"I will have to take your word for it on what a vape does until then," Carlisle replies, pushing his door open. "But I appreciate you keeping your eyes open."
For a man who has been in Anchor for barely two months, Carlisle's quarters are remarkably cluttered. Three of the four beds are occupied in some way: one has been stripped of its bedding and turned into a shelf where he seems to be massing a pile of glyph-covered papers, as well as some with runes he copied from Reynir; another has what appears to be the beginnings of a makeshift shrine, much like the one he had in his cottage in Hadriel, albeit made of materials from the agricultural area and the park rather than his garden; the third seems to actually be his bed, the sheets neatly folded, but still obviously disturbed. Maybe he simply hasn't gotten to the fourth one yet.
His desk is equally busy: atop it is an open journal, as well as the final annuls of Bear Den's chronicler. The latter is closed -- he hasn't managed to get very far in that one without losing his nerve. One of the other desks has been cleared for this experiment, save for some papers with glyphs tucked off to the side and a few mugs awaiting whatever concoctions he will make. He motions for Pratt to bring the bucket over and set it on the chair.
"We do have pipes, though. How primitive do you believe we are?"
no subject
For a man who has been in Anchor for barely two months, Carlisle's quarters are remarkably cluttered. Three of the four beds are occupied in some way: one has been stripped of its bedding and turned into a shelf where he seems to be massing a pile of glyph-covered papers, as well as some with runes he copied from Reynir; another has what appears to be the beginnings of a makeshift shrine, much like the one he had in his cottage in Hadriel, albeit made of materials from the agricultural area and the park rather than his garden; the third seems to actually be his bed, the sheets neatly folded, but still obviously disturbed. Maybe he simply hasn't gotten to the fourth one yet.
His desk is equally busy: atop it is an open journal, as well as the final annuls of Bear Den's chronicler. The latter is closed -- he hasn't managed to get very far in that one without losing his nerve. One of the other desks has been cleared for this experiment, save for some papers with glyphs tucked off to the side and a few mugs awaiting whatever concoctions he will make. He motions for Pratt to bring the bucket over and set it on the chair.
"We do have pipes, though. How primitive do you believe we are?"