[ text/anon (not heavily encrypted) ]

[devotedtothecore]

I have three questions. One specific, two more general.

1. Are there any known instances of Transports who managed to return to their home worlds, or travel to worlds beyond this one?

2. Would you consider the level of technological development in this world more advanced, less advanced, or on par with that of your own?

3. To date, have you encountered others from the same world as yourself?

Your time is appreciated.

Comments

[devotedtothecore]

[ Even kindness can be (must be) cruel at times, if only to prevent greater cruelties to come. A philosophy Chrys is familiar with, from the grueling training that marked his apprenticeship alone (days that seemed so far away, now), meant to forge and refine and weed out all but the best, those who would be charged with a city's mechanical heart in their hands.

And now here he is, a novice again, in a sense.

The smile broadens a fraction at Oz's comment, though only briefly, and he looks up as the waiter approaches, with a quiet word of thanks as the cups are set before them. ]

...they certainly smell well enough. Though I'm told I'm a poor judge.

[ The hands that reach for his coffee are wrapped in woolen gloves, thick and plain brown, with small holes for fingertips; if there's one thing he still hasn't quite gotten used to about life in the city, it's the cold that permeates it, temperatures that would have only been found in the ice-rooms of shops and houses back home. ]

[velveteened]

( he takes the brief smile for a victory, his own buried in his pleasure over the arrival of their drinks and, a moment later, his slice of cake. gil would never approve of course, all you're going to rot your teeth and ruin your appetite, but what gil doesn't know won't hurt him, particularly when sweets are involved. )

I doubt that! Anyone can notice the aroma of a really good tea or coffee.

( perhaps have trouble differentiating good from bad, but the far end spectrums seem to him obvious enough. exsilium isn't precisely known for its quality ingredients — quality anything — so it's all relative; a good tea in reveil would be unthinkably rare and expensive here. but there's value in the ingredients here too, in things put together with affection and honest efforts. the people here, whom he's come to care for dearly, have built up their whole lives in a place where they were supposed to languish and suffer.

it's, perhaps, the sweetness of survival. )

[devotedtothecore]

That seems quite a generous opinion.

[ It's been a running joke for years with those who've known him, his sense of taste (Chrys thinks of it as "undemanding", they call it "leather-tongue"), and while the jibes and mock-horror are a point of irritation at times, he's content, at least, in the ability to imbibe just about anything short of the empirically inedible. The coffee is hot, and refreshing to the sip, and warms him up inside, and that's good enough for him. And maybe it's the enthusiasm Oz has for it, that seems to flavor it better than the stuff to be found at the Hold.

He watches the delight on Oz's face as the cake arrives, like nothing so much as a child and his sweets (the thought fails to be much of a simile, even, seems precisely what it is.) Wonders, in passing, about the life he was taken from, this boy with the manner and tastes of a gentleman's son, and features toeing the line of a coming of age (already past, perhaps) and eyes bright enough to obscure what glimpses of opacity might be. Wonders how much of him is seven months' engagement in this war (how much is to cope.)

A quiet sigh, blowing steam from his cup. ...it seems unfair to ask more questions before Oz has a chance at digging into that cake.

But small talk isn't Chrys's strong suit either, so he takes a moment to busy himself with examining his cup, for lack of words. ]