I assume that's because most people have reasons to hide the answers to your questions. [ Elizabeth decides then she simply will not answer them if he asks something she can't answer. Somethings are better left unknown. ] Hidden agendas. Plans in plans. It seems no matter where I go, that remains a constant. Plans. Extorting the people around you to get what you want. It's all the same.
[ A sliver of bitterness leaks into her tone. She wonders who is using Alan--who he is using in return.
Eyes scan over the maps once more to memorize it. She locates where she had spoken to him moments ago. A finger presses to it, then trails up along the streets. He was soaking wet due to the rain, but she could hardly tell where he was headed. ]
Door?
[ Elizabeth pauses. Her mind seems elsewhere for the briefest of seconds. Then, sky blue eyes turn to look at him. She turns to face the writer. The light catches off another detail that can now be seen. The pinkie finger on her right hand has been damaged. Half of it is gone, but capped with a silver thimble. She hardly seems to notice or even be bothered by such an oddity.
"I don't see myself as a gate. I remain humble. I'm something smaller. A hatch."
Something and someone like her. ]
No. I haven't met the man. But, I know of him. Who he is. What he is. If you caught his attention? You must have done something. You did do something. Didn't you, Mr. Wake?
[ She listens quietly to his explanations. Light can't reach him with how far down in this oceanic like reality. He writes to escape as this reality responds to art. A question about quantum physics. He can create art of things in existence but not make things out of nothing.
A delicate process indeed.
Elizabeth turns back to the blackboard with the maps. Then, both arms unfold. She swings her weight to the balls of her feet and grabs atop the board. With a grunt of exertion, it gives way and spins to the blank side. She reaches over to the board beside her with notes and grabs a piece of chalk. Once more she is on the balls of her feet and begins writing as high as she can. ]
There's a million, million different worlds. Some all similar and some all different. [ She draws several small boxes. Then, a line between them and a circle around them. ] Me... people like me. We exist in all of them at once. We can see them all and precieve them all. I can be here in your attic, I can be in your constructed New York City... I can even be in a diner in that town, Bright Falls. All at once. Seeing them all at once. Noticing them all at once.
Everywhere and anywhere but not necessarily anchored to one. Not having a "home" world. Although, I believe you'd call them realities.
[ She draws a line from the several boxes down the board. The line then rounds to become a circle--almost like a underground lake. ]
This place connects to all of them, doesn't it? You need to use your art not to make a door... but to use a door to escape. Not just any door. The right door to the right reality. Back home.
[ A sad look croses her eyes before she turns her head back to Alan. ]
I find things I can bring into a reality I am in. Teacups to opening spaces. It's just really using a connection and door that already exists. I guess you could say it's the right door to the right key.
[ Alan has brought up a point that in all technicality, she has no purpose in being at this door. There is no reason to stay. No reason he can see. However, Elizabeth can see the reason. It's all around her.
Someone else trapped in a cage. ]
I wasn't always like this. As I grew up, I was ... restricted, you could say. I could open "tears"--windows--and see other places. Bring things over. I could never leave. [ She taps the chalk in her hand harshly. ] I was locked away from the world by my father. I taught myself to paint and would try to use the painting to open a way to escape.
[ She sighs and gives a shake of her head. ] All of that is to say, Mr. Wake, that I understand what this is like.
no subject
[ A sliver of bitterness leaks into her tone. She wonders who is using Alan--who he is using in return.
Eyes scan over the maps once more to memorize it. She locates where she had spoken to him moments ago. A finger presses to it, then trails up along the streets. He was soaking wet due to the rain, but she could hardly tell where he was headed. ]
Door?
[ Elizabeth pauses. Her mind seems elsewhere for the briefest of seconds. Then, sky blue eyes turn to look at him. She turns to face the writer. The light catches off another detail that can now be seen. The pinkie finger on her right hand has been damaged. Half of it is gone, but capped with a silver thimble. She hardly seems to notice or even be bothered by such an oddity.
"I don't see myself as a gate. I remain humble. I'm something smaller. A hatch."
Something and someone like her. ]
No. I haven't met the man. But, I know of him. Who he is. What he is. If you caught his attention? You must have done something. You did do something. Didn't you, Mr. Wake?
[ She listens quietly to his explanations. Light can't reach him with how far down in this oceanic like reality. He writes to escape as this reality responds to art. A question about quantum physics. He can create art of things in existence but not make things out of nothing.
A delicate process indeed.
Elizabeth turns back to the blackboard with the maps. Then, both arms unfold. She swings her weight to the balls of her feet and grabs atop the board. With a grunt of exertion, it gives way and spins to the blank side. She reaches over to the board beside her with notes and grabs a piece of chalk. Once more she is on the balls of her feet and begins writing as high as she can. ]
There's a million, million different worlds. Some all similar and some all different. [ She draws several small boxes. Then, a line between them and a circle around them. ] Me... people like me. We exist in all of them at once. We can see them all and precieve them all. I can be here in your attic, I can be in your constructed New York City... I can even be in a diner in that town, Bright Falls. All at once. Seeing them all at once. Noticing them all at once.
Everywhere and anywhere but not necessarily anchored to one. Not having a "home" world. Although, I believe you'd call them realities.
[ She draws a line from the several boxes down the board. The line then rounds to become a circle--almost like a underground lake. ]
This place connects to all of them, doesn't it? You need to use your art not to make a door... but to use a door to escape. Not just any door. The right door to the right reality. Back home.
[ A sad look croses her eyes before she turns her head back to Alan. ]
I find things I can bring into a reality I am in. Teacups to opening spaces. It's just really using a connection and door that already exists. I guess you could say it's the right door to the right key.
[ Alan has brought up a point that in all technicality, she has no purpose in being at this door. There is no reason to stay. No reason he can see. However, Elizabeth can see the reason. It's all around her.
Someone else trapped in a cage. ]
I wasn't always like this. As I grew up, I was ... restricted, you could say. I could open "tears"--windows--and see other places. Bring things over. I could never leave. [ She taps the chalk in her hand harshly. ] I was locked away from the world by my father. I taught myself to paint and would try to use the painting to open a way to escape.
[ She sighs and gives a shake of her head. ] All of that is to say, Mr. Wake, that I understand what this is like.