[Dan is fine with it, which shouldn't be so surprising if it's all he's ever known, but an outsider's perspective isn't always the one that matters. Evelyn wonders if it's normal to feel terrible for feeling terrible, but her lifestyle must seem outrageously different to him by comparison. Suddenly very self-conscious that she might be coming across as showing off, she strains for another subject.]
[He hopes she'll never have to find out what his world is like. That's the only thing that really concerns him about this place - that it could take his memories, everything he knows about his world, and inflict it on everyone here. Most people would be dead the instant they came face to face with a deathclaw.]
Yeah... and it's nice, I guess. Just.. kinda weird. Most days I jus' dunno what to do with myself.
[This works, though. He never refuses good company.]
What's it like for you? You know, in the nineteen-thirties.
[Evelyn heard a similar sentiment from Chuck Hansen as they entertained a similar scenario, sitting over tea. Mostly I feel like I'm just...existing, he'd stressed, and from backgrounds such as his and Dan's this place must seem a constant terror of boredom. In a way, Evelyn feels much the same. As a severe sufferer of wanderlust Evelyn cannot abide being trapped, and Wonderland has never been anything more than a gilded cage.]
Ah.
[Very few people ask her about the time from whence she comes and perhaps it stems from ignorance - forced to learn so much, so quickly, Evelyn tends to only have her temporal identity recognised when someone makes a comment about how old-fashioned her clothing looks.]
Well, it's...not as technologically advanced as all this. The music behind you is from my time. I work in Egypt - it's, ah, a desert country - as an archaeologist, which is the study of human activity through the remnants of what they leave behind. That could be...artefacts as mundane as combs or knives, or even human remains.
[Here Evelyn actually excuses herself, moving to a nearby bookshelf and picking through a set of fat albums.]
The rest of the world is, I think, teetering on the edge of a precipice...I grew up in a war, we just...called it the Great War. More than thirty countries - er, large nations - were involved. Our wounded were sent back to my country, hospitals were too full so we took a lot of the soldiers into our house- aha!
[She pulls a book free and brings it over to him.]
This is a set of photographs I have from home, of the capital of Egypt, Cairo, and archaeological work. And this- [Prying the album open, she taps one of the images.] Is my father, Howard Carnahan.
[That was it, really. 'Just existing', though he found himself things to do more often that not. He was enjoying reading more than he'd ever have expected he might, especially now that it was starting to become a little easier. You read one word enough times and it gets really familiar.]
Egypt.
[He rolls the word around like it's barely familiar, though it sparks a.. something in his mind and he mutters 'Africa' in the moments that follow while she moves away to the bookcase.
When she comes back, he shifts over slightly and leans in to look at the photographs, curiosity written clearly over his face. Actual photographs... they aren't something he sees much of. He glances from the picture of her father, to her, then back, and smiles faintly.]
Y'know, we call it the Great War too, but not that one. [He huffs out a sigh.] Looks like a good guy, your father. Thinkin' you get your looks from your mom, though.
[Quickly, he flashes a grin at her.]
My pa's name was Jacob. Never got a photograph of him. Or my mom, either.
I got all the devilish charm from my mother as well,
[Evelyn replies without missing a beat, deciding that it isn't worth it to return to the other side of the table when she can just as easily pull up the chair next to him.
Grinning back, her smile sobers at the mention of his parents - in a world so devoid of luxuries it stands to reason that photography is difficult to come by, if one comes by it at all.]
I'm sorry. [A beat.] Accessible photography was just starting to hit the public in my era, I...if you want, I could show you how to develop the film sometime? It's a process, I find it very therapeutic.
[He wonders why she's sorry, but then when he thinks about it he can barely remember what his parents look like. He remembers little things - the way his mother's skin smelled; the tobacco his father smoked - but nothing close to the full picture.
His attention goes back down to the book and he turns the pages, glancing over images of things that are barely familiar as dim shadows in the back of his mind. Maybe he picked up a book like this once, after stumbling into some Brotherhood-secured library and being allowed to poke around for intact textbooks for a friendlier-than-usual Scribe.]
Y'know, I think I'd like that.
[Dan smiles at her, a crooked and genuine half-grin that doesn't seem to hide any ulterior motives.]
[Evelyn replies, waving a hand and reaching for her drink. Cupping the tea with both hands she relaxes in the warmth, eases up in his company. Evelyn once thought she would give anything for straightforward speech, plain conversation without metaphors, without flourish. Trust doesn't come so easy anymore and it's partly her fault, for giving so much so quickly, but being able to talk with a lack of veils and smoke and mirrors is
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'S alright. I'm one a' the luckier ones. Know how t' take care of myself an' turned back before I got too far down a bad path.
[There's so much worse. Some people live their whole lives without ever knowing the kind of danger outside their walls.]
Can't really say it's awful when I never knew any different, y'know? There's ways I could've had an easier life, I guess.
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A lot of things do come easier here,
[she concedes, here being Wonderland.]
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Yeah... and it's nice, I guess. Just.. kinda weird. Most days I jus' dunno what to do with myself.
[This works, though. He never refuses good company.]
What's it like for you? You know, in the nineteen-thirties.
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Ah.
[Very few people ask her about the time from whence she comes and perhaps it stems from ignorance - forced to learn so much, so quickly, Evelyn tends to only have her temporal identity recognised when someone makes a comment about how old-fashioned her clothing looks.]
Well, it's...not as technologically advanced as all this. The music behind you is from my time. I work in Egypt - it's, ah, a desert country - as an archaeologist, which is the study of human activity through the remnants of what they leave behind. That could be...artefacts as mundane as combs or knives, or even human remains.
[Here Evelyn actually excuses herself, moving to a nearby bookshelf and picking through a set of fat albums.]
The rest of the world is, I think, teetering on the edge of a precipice...I grew up in a war, we just...called it the Great War. More than thirty countries - er, large nations - were involved. Our wounded were sent back to my country, hospitals were too full so we took a lot of the soldiers into our house- aha!
[She pulls a book free and brings it over to him.]
This is a set of photographs I have from home, of the capital of Egypt, Cairo, and archaeological work. And this- [Prying the album open, she taps one of the images.] Is my father, Howard Carnahan.
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Egypt.
[He rolls the word around like it's barely familiar, though it sparks a.. something in his mind and he mutters 'Africa' in the moments that follow while she moves away to the bookcase.
When she comes back, he shifts over slightly and leans in to look at the photographs, curiosity written clearly over his face. Actual photographs... they aren't something he sees much of. He glances from the picture of her father, to her, then back, and smiles faintly.]
Y'know, we call it the Great War too, but not that one. [He huffs out a sigh.] Looks like a good guy, your father. Thinkin' you get your looks from your mom, though.
[Quickly, he flashes a grin at her.]
My pa's name was Jacob. Never got a photograph of him. Or my mom, either.
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[Evelyn replies without missing a beat, deciding that it isn't worth it to return to the other side of the table when she can just as easily pull up the chair next to him.
Grinning back, her smile sobers at the mention of his parents - in a world so devoid of luxuries it stands to reason that photography is difficult to come by, if one comes by it at all.]
I'm sorry. [A beat.] Accessible photography was just starting to hit the public in my era, I...if you want, I could show you how to develop the film sometime? It's a process, I find it very therapeutic.
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His attention goes back down to the book and he turns the pages, glancing over images of things that are barely familiar as dim shadows in the back of his mind. Maybe he picked up a book like this once, after stumbling into some Brotherhood-secured library and being allowed to poke around for intact textbooks for a friendlier-than-usual Scribe.]
Y'know, I think I'd like that.
[Dan smiles at her, a crooked and genuine half-grin that doesn't seem to hide any ulterior motives.]
You'll just hafta be patient with me.
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[Evelyn replies, waving a hand and reaching for her drink. Cupping the tea with both hands she relaxes in the warmth, eases up in his company. Evelyn once thought she would give anything for straightforward speech, plain conversation without metaphors, without flourish. Trust doesn't come so easy anymore and it's partly her fault, for giving so much so quickly, but being able to talk with a lack of veils and smoke and mirrors is
nice.
She raises her cup in a mock toast with a smile.]
And here we have all the time in the world.