[ Nate meanders over to the "edge," catching the details in the rendering. He can almost hear the dull, water-muted scrape of metal on metal, can perfectly imagine the soft give of rotting wood and dull click of glass, of tile. Would it have been better to sink in anoxic depths, or worse? At what point does the ship stop being a ship, a grave, and start being a projection of nothing at all?
Something about standing in a building dedicated to the wan shadows of the architecture of yesteryear certainly has its hooks in deep, the enjoyment of one view shifted, altered, blown into proportions of the room they're in, before being replaced by another. A rotating album for a dead world.
Grisly and a little macabre, a leaf out of Odysseus' own book. ]
No, no, I like getting existential on first dates. [ He says lightly, rocking on the balls of his feet. ] Really makes the anxiety cosmic instead of localized.
[ Nate's shoulders rise and fall in a gentle shrug, his voice soft. Not distant, not faraway, just remembering. ]
History's always going to repeat itself, Ian. It's not a matter of if, but when. And whether we can learn to live with it or challenge it, whether we can make our own paths. [ A beat, then more quietly: ] For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here.
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Something about standing in a building dedicated to the wan shadows of the architecture of yesteryear certainly has its hooks in deep, the enjoyment of one view shifted, altered, blown into proportions of the room they're in, before being replaced by another. A rotating album for a dead world.
Grisly and a little macabre, a leaf out of Odysseus' own book. ]
No, no, I like getting existential on first dates. [ He says lightly, rocking on the balls of his feet. ] Really makes the anxiety cosmic instead of localized.
[ Nate's shoulders rise and fall in a gentle shrug, his voice soft. Not distant, not faraway, just remembering. ]
History's always going to repeat itself, Ian. It's not a matter of if, but when. And whether we can learn to live with it or challenge it, whether we can make our own paths. [ A beat, then more quietly: ] For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here.