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[tongueamok]

Hello, this is Carlisle. I mean, it's not Carlisle as in I'm actually answering you right now, so if you're trying to reply to me at the second, you should probably save your breath because I'm not really here. This is some kind of a recording of my voice, but this is my communicator. I'm going to assume these devices are as common here as they are in other places — not my world, but others, ones more technologically advanced than where I come from— so if you'd like to leave me a message, then you may do so here, or er... Right. Here is fine. So just leave yo— [beep]

Comments

[tongueamok]

[He's not spitting up ink and crying while clutching his head and cowering from a plagued bear, so that's an improvement over the last time he and Chris spoke. He offers Chris a bare smile as he comes in, tucking a blank book into his satchel for later, when it's easier to hold a pen for long periods of time. At least the mug is easier.]

Thank you, lad.

[His eyes trail upward.]

Nice hat.

[thechoiceisyours]

No problem.

[Bringing coffee wasn't exactly much effort or anything. At Carlisle's next comment Chris gives a small laugh, sitting on the edge of another of the small tables scattered about.]

Thanks. It's uh... It's Ash's, but it showed up here along with some of the other weird stuff popping up and since she's not here I figured it was meant for me. Have you found anything of yours yet?

[tongueamok]

[Ah, a memento from his girlfriend. Carlisle is sure having that is both a comfort and a heartache all at the same time.]

I found nothing, but it seems others found them for me. I cannot help but wonder if the false gods sought to make us homesick.

[thechoiceisyours]

[It's definitely a little of both. Chris gives a small shrug, taking a sip of his coffee.]

Maybe. It'd be uh, kind of a passive-aggressive way of going about it though, and since I think only Sorrow'd get something out of it he'd probably be a little more um... Aggressive-aggressive? But who knows.

[Not like he talks to Sorrow much, or ever.]

Get anything good?

[tongueamok]

Just something of mine from home. A gift from one of my uncles. It's, ah.

[A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, along with a somber laugh.]

It's hideous, really. But it has an enchantment on it to disguise the wearer as a beast, so perhaps it will have a use here.

[thechoiceisyours]

Sounds worth it, no matter how ugly it is.

[He's grinning a little as he responds himself, though now he's curious to see the thing and just how hideous it actually is.]

Should it like, be able to make monsters think you're one of them, or...?

[tongueamok]

[He'll have to show it to Chris someday, as he wouldn't be caught dead wearing it on a daily basis. He has some standards.]

Any monsters should see me as a kalugra, the beast the pelt was from, when I don the cape. They are not know for their agreeable disposition, so it worked well enough on the creatures surrounding Bear Den, including the Forest Folk. I never really meant to frighten them, but it happened from time to time.

[thechoiceisyours]

Oh, huh. That's pretty cool, actually.

[And definitely worth it, if it works here.]

Was it the only thing you got?

[tongueamok]

[His eyes flick away, brow knitting.]

No, um. Actually.

[He's still obviously stiff in the joints as he reaches beside his chair and into his satchel that's sitting on the floor. He retrieves a leather, folding frame, setting it on the table and pushing it toward Chris.

Inside are four portraits, lifelike illustrations produced by a skillful artist. The first has a rugged fellow with wild, ruddy hair and an even wilder look in his vibrant eyes. He's got a massive axe strapped to his back and, if the definition in his neck and shoulders is any indication, has no problems wielding such an intimidating weapon. Despite his hard jawline, untamed features, and numerous scars across his skin, his smile is soft, kind.

The man in the second portrait must be related to the first, as he also has a furious mane of hair; it connects to his sideburns, all of his auburn locks brushed backwards and pulled into a knot at the back of his head. He has a traditional bow over his shoulder, the limbs engraved with symbols and depictions of various creatures. His long nose is wrinkled as he smiles for the artist, proud to have his picture made.

That smirk is no comparison to the confident grin on the third man, whose hazel eyes and chiseled features were likely to have made him very popular around any town. He looks as though he knew it at the time of his portrait too, his hand only loosely curled around his staff, fingers relaxed. Though not as weathered as the previous two men, he doesn't look like one to be challenged -- the orb at the top of his staff is not the only ornament on the weapon, as teeth, claws, and feathers all hang below it, attached by leather strings and wrappings. He's got several hanging along the neckline of his tunic, too -- trophies, mementos of favorite kills.

And the last portrait is someone who might be familiar to Chris, despite the fact the figure in it is several years younger, not even an adult: tired eyes, glasses, nearly colorless skin even as an adolescent. Even without the sides of his head shorn, the hairline is unmistakably Carlisle's. At least he's smiling. Times were happier, then.]

[thechoiceisyours]

[Chris watches with curiosity as Carlisle pulls something out of his bag, not expecting the folding picture frame and taking it carefully when it's pushed toward him. He looks over each portrait carefully, smiling a little at how much personality they all show, and then a bit more when he sees the one that's doubtlessly of a younger Carlisle.]

Are these um, your uncles and dad, I'm guessing?

[Not that he has any idea which might be which but he remembers Carlisle talking about them before and that they were hunters, which these people certainly look like they could be.]

[tongueamok]

That's right.

[That hint of a smile is back as eyes the folder fondly.]

That first one is my Uncle Boris. The one next to me is Uncle Benistad. My father would be the one in the middle, with the bow.

[If one thing is evident, it is that Carlisle doesn't get much of his looks or talents from his father's side of the family.]

[thechoiceisyours]

Yeah, you uh, mentioned Bernistad was a magician, right?

[So that makes sense, with the staff.]

This is um... A pretty awesome thing to get from home. Even cooler than the other thing.

[Even if blending in with monsters is probably more practical.]

[tongueamok]

[He nods to Chris' question, taking a drink in the pause.]

Perhaps. I admittedly never thought I'd see this again. These belonged to my father, painted by one of the many people he aided in his travels. He carried it with him until it came to me.

[thechoiceisyours]

Well um... It's about time that, you know, there were actually nice surprises in this place instead of horrible ones.

[He hands the frame carefully back to Carlisle.]

[tongueamok]

It is.

[He looks over the portraits one more time before folding the frame and setting it aside.]

I'd prefer it if we had less interference from them in the coming months. I believe last month was enough for a lifetime for me.

[thechoiceisyours]

Yeah. I'm uh, kind of tired of events at this point too.

[A lighter few months--or even one month--would be really nice. He takes another drink of his coffee, before adding--]

It'll um... It'll be a year for me next month.

[A year since he got here, and since everything happened at home. It's surreal to think about.]

[tongueamok]

[Carlisle offers him a sympathetic look.]

It will be two for me this year. One here, one elsewhere.

[His brow knits again as he looks into his coffee.]

I wonder if we age here.

[thechoiceisyours]

[Two years sounds just utterly insane; he can't even imagine being here, or worse yet some other new world entirely like had happened with Carlisle, for another year.

At Carlisle's last comment though, Chris tries to lighten the mood a little.]

Either way, I'm totally claiming I'm twenty now. No more being a teenager; I'm way too mature for that now and whatever.

[He's trying really hard to keep a straight face while he says it, but isn't entirely succeeding.]

[tongueamok]

[There's a genuine smile that crosses Carlisle's face.]

I'll be twenty-five. I don't particularly feel any older. But if it is that we can be sent back to our own worlds and it's as though we never left, surely we aren't actually aging?

[thechoiceisyours]

[Mission accomplished.]

I think it'd be pretty hard to tell if you're aging or not when it's like... A year or two at a time.

[Not a huge difference to notice between nineteen and twenty, after all, or twenty-three and twenty-five.]

But... Yeah. I don't know how it'd work with um, going home. It's especially weird when there are people from the same place but different times.

[So Chris really isn't sure if they get sent back to where they were as if they never left or not.]

[tongueamok]

[Carlisle sighs. He's heard of people being sent away and it being as though they'd never left home, and of people who returned to their off-world prison, only for years to have passed for them in their true worlds. There are those who return with their memories, and those who don't. What is it that determines who remembers what?

Every time he thinks about it, he just comes up with more questions than potential answers.]

There's so much that's out of our control here. It makes me sick to my stomach... though I suppose, in all fairness, many things do.

[thechoiceisyours]

[Chris doesn't have much experience with the issue here; some people have come and gone that he knows of, some more than once, some remembering and some not. But he isn't so certain that means they're going back to where they came from, exactly.

He sighs as well.]

Yeah, and I'm pretty sure that's uh, bad for like... Coping with things.

[The whole lack of control thing. In fact, he's pretty sure that's the opposite of helpful in trying to deal with the kinds of awful things that happen here and in people's worlds.]

[tongueamok]

It is.

[He flexes his fingers. A lack of control is a major problem for him -- both for him and others, if the events of the previous month were a sign. His voice tightens with worry.]

It's- it's dangerous to not have a certain amount of control.

[thechoiceisyours]

[This is getting close to the original topic they'd discussed about Carlisle's abilities going out of control during the event, and so Chris assumes this is probably at least some of why Carlisle had said he wanted to talk. He's quiet a moment, trying to decide on the best response.]

Your powers were um, actually hurting you because they were all messed up with the event, right? Is that what they always do if you lose control of them for some reason?

[tongueamok]

Sometimes. I've never quite lost control of, ah. Of them like that. It- it depends on what, um.

[His fingers tighten on his drink, and he stifles a wince from the ache that cuts through him.]

It depends on what I lose control of. Which- which abilities.