[ Varian recognizes that look, though he can't immediately pin where he had. If he had grown up looking into a mirror, if he had stared at his own reflection, he might be able to recognize it as matching how he had so often felt. There was only ever his father, and even he couldn't understand his son - too smart, too talented, too different. Too different, because a man with no childhood and deprived of emotions had imparted them all on his child.
But he didn't, and he doesn't, and instead he thinks...
His father had carried that look too. That look, as though he were gazing at something only he could see. That distant look, as though the rest of the world were separate.
As though he were alone.
That look, which always disappeared when he grew close, and his father would ruffle his hair and smile at him, and act as though the world were fine and normal. The one that made Varian want to be closer to him. One he'd never received an explanation for, and he might never now.
It's not the same. But it feels familiar. It's the feeling of going back to an empty house, the lights off, the door locked, entering to find a dusty foyer - but it's just that illusion of the young and old woman, where a tilt of the head shows it to be warm and full of light and filled with people.
He's not from the modern era, so he has no term to use of it. He's heard of the phenomena of being able to "hear" colors, though. There's old writings that focus on the senses. But people who "hear" colors exist separately from others. They might hear bells in blue. But even if they run into another person with the same condition, they can't connect; that person can't hear the pleasant ringing of bells in blue. They hear record scratching, something grating and offensive to the ears.
Maybe it's something like that.
Varian frowns faintly, these complicated thoughts running through him even as he listens to the explanation. He can't fully understand of that, but most of that is because he has nothing to compare it to. He's completely self-taught, isolated from everyone around him for his genius, the age of intellectualism having come and gone long before his time. But he understands the basic concept well enough.. ]
Oh... I was trying to make something like that. Well, I sort of did, but I haven't figured out how to make it so the parts fit seamlessly together once it's rearranged yet. They can move independently, but they're drawn back together, and they have to take their original form.
[ He cants his head, thoughtful. If he lived in the modern era, he might have some comparison. He doesn't though, so... ]
Kind of like how you can make different shapes using building blocks? But more complicated, and more functional.
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But he didn't, and he doesn't, and instead he thinks...
His father had carried that look too. That look, as though he were gazing at something only he could see. That distant look, as though the rest of the world were separate.
As though he were alone.
That look, which always disappeared when he grew close, and his father would ruffle his hair and smile at him, and act as though the world were fine and normal. The one that made Varian want to be closer to him. One he'd never received an explanation for, and he might never now.
It's not the same. But it feels familiar. It's the feeling of going back to an empty house, the lights off, the door locked, entering to find a dusty foyer - but it's just that illusion of the young and old woman, where a tilt of the head shows it to be warm and full of light and filled with people.
He's not from the modern era, so he has no term to use of it. He's heard of the phenomena of being able to "hear" colors, though. There's old writings that focus on the senses. But people who "hear" colors exist separately from others. They might hear bells in blue. But even if they run into another person with the same condition, they can't connect; that person can't hear the pleasant ringing of bells in blue. They hear record scratching, something grating and offensive to the ears.
Maybe it's something like that.
Varian frowns faintly, these complicated thoughts running through him even as he listens to the explanation. He can't fully understand of that, but most of that is because he has nothing to compare it to. He's completely self-taught, isolated from everyone around him for his genius, the age of intellectualism having come and gone long before his time. But he understands the basic concept well enough.. ]
Oh... I was trying to make something like that. Well, I sort of did, but I haven't figured out how to make it so the parts fit seamlessly together once it's rearranged yet. They can move independently, but they're drawn back together, and they have to take their original form.
[ He cants his head, thoughtful. If he lived in the modern era, he might have some comparison. He doesn't though, so... ]
Kind of like how you can make different shapes using building blocks? But more complicated, and more functional.