally asked about their quarreling with a god, as could be expected. Really, it would have been weird if he had not been curious about something like that, especially since they claimed to not only have had altercations with a god, but they had apparently – and in reality, actually – all emerged alive and relatively unscathed, save Olan’s loss of memory and various psychological trauma.
“It’s a long story, I guess,” the squire sighed. “We had a fight with Rilon over his relic, and we won. That’s the short version.”
@Mercinus3 next on the Drunken Dove?
HAH! Well, who would've thought it... swapping the closing tags on that particular header actually fixed the entire formatting issue. That's interesting... and slightly dismaying, to be honest, that such a relatively minor detail could cause a runaway error like that, though I guess that's just how coding is wont to work.
You might as well put the spells on the Compendium if you've got the time, sure; at least that way they won't be lost if something stupid happens. (I tend to only really backup important things, and actually saved quite a bit, including my entire Documents-folder, before the reformat. The problem was that I'd forgotten that I had had to reinstall Windows when I got my new motherboard, and so all of my older documents were, in fact, stored in the "windows.old" version of the documents-folder... which I did not remember to save. Needless to say, a LOT of old documents were lost to that bit of thoughtlessness, including the rough original document for the Compendium itself and the original Prophecy of the Withering-document (though the latter is important enough that I've made backups of it three or four different places, including a certain Dropbox-folder). I also lost several roleplay OPs and character sheets and -posts for other RPs (moved the Prophecy posts to the real documents-folder), a bunch of unfinished stories... crap. Oh well, spilled milk and all that.)
EDIT: On the subject of music, I've given it some thought, and I figure that the reason that I tend to replay incomplete versions of songs in my head is that I don't remember the songs as much as I try to reconstruct it from what memory I have.
You might as well put the spells on the Compendium if you've got the time, sure; at least that way they won't be lost if something stupid happens. (I tend to only really backup important things, and actually saved quite a bit, including my entire Documents-folder, before the reformat. The problem was that I'd forgotten that I had had to reinstall Windows when I got my new motherboard, and so all of my older documents were, in fact, stored in the "windows.old" version of the documents-folder... which I did not remember to save. Needless to say, a LOT of old documents were lost to that bit of thoughtlessness, including the rough original document for the Compendium itself and the original Prophecy of the Withering-document (though the latter is important enough that I've made backups of it three or four different places, including a certain Dropbox-folder). I also lost several roleplay OPs and character sheets and -posts for other RPs (moved the Prophecy posts to the real documents-folder), a bunch of unfinished stories... crap. Oh well, spilled milk and all that.)
EDIT: On the subject of music, I've given it some thought, and I figure that the reason that I tend to replay incomplete versions of songs in my head is that I don't remember the songs as much as I try to reconstruct it from what memory I have.
The search function for this forum is useless at the moment, it seems, but by manually going through one page after another and doing searching each for the word "spell", I actually found the list of spells I put in here! It's not the updated one I lost, but at least it saves me the effort of rediscovering some of the incantations and effects. I'll just grab that and save it, so that I have my spellbook again.
Here it is again, for anyone that might be curious about it:
EDIT: Now why is that Hider not working...
EDIT2: Actually, what is up with the Arcane Spells section-header, too...
As for the parallel processing of human minds and its capability for switching focus quickly but keeping each process running continuously, it's something I grew rather familiar with during some of the bore boring/easy classes/lectures I've had to attend over the years. I'd sit with my laptop in front of me, looking at the blackboard and following the lecture with my eyes and pseudo-subconsciously listen to what was being said, while consciously focusing on the laptop where I'd be writing some story or another (it's amazing how reliable muscle-memory can be when your brain is not trying to interfere; I think I've made less typos while trying to pay attention to something else than I have focusing on writing, on a errors per time-basis). It's for that same reason that I've always tended to look somewhat skeptically at people claiming (very confidently, too) that one can only think of one thing at the time.
Interestingly I find that my focus is usually more reliable when running parallel processes than when I'm focusing on one particular thing. During those classes/lectures I pretty much never lost track of where I had gotten to in writing, or what was going on (though there usually was a short pause whenever I was asked a question during which I had to quickly recount what had just been said to myself), but when I try to concentrate... For instance, I'm pretty focused when playing Dark Souls, but if someone walks between me and the monitor while I'm playing - even if they're just walking past and only occupy the space for a split-second - I can feel like I have to get my bearings again all over, as though I've completely lost track of where I am in the game and what I am doing. That's probably one of the reasons that I like listening to music while writing, since otherwise I get distracted much too easily.
As for the matter of having songs stuck in my head, that does occasionally happen, yes... though not the "true" version of the song. I know what the song sounds like, of course, but the version playing in my head tends to be one isolated piece of sound, like just the vocal artist, or just one or two instruments rather than the combined musical score. And it's usually just a short bit of the song rather than the song in its entirety, like the chorus, or even just part of the chorus. And don't even get me started on remembering the lyrics... (I think the only songs I am currently capable of correctly reciting the lyrics from (that have lyrics) are Still Alive and Want You Gone, from Portal and Portal 2 respectively.)
I enjoy listening to music, but I guess my memory is just more visual than it is auditory.
Here it is again, for anyone that might be curious about it:
EDIT: Now why is that Hider not working...
EDIT2: Actually, what is up with the Arcane Spells section-header, too...
As for the parallel processing of human minds and its capability for switching focus quickly but keeping each process running continuously, it's something I grew rather familiar with during some of the bore boring/easy classes/lectures I've had to attend over the years. I'd sit with my laptop in front of me, looking at the blackboard and following the lecture with my eyes and pseudo-subconsciously listen to what was being said, while consciously focusing on the laptop where I'd be writing some story or another (it's amazing how reliable muscle-memory can be when your brain is not trying to interfere; I think I've made less typos while trying to pay attention to something else than I have focusing on writing, on a errors per time-basis). It's for that same reason that I've always tended to look somewhat skeptically at people claiming (very confidently, too) that one can only think of one thing at the time.
Interestingly I find that my focus is usually more reliable when running parallel processes than when I'm focusing on one particular thing. During those classes/lectures I pretty much never lost track of where I had gotten to in writing, or what was going on (though there usually was a short pause whenever I was asked a question during which I had to quickly recount what had just been said to myself), but when I try to concentrate... For instance, I'm pretty focused when playing Dark Souls, but if someone walks between me and the monitor while I'm playing - even if they're just walking past and only occupy the space for a split-second - I can feel like I have to get my bearings again all over, as though I've completely lost track of where I am in the game and what I am doing. That's probably one of the reasons that I like listening to music while writing, since otherwise I get distracted much too easily.
As for the matter of having songs stuck in my head, that does occasionally happen, yes... though not the "true" version of the song. I know what the song sounds like, of course, but the version playing in my head tends to be one isolated piece of sound, like just the vocal artist, or just one or two instruments rather than the combined musical score. And it's usually just a short bit of the song rather than the song in its entirety, like the chorus, or even just part of the chorus. And don't even get me started on remembering the lyrics... (I think the only songs I am currently capable of correctly reciting the lyrics from (that have lyrics) are Still Alive and Want You Gone, from Portal and Portal 2 respectively.)
I enjoy listening to music, but I guess my memory is just more visual than it is auditory.
The entire process you describe does sound familiar, though I can't really say that mine is exactly the same. Most notably I don't think my writing process can be described as having phases in the first place; I tend to jump back and forth between writing description of events, picturing them in my mind (often one fragmented image at the time, expanded only as far as the context requires it to be) and writing background information and indirect thoughts. Although often (as I know you do as well, Shien) my process will also be interspersed with breaks for physically testing various movements with my own body (and occasionally consulting someone else on whether it works the same for someone with joints with normal mobility) and muttering dialogue to myself to test the time it would take to say it and help me imagine how it would be said (interestingly, I seem to have much harder mentally reproducing sounds than I have images).
I never realized that not everyone has a "mind's eye", as you call it, but I guess it makes sense.
And yeah, Shadow Image (and the different-nature spells that share it's incantation, the names of which I don't remember because - I just realized - the document in which I had recorded spells in was lost in a recent reformatting of my PC; I remember only that there were three in total, and that the other two manifested for light-affinity and other affinities, respectively) does work very similarly to that. I also imagine that a "mind's eye" would not only make it easier to do it, I figure it would probably be impossible to do it without one. The same goes for teleportation, unless the target location is somewhere magically marked in advance rather than mentally selected during casting.
I never realized that not everyone has a "mind's eye", as you call it, but I guess it makes sense.
And yeah, Shadow Image (and the different-nature spells that share it's incantation, the names of which I don't remember because - I just realized - the document in which I had recorded spells in was lost in a recent reformatting of my PC; I remember only that there were three in total, and that the other two manifested for light-affinity and other affinities, respectively) does work very similarly to that. I also imagine that a "mind's eye" would not only make it easier to do it, I figure it would probably be impossible to do it without one. The same goes for teleportation, unless the target location is somewhere magically marked in advance rather than mentally selected during casting.
Zerul City, the Drunken Dove
The sisters’ eyes widened in surprise when Morgan told them that the Fixer had brandished his war pick against them, with Rose even going as far as to straighten her hunched form slightly in astonishment, only for them to calm down and listen with a greater degree of composure as Ixion pointed out that the weapon had not actually been used against them, and proceeded to give a much more modest and, to the demonspawn, more realistic recount of what their opponent had done. When Ixion finished describing the extent of the Fixer’s efforts against them, the sisters looked at each other, then back at Ixion.
“That makes sense, at least from what we’ve heard,” Violet nodded her head, smiling somewhat uncomfortably. “Mind you, we’ve never actually even seen the Fixer ourselves, so we can only go by what we’ve been told by the few survivors have. That said, the deo’iel alone has enough people that have fought him to see a pattern: the Fixer appears to be rather adept at estimating how much of a threat an opponent is to him, and seems to impose limits on himself to put himself on about the same level. Don’t feel too bad that he only used one hand against you; from what we’ve heard, there have been occassions where he didn’t use his hands at all.”
“We don’t know how dangerous he really is because of that, too,” Rose pointed out grimly. “Though we do know that he is insanely strong, at least. One of the deo’iel he’s fought was Lord Nightmare of the sixth circle – our strongest agent – and though Nightmare won, he’s said that he could tell the Fixer was still holding back... that they were evenly matched.” She let out a snort of laughter. “They turned a small town into rubble fighting each other; that’s the kind of power you could have faced.”
“We’re not sure if surprising him is unusual,” Violet resumed, “but it can’t be a bad thing. We know that the Fixer craves challenging opponents – that’s the reason he gave most survivors for letting them live – and that he prefers not to kill anyone he feels could be ‘a fun playmate’ in the future.”
Violet sighed, grabbed a chair from a nearby table and sat down. “That brings me to why we wanted to talk to you, though: the Fixer doesn’t spare witnesses. It might be in a few days, several months, or even years and decades into the future, but eventually he will decide to fight you again, and the second time he fights an opponent, it is always to the death. With a few deo’iel, he murdered them when they retired... so I’m guessing he’ll kill you once you stop improving yourselves.
Now, technically we aren’t allowed to hunt the Fixer, even if we want to, since according to our rules he isn’t a monster. In other words, the deo’iel can’t protect you from him. We are, however, allowed to defend ourselves and our brethren when we’re attacked. Do you understand?”
“We’re formally inviting you to become deo’iel,” Rose elaborated, “so that once the bastard comes for you, you’ll have the deo’iel backing you up. No matter how strong he is, he can’t handle all of us.”
The stranger seemed extremely nervous for an evidently trained soldier, despite of Kay’s hands already being in the air and far away from her gun... a gun which, as one could probably tell just by looking at it, was not designed to be drawn swiftly. She considered whether it would be a good idea to point out to him that she knew he was in the area before going here – that the spotter birds were indeed the ones she had followed, and that she had heard the gunshot earlier – yet had approached without drawing her weapon, but ultimately decided against it.
She was not entirely sure why she reached the decision not to point out to him that her intentions were obviously not hostile. Maybe it was because she did not want to embarras him by pointing out that he was needlessly threatening and interrogating a civilian, and wanted to act the part so that he could live out whatever adrenaline-filled war scenario he thought this was until its peaceful conclusion. It could also be that she did not want to push an obviously stressed and slightly paranoid, maybe even traumatised, man any further by making him aware of his own state. Or perhaps there was a small chance – just a tiny one – that it was because having a high-powered rifle aimed at one’s chest had proved an effective means of establishing authority, and that she did not want to test whether said rifle would be fired if she were to challenge that authority.
She had to make a conscious effort not to let out another chuckle. Interesting how being faced with potential – probable, even – death seemed to fail to quell her sense of humor, and even less so her curiosity. But then again, how could one expect to survive in the wilderness if a little mortal danger was all it took to ruin one’s mood?
While she processed the grim irony of the situation, the soldier unleashed a burst of rapid-fire questions that actually had her squinting for a moment as she concentrated, trying her best to note each individual question, only to ultimately reach the conclusion that it could be reduced to three questions: “The birds?”, “What is Eighfour?” and “Is anyone nearby?”
“Yeh, the birds. Eighfour is a faction,” she shrugged, trying her best to come up with an impromptu explanation of her people. She had never had to actually describe Eighfour before, since she had never met anyone from outside the faction before. “Just a small one, that is. We’re... well, I guess we’re scavengers? We find stuff, we fix stuff, we build stuff and we, uh, tinker. Yeh?”
She licked her lips, pausing a second to think before replying to the last question. “Well, I’m alone out here right now, so no people. And no settlements nearby, I think. There’s the computer guys, but they’re several dozen kilometers off west.”
After that, information finally started flowing the other way, coming along in a slow and sparse tickle that barely did anything to sate Kay’s ravenous curiosity, but it was better than nothing. In fact, when she thought about it, there was quite a bit of exciting and useful information in what he had just told her. For starters, it told her that his helmet had to have more gizmos in it than it appeared. How else would it have made sense for this guy to react to the warmth of the spotter bird? The helmet had to have some kind of compact means of thermal imaging, or maybe a built-in filter in the visor of the helmet itself? She wondered how exactly it worked, whether it could be easily toggled on and off, or if maybe it could even make it possible to discern other non-visible wavelengths. Oh, she had so many questions she wanted to ask him about that helmet! But once again she was dissuaded from actually acting on her inquisitiveness by the prospect of being shot... it was really such a nuisance, that rifle. This could have been a ton of fun if she had not been under threat of death.
The other thing she learned was one she grew increasingly certain off the longer he spoke: he was alone. Judging by his gear, behavior and general twitchiness, it was probably reasonable to presume that this guy had taken part in “the skirmish last night”, and if he had not, then he certainly had had some kind of particular mission concerning that very same battle. Why else would he be around here, equipped like that? And if one were to work under the presumption that he had indeed been a participant of the bloody festivities, then it would appear that he had been on the losing side. Why else would he have fired at a drone immediately upon detecting it, without as much as taking a split-second to check whether it was enemy or ally... or, as the case would have it, innocent bird. So the drones picking off stragglers were expected to be hostile, which meant they probably belonged to his enemy.
But the thing was, with what he was saying, it did not really matter too much whether his side had won or lost last night. He thought it might be unhealthy to hold on to his old name... which meant that people who knew his name before were now detrimental to his health? There were a ton of different explanations to this, probably – he could be a traitor, an exile, a deserter, a criminal and who knew what else other factions would kill you for – but it all suggested that he expected his own faction to not be very amicable towards him anymore.
So he was not just “alone” in the sense Kay was alone, with no one else around... he was really alone. It made her feel bad for him, and would probably even have made her want to give him a friendly hug to comfort him, had she not been slightly annoyed with being held at gunpoint.
Finally he lowered his gun a little, at least enough so that a twitch-shot would no longer be immediately fatal... though considering that they were out in the middle of nowhere, being shot in her thigh would probably kill her as surely as a shot in the heart or lung, just not as quickly. She took it as a sign that he was relaxing a bit more, though, and lowered her hands a little accordingly – though she kept them up and away from her pistol – and beamed him a toothy smile.
“Notrau Qure,” she repeated his name, though she thought it felt a bit awkward on her tongue. She grimaced as though moving the name around in her mouth, tasting it carefully. He did not want to use his old name... for a second she considered suggesting that she called him “Whatever You Want”, making a joke of his own statement, but even aimed at her leg his rifle kept ruining Kay’s fun. “Enn-Que, then.” She sighed. “Can I lower my hands? It’s actually surprisingly uncomfortable, this pose, and it gets worse by the minute.”
She was not entirely sure why she reached the decision not to point out to him that her intentions were obviously not hostile. Maybe it was because she did not want to embarras him by pointing out that he was needlessly threatening and interrogating a civilian, and wanted to act the part so that he could live out whatever adrenaline-filled war scenario he thought this was until its peaceful conclusion. It could also be that she did not want to push an obviously stressed and slightly paranoid, maybe even traumatised, man any further by making him aware of his own state. Or perhaps there was a small chance – just a tiny one – that it was because having a high-powered rifle aimed at one’s chest had proved an effective means of establishing authority, and that she did not want to test whether said rifle would be fired if she were to challenge that authority.
She had to make a conscious effort not to let out another chuckle. Interesting how being faced with potential – probable, even – death seemed to fail to quell her sense of humor, and even less so her curiosity. But then again, how could one expect to survive in the wilderness if a little mortal danger was all it took to ruin one’s mood?
While she processed the grim irony of the situation, the soldier unleashed a burst of rapid-fire questions that actually had her squinting for a moment as she concentrated, trying her best to note each individual question, only to ultimately reach the conclusion that it could be reduced to three questions: “The birds?”, “What is Eighfour?” and “Is anyone nearby?”
“Yeh, the birds. Eighfour is a faction,” she shrugged, trying her best to come up with an impromptu explanation of her people. She had never had to actually describe Eighfour before, since she had never met anyone from outside the faction before. “Just a small one, that is. We’re... well, I guess we’re scavengers? We find stuff, we fix stuff, we build stuff and we, uh, tinker. Yeh?”
She licked her lips, pausing a second to think before replying to the last question. “Well, I’m alone out here right now, so no people. And no settlements nearby, I think. There’s the computer guys, but they’re several dozen kilometers off west.”
After that, information finally started flowing the other way, coming along in a slow and sparse tickle that barely did anything to sate Kay’s ravenous curiosity, but it was better than nothing. In fact, when she thought about it, there was quite a bit of exciting and useful information in what he had just told her. For starters, it told her that his helmet had to have more gizmos in it than it appeared. How else would it have made sense for this guy to react to the warmth of the spotter bird? The helmet had to have some kind of compact means of thermal imaging, or maybe a built-in filter in the visor of the helmet itself? She wondered how exactly it worked, whether it could be easily toggled on and off, or if maybe it could even make it possible to discern other non-visible wavelengths. Oh, she had so many questions she wanted to ask him about that helmet! But once again she was dissuaded from actually acting on her inquisitiveness by the prospect of being shot... it was really such a nuisance, that rifle. This could have been a ton of fun if she had not been under threat of death.
The other thing she learned was one she grew increasingly certain off the longer he spoke: he was alone. Judging by his gear, behavior and general twitchiness, it was probably reasonable to presume that this guy had taken part in “the skirmish last night”, and if he had not, then he certainly had had some kind of particular mission concerning that very same battle. Why else would he be around here, equipped like that? And if one were to work under the presumption that he had indeed been a participant of the bloody festivities, then it would appear that he had been on the losing side. Why else would he have fired at a drone immediately upon detecting it, without as much as taking a split-second to check whether it was enemy or ally... or, as the case would have it, innocent bird. So the drones picking off stragglers were expected to be hostile, which meant they probably belonged to his enemy.
But the thing was, with what he was saying, it did not really matter too much whether his side had won or lost last night. He thought it might be unhealthy to hold on to his old name... which meant that people who knew his name before were now detrimental to his health? There were a ton of different explanations to this, probably – he could be a traitor, an exile, a deserter, a criminal and who knew what else other factions would kill you for – but it all suggested that he expected his own faction to not be very amicable towards him anymore.
So he was not just “alone” in the sense Kay was alone, with no one else around... he was really alone. It made her feel bad for him, and would probably even have made her want to give him a friendly hug to comfort him, had she not been slightly annoyed with being held at gunpoint.
Finally he lowered his gun a little, at least enough so that a twitch-shot would no longer be immediately fatal... though considering that they were out in the middle of nowhere, being shot in her thigh would probably kill her as surely as a shot in the heart or lung, just not as quickly. She took it as a sign that he was relaxing a bit more, though, and lowered her hands a little accordingly – though she kept them up and away from her pistol – and beamed him a toothy smile.
“Notrau Qure,” she repeated his name, though she thought it felt a bit awkward on her tongue. She grimaced as though moving the name around in her mouth, tasting it carefully. He did not want to use his old name... for a second she considered suggesting that she called him “Whatever You Want”, making a joke of his own statement, but even aimed at her leg his rifle kept ruining Kay’s fun. “Enn-Que, then.” She sighed. “Can I lower my hands? It’s actually surprisingly uncomfortable, this pose, and it gets worse by the minute.”
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