[ It doesn't escape him that Ian chose this place for a reason. Indulging Nate's love for the places he can't visit anymore, maybe, or just thinking that a more artsy venue would be right up his alley. Normal museums built as temples to the modern are places he veers away from out of sheer disinterest, but there's something hollowly fascinating about the projected worlds on the walls, the way the crisscrossing stairs dip down into the earth like an old stepwell, the time and effort someone put into making whatever this place was intended to be.
A "museum of architecture," he knows. But it's not, really. It's a catalogue, interpretations made by people from another time with no real concept of the eras before their own that they lost. History isn't revered in this world so much as it is reviled and without intending to, they constructed a database of visual memories bereft of context.
Which is just fine for him, with all the context he needs. ]
Jesus, who the Hell built this place, M.C. Escher?
[ He picks his way down a row of doors and in true Drake fashion, chooses one at random. A short, narrow hall of smooth metallic siding opens up into another projection, colored light streaming in from windows that aren't really there, dappling rugs that aren't there either. It still bends around his skin, would feel almost warm if not for the complete lack of active central heating in this place. ]
...This is Nasir al-Mulk, in Shiraz.
[ Nate says before his HUD even has the chance to register the signature from the room's projectors. ]
They believed God was a source of light, physical representations were like welcoming Him. [ He chatters amiably, half to Ian, half to no one in particular, feeling along a smooth wall with one hand and watching the projection splay over his knuckles. ] I never got to- I haven't been here.
no subject
A "museum of architecture," he knows. But it's not, really. It's a catalogue, interpretations made by people from another time with no real concept of the eras before their own that they lost. History isn't revered in this world so much as it is reviled and without intending to, they constructed a database of visual memories bereft of context.
Which is just fine for him, with all the context he needs. ]
Jesus, who the Hell built this place, M.C. Escher?
[ He picks his way down a row of doors and in true Drake fashion, chooses one at random. A short, narrow hall of smooth metallic siding opens up into another projection, colored light streaming in from windows that aren't really there, dappling rugs that aren't there either. It still bends around his skin, would feel almost warm if not for the complete lack of active central heating in this place. ]
...This is Nasir al-Mulk, in Shiraz.
[ Nate says before his HUD even has the chance to register the signature from the room's projectors. ]
They believed God was a source of light, physical representations were like welcoming Him. [ He chatters amiably, half to Ian, half to no one in particular, feeling along a smooth wall with one hand and watching the projection splay over his knuckles. ] I never got to- I haven't been here.