❦ 02

[heresyandlace.livejournal.com]

[Tek has managed to locate the most comfortable seat in the library, and has been lounging there for some time, surrounded by a cluttered wall of the oldest books he's been able to find. The world is still numbed and surreal, but... he's at least beginning to get used to it. Eventually, he clicks open his grimoire and begins to speak]

You know... they say that while you are able to read in your dreams, the text is actually meaningless if you really look. The words themselves are merely shapes, oftentimes nothing but gibberish, and yet... your mind somehow understands what they mean.

[he takes a breath, thinks for a moment, and continues with something a little different. His words sound different now--breathy, a language with curled syllables--though somehow still understandable to anyone listening]

It's an interesting thought, at least. They say it is because the god of dreams himself is illiterate, and so must trick the dreamer into believing that they are actually reading. [and then another language shift, this one harsher, with halting sounds] They also say that it is possible to trick him back. If you put enough thought into what you are doing in a dream, sometimes it becomes too much, and you wake up.

[and then another, going from hard consonants to something lilting, words flowing from his mouth like water] There is disagreement over whether this is due to the god not being particularly bright and simply failing keep up with the dreamer, or whether he is actually exceedingly clever and grants wakefulness to someone whose intelligence he appreciates.

[the following language is a little trickier, and he resorts to reciting a popular proverb] You never appreciate how many feathers you have, until you molt.

[and, finally, hesitating at every word--] Little boy. Three... blue bowl. I... have lost my dog. Where do... no. ...Where is your home? Thank you.