conjuredskies | The Learned Society of Nexus Geographers

Entry tags:

nexus,
verity

The Learned Society of Nexus Geographers

Felix wasn’t strictly untruthful to Verity, and perhaps that’s good enough.

He is, after all, free. It’s just that rather than waiting to be sent off-duty, he waits until Stratos disappears into their home portal, then scribbles a note to say that it’s been six hours(!) and he needs food. He leaves it pinned beneath a rock at his desk.

How could that possibly backfire?

He’s delved into the streets of the Nexus before, but as usual it’s an education in architecture – and food, and commerce, and the entertaining arts. His map holds him true though. Aside from a bit of shock when he learns what an Escher bridge actually is, he makes it safely to the Fox and Crozier. It’s a surprisingly pleasant place, opening onto a tree-shaded yard of its own. The clink of glasses and murmur of pleasant conversation drift through the open doors. Rather impressed, Felix glances around the lane to check if Verity’s waiting outside before he heads in.

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It's one of the very best kinds of sympathy.

"That doesn't sound bad at all. How about I get it, and you stay with the rabbit?" he offers. He's still imagining something like pastry shapes in sauce, but that's not off-putting either. "I can't imagine how you haven't tried that before, unless your world has miniature rabbits too."

Pastry shapes in sauce... that could be a thing. Sort of a savory bread pudding.

"No, we have rabbits, and people used to eat them frequently. They're considered pets now, and too cute to eat, I guess. There are all kinds of things people used to eat that we don't anymore. So, we'll both be brave?" She curls a hand under her chin and leans an elbow on the table. "I mean culinarily."

It could work!

"That seems an appropriate way to begin our meeting, don't you think?" He gives her a curious look for the way she phrases that, but has another sip of sangria and leans back to see if he can attract one of the waiters.

"It does," she agrees with a smile. She doesn't consider herself a brave person, in general, which is what prompted the clarification. He'll have to wonder until he asks because she's not going to admit something like that for just a look.

It's not hard to get one of the waitstaff to come over. There's a slate and a piece of chalk and an expectant look from a chicken person who might be in their teens. (It's always such a hard age.) "Braised rabbit for me, and goslingroot tagliatelle for him, please."

It's probably impolite to ask a lady if she thinks either of them is a coward. He'll need to find an opening for a joke about it.

He manages not to give the avian youngster an obviously curious look. It's not really stranger than the beastfolk at home, he tells himself, and chooses not to think of how a Khajiit might respond to that.

"And whatever you'd recommend to drink with that," he adds cheerfully, since they're being adventurous and he feels he owes his boss a nice plump expense bill.

She'd be so embarrassed if she knew he thought she meant him. She's never been subtle about insults if she felt the need to give one. So that's... sort of a relief?

A Khajiit would probably sniff disdainfully at the fact food is acting like people now and then would stalk off to sulk about it. The waiter makes notes about the order, then taps the chalk on the slate thoughtfully. "We've got a nice Dwarven remembrance ale commemorating the victory at Innspa." A free rummage through the wine cellar is great until the bill comes and people start yelling, so the waiter's going to play it safe.

He's not rushing to assume it, but there's always a possibility. Verity needn't worry: his threshold for offense is high enough to deal amicably with both daedra and elves, after all.

"Dwarven?" That's... really, distractingly interesting. "You don't happen to know where that comes from, do you?"

It's good one of them is patient and understanding. Verity's the sort of person that would cause an international incident if left alone with a Thalmor and would go to the block insisting it was the elf's fault for lying in the first place.

"Glorvardum, sir. Near Sunndi."

Verity doesn't recognize the names, and shrugs. "It sounds good. Thank you." The poor kid's there to take orders, not explain dwarves or geography. Once the waiter's gone she leans forward again. "You like dwarves?"

He's more puzzled than disappointed, and won't hold the waiter up any longer. It takes Verity's question to snap him out of his frown.

"Hm? Oh- no. That is- it's hard to know, seeing as nobody's met one in at least three and a half thousand years." He smiles wryly. "They vanished from our realm very mysteriously. The entire race, gone overnight. If it turns out this is where they strolled off to then it... would be interesting to know, let's say."

"I would think so. There might be something about great dwarven migrations in the Library," she speculates. Now that she knows the reason, she's curious too. "They really just, vanished? And never left any clues, never told anyone? They didn't... die?"

She'd be even more curious about Dwarven ruins. All that steampunk, continuing with maintenance? That'd be very interesting to her.

He nods thoughtfully. "Dwarven migrations. Good thinking. I think I'll have to do a little reconnaissance in that Library soon. As for whether they died, that's a good question. You see, they were incredibly isolated. Secretive- xenophobic, from what I've read. There's a story that they had some kind of great project, but they didn't leave notes for anyone else.

"People have been arguing about what happened to them for centuries. Did they die? Did they activate some device that went horribly wrong? Did they succeed in transporting themselves to some other plane, or turn themselves into aedric spirits and leave Nirn forever? Was it planned at all? Nobody knows. All they left behind were great ruins, underground cities full of deadly traps and steamworks, eternally guarded by their sleepless, deathless automata."

His explanation has her listening carefully, although the more florid his descriptions the more she smiles. The ending flourish gets a snort. "I'm sorry, are you trying to explain history or pitch a movie?"

Oh wait, he doesn't know what movies are. She waves a hand as if to dismiss her comment. "Do the things in their cities still work? That would be impressive. The machinery where I'm from would have worn out or seized up without maintenance."

"I tell it to you as it was told to me," he says solemnly, before the grin returns. "Besides, it's more fun than the other way." You can retell history like some dry academic treatise, but that's not the tradition most people keep in his world.

He lets her mysterious movie comment slide for now, but files it under 'Nexus slang to ask about'. "Oh, they work, all right. Of course you have to assume some of it's doing whatever it's supposed to. But I can promise you the trap mechanisms are still working. Not to mention the guards." He pulls a face. "They have these horrible mechanical spiders with sharpened forelegs and lightning casters. And of course they're armor-plated, so you can't just freeze the gears up."

"Yeah, probably." So long as it all remains accurate. She'd have a few issues with the bards and that whole thing with the book and the festival...

You know what she doesn't love? Spiders. She understands they're good and useful and all that, but she'd prefer they were good and useful away from her. So that gets a shudder. "That sounds horrible. And dangerous." And horribly dangerous, but that would be redundant. "I hope that sort of thing doesn't come up too often? And... they don't... get out?" She is never going to visit Skyrim if there are giant mechanical death spiders roaming around free.

Solution: shake the Dragonborn until all the story options fall out and he admits he made it up.

Oh, Verity doesn't want to know about the spiders in Skyrim. "Luckily, no. They just stay sealed inside their underground cities. So usually the only people they hurt are, you know, adventurers and research expeditions. Unless some mage brings one out to study it, of course. All people who're used to horrible dangers - or ought to be prepared for them, anyway."

Yes. There'd certainly not be any complaints about that. No shouting at all.

No, she doesn't really. Fortunately for her, if she ever goes there, he'll be around to protect her. Otherwise she's going to be forced to let Clint give her archery lessons and nobody wants that. "Yeah, I suppose if you go in voluntarily it's your own fault if something bad happens. I'm just glad they don't know how to get out."

Felix would suggest waiting until everyone's pretty drunk before confronting them. The Thu'um probably doesn't work so well when slurred.

He's sympathetic to anyone who skips out on their archery lessons. And getting pretty adept with killing spiders in his own way. Unless it's one of the really giant ones, then he can always summon something to hide behind. "Of course not. They're still just machines," he says in all blissful ignorance. "They can only do what their masters made them to do. Even if they know the way out, they can't just decide to go nest somewhere new."

That could work. Or it could backfire spectacularly. Either way, sign her up.

"Um. Yeah. About that? Machines can absolutely be or become sentient beings." Because he doesn't have enough problems, right? She's SO HELPFUL. "So let's all just hope that doesn't happen."

Maybe archery lessons aren't such a bad idea... and Clint has learned not to flirt with her...

"What, really?" He blinks, and then frowns in surprise. That's his world expanding subtly but significantly. He might have some trouble getting used to the idea... but the earlier he learns about this stuff, the more embarrassment he's spared.

"Become sentient? How? Do you have to put a- a new soul in the machine?" He's going to avoid specifying a black one; he doesn't know if they have those elsewhere but if you wanted to connect a machine to a sentient mind...

"Oh yeah. It's happened more than once where I'm from." She'll give him all the time he needs to come to terms with the idea. Her gaze drifts around the room, but he might sense her attention is still on him.

"There's different ways I think. Sometimes a soul is put in the machine, sometimes it... sort of accumulates enough experience to become sentient on its own." She pauses for a think and a sip of sangria. "I don't know all the details, people don't usually make the details of that sort of thing public knowledge. Not every machine grows up to play nice with others."

Deep thinking is for later, when he's stuck on the inevitable kitchen patrol. Right now he only chews it over long enough to have another drink.

"Hmm. I suppose mechanical servants and necromantic ones wouldn't be so different, that way." Not a comparison he ought to dwell on, of course, given his next thought. "So your people have animunculi - or something like them, anyway? Less spidery, I assume."

Probably for the best.

"I suppose not. Not many people make the connection between magic and science like that." She's more than a little impressed. "We do. We call them robots. They come in all sorts of shapes, usually task-specific. Some fly, for instance; sometimes they're used to drop explosives on enemies, sometimes people attach cameras and use them for aerial surveillance." Or dumb YouTube videos, but let's let him have some respect for her screwed-up world.

"I hadn't heard they could be separated," he remarks with some puzzlement. Not that the idea of semi-intelligent machines flying around everywhere isn't disconcerting enough. He's a little wide-eyed as she explains: no golem or automaton in his world has ever done that!

"That's amazing, though! And if you use machines as spies, obviously you need them to be clever. But I'm not sure I'd want to build something that could gain a mind of its own and fly off to... I suppose, drop explosives on whatever it liked." That's a lie, so he admits, "At least, it doesn't sound very wise."

"Where I'm from, most people consider magic and science to be two completely separate things. But a lot of them also consider philosophy to be a separate field as well." Which clearly she does not agree with.

He corrected himself, so she'll not point out the lie. "It has its drawbacks. Drones are usually remote-controlled, though, so they don't get to go around doing whatever they want. It's like... if you could see through an eagle's eyes, and tell the eagle where to go."

"That's an odd way of looking at it. I mean, plenty of sciences aren't magical, and vice-versa, but you won't get far in either without the other. And philosophy... that's the root of them both, if you think about it."

He likes the example she uses, and nods enthusiastically. "Oh, I see what you mean. That must make scouting marvelously easy even if you can't scry. Or sending messages, of course, or defending against enemy, erm, drones... wait, how big do you make them?"

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