"Or something." He mutters to himself and that prospect felt somehow worse. He hadn't been in this universe long, but in what free time Jorgmund allotted he'd managed to research enough to get the basics of Stuff and the war that had ruined this world. If this was someplace that got hit, or swept up in a stuff storm, and just shifted everything based on this guy's imagination…
A person could at least be reasoned with or fought, but a place that ran off the imagination of a guy that might not even be alive, or alive in the way most people understood it? How do you deal with that?
But Rowena was right, it wasn't a lot of information. Not enough to draw any solid conclusions, and definitely not enough to warrant a panic spiral. So he quickly latches on to the new offered topic, watching as she moved onto the doors to the adjacent rooms.
"Wouldn't know. Never heard of him. Maybe he's after my time." Following her lead he took the handle to the newspaper room, cracking it open and cautiously shining his flashlight inside, but stops short of stepping in when she calls him out on avoiding saying his name, startling a nervous laugh out of him before he can swallow it back down.
So she caught that. Great. He'd kind of hoped the distraction of the microfiche would be a good enough excuse to avoid giving it.
"Oh...uh, no. I just can't. This place only lets me call myself by my character name." Couldn't say it, write it, or type it, frustratingly enough. "My last name is Dingle, though. It let me keep that much of my real name."
After a shrug and a brief sheepish smile, he quickly changes subjects by gesturing between the two rooms.
"You want to take that room, I can take this one? Divide, conquer and meet in the middle with whatever we find?" He didn't much care for the idea following her into a possibly smaller space with her hand still on that knife, and the faster the two of them made their way through whatever information this place had to offer, the better, right?
no subject
A person could at least be reasoned with or fought, but a place that ran off the imagination of a guy that might not even be alive, or alive in the way most people understood it? How do you deal with that?
But Rowena was right, it wasn't a lot of information. Not enough to draw any solid conclusions, and definitely not enough to warrant a panic spiral. So he quickly latches on to the new offered topic, watching as she moved onto the doors to the adjacent rooms.
"Wouldn't know. Never heard of him. Maybe he's after my time." Following her lead he took the handle to the newspaper room, cracking it open and cautiously shining his flashlight inside, but stops short of stepping in when she calls him out on avoiding saying his name, startling a nervous laugh out of him before he can swallow it back down.
So she caught that. Great. He'd kind of hoped the distraction of the microfiche would be a good enough excuse to avoid giving it.
"Oh...uh, no. I just can't. This place only lets me call myself by my character name." Couldn't say it, write it, or type it, frustratingly enough. "My last name is Dingle, though. It let me keep that much of my real name."
After a shrug and a brief sheepish smile, he quickly changes subjects by gesturing between the two rooms.
"You want to take that room, I can take this one? Divide, conquer and meet in the middle with whatever we find?" He didn't much care for the idea following her into a possibly smaller space with her hand still on that knife, and the faster the two of them made their way through whatever information this place had to offer, the better, right?