[Founder, that is so much to follow. Clive just lets their path meander as Joshua goes on and on, figuring there is no way being an extra block over is so terrible a fate as to interrupt such a respectable rant. How good it is to hear his brother's voice going on and on.
He laughs.]
Infinite, or at least far more productive, yes... [After all, there is no Blight here to wilt the crops for years before they stop growing at all, and there are presumably machines to reap in an hour what a hundred Branded could take in a day.]
I think you're right, though. There is little rhyme or reason to anything once you look too closely.
[There's a garbage can just up ahead, so he drains the last of his coffee so he can get rid of the cup, which he does with a little toss.]
I've been on hunting trips on the outskirts of the city. It makes little sense out there. Nothing like the real wilds –– every terrain with its own creatures, its own flowers and herbs and whatnot, trade roads, stretching on for days before reaching something different. Not here, though. Canyons, the sea, a desert and lush woods within a day's walk? To say nothing of what happens when you go further out.
[Joshua listens intently as Clive describes the peculiarities of the world outside the city. The concept of disparate lands so closely packed together sparks a flurry of thoughts in his mind, each one more tangled than the last. He furrows his brow slightly, mulling over the implications as he takes another (slower, he's trying to savor what's left) sip of his coffee.]
It’s almost as if the land itself is a patchwork quilt, stitched together with fragments from countless worlds and times—each square its own unique ecosystem, with little regard for natural order or continuity. A veritable kaleidoscope of biomes, all within a single breath.
[[He pauses, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the coffee cup, lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts. His voice quickens, the caffeine further fueling the pace of his speech, already growing rapidly.]
And what if this incongruity is not just a quirk of the landscape but a reflection of something deeper—something fundamental to the nature of this realm? Limbo may well be a confluence of realities, a nexus where the laws of one world bleed into another, creating these strange juxtapositions. It would explain how people like us, from different worlds and times, find ourselves drawn to one single afterlife. Perhaps this place isn’t just a mirror of the living world, but a shattered one, its pieces rearranged by forces we barely comprehend.
[The taste of his coffee has grown more familiar, more comforting. His mind, however, is anything but at ease.]
And consider this, Clive: if the world itself is so malleable, so prone to these peculiar overlaps, then might we not find a way to use that to our advantage? To unravel the mysteries of Limbo, perhaps even find a way to navigate—or manipulate—its anomalies? If the local governance will not allow us to leave, mayhap we can create one ourselves.
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He laughs.]
Infinite, or at least far more productive, yes... [After all, there is no Blight here to wilt the crops for years before they stop growing at all, and there are presumably machines to reap in an hour what a hundred Branded could take in a day.]
I think you're right, though. There is little rhyme or reason to anything once you look too closely.
[There's a garbage can just up ahead, so he drains the last of his coffee so he can get rid of the cup, which he does with a little toss.]
I've been on hunting trips on the outskirts of the city. It makes little sense out there. Nothing like the real wilds –– every terrain with its own creatures, its own flowers and herbs and whatnot, trade roads, stretching on for days before reaching something different. Not here, though. Canyons, the sea, a desert and lush woods within a day's walk? To say nothing of what happens when you go further out.
no subject
It’s almost as if the land itself is a patchwork quilt, stitched together with fragments from countless worlds and times—each square its own unique ecosystem, with little regard for natural order or continuity. A veritable kaleidoscope of biomes, all within a single breath.
[[He pauses, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the coffee cup, lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts. His voice quickens, the caffeine further fueling the pace of his speech, already growing rapidly.]
And what if this incongruity is not just a quirk of the landscape but a reflection of something deeper—something fundamental to the nature of this realm? Limbo may well be a confluence of realities, a nexus where the laws of one world bleed into another, creating these strange juxtapositions. It would explain how people like us, from different worlds and times, find ourselves drawn to one single afterlife. Perhaps this place isn’t just a mirror of the living world, but a shattered one, its pieces rearranged by forces we barely comprehend.
[The taste of his coffee has grown more familiar, more comforting. His mind, however, is anything but at ease.]
And consider this, Clive: if the world itself is so malleable, so prone to these peculiar overlaps, then might we not find a way to use that to our advantage? To unravel the mysteries of Limbo, perhaps even find a way to navigate—or manipulate—its anomalies? If the local governance will not allow us to leave, mayhap we can create one ourselves.