"It was the water. I heard someone else had strange things happen. But it's okay. Seriously." He saw the Ethaefal smile, which he wasn't sure if he believed. It seemed just as pained as the words he had previously offered. Whatever was happening he wasn't dealing with it well, which was concerning in the least.
"Just talk. Please. For me." He added, smiling again. It seemed a bit desperate at this point, but anything Atticus could do to help.
He sighed and pushed himself back to his desk, checking to see if the starmaps were complete for the astronomers. He took a moment to fill out a couple more objects on the Late Winter map, then closed his books and organized what he needed for his work into a separate pile, the books he had borrowed into an adjacent pile, and made sure they were neat. Atticus took his journal in hand and flipped idly through the pages, trying to find his hypotheses. He wasn't sure why exactly Casimir had shown interest in his work, but he didn't mind. As long as he wasn't distracting from work.
He rolled his seat next to Casimir and opened his book to the appropriate page. It reminded him loosely of a long time ago when he had done the same thing to his mother, read to her to lighten her mood. He hoped it would have the same effect on Casimir. It seemed like Atticus was in a position where helping him could be necessary and he had seemed to open himself to the stargazer, which he wasn't sure whether he should be careful and vastly grateful for the trust given or trepiditious given the possible consequences of playing with this poor man's psyche. Caution would have to be exhibited in fair amounts with such delicate handlings.
Atticus, while sitting next to Casimir, observed his height, and realized it would be easier to sit on the actual desk next to him while he read. He placed his hand delicately on his notes to prevent them from getting crinkled as he placed himself slightly above Casimir, with his feet on the chair below. He scooted a bit closer. Atticus opened the book and placed it just so both parties could read along comfortably if they so desired, clearing his throat before he began reading off of his own pages.
"I've come to the necessary conclusion that light is produced by objects with means I cannot yet describe, but it cannot be created organically and sent, otherwise, in a darker environment, they would be easily visible by onlookers. With that in mind, there are a few concepts to be considered." He began. He placed his finger on the list his journal described, moving it down with each item he rehearsed.
"What is light composed of? How quickly does it move to meet our eyes if things like stars require telescopes to view? Does everything produce light, or simply reflect? Is there a finite amount of light to be had that is perpetually reflected off of the appropriate objects? Can the speed of light be used to estimate the exact distance of stars? How does light move? Is light linear in movement? What is the shape of light?" He cleared his throat. His notes went onto hypotheses. "I have hypothesized that light inherently is incredibly small in single parts to not be easily or previously detected to my knowledge. I also believe that light either moves very quickly or are preexisting strands connected to their source like string, able to reconfigure after being interrupted (shadows). I believe that if light were to move, it would be at speeds yet unheard of, and immeasurable by any current means (though I do aim to try)." He looked over at Casimir, and realized he had rambled. He closed the book, a bit bashful of his subpar understanding of physics and mathematics, and apologized. "Sorry... So um... In summary, light is produced by things through means I cannot yet describe. And um. It's either sent out or already exists in strands. My next move is to investigate what it's uh..." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Composed of. I have experiment ideas but it's... Complicated. And requires... Stuff. So I won't get into it."
He glanced over at Casimir. He hoped the Ethaefal had profited from this, because Atticus was deeply embarrassed. He supposed it didn't matter much as long as Casimir gained from it.
He hoped he did.
"Just talk. Please. For me." He added, smiling again. It seemed a bit desperate at this point, but anything Atticus could do to help.
He sighed and pushed himself back to his desk, checking to see if the starmaps were complete for the astronomers. He took a moment to fill out a couple more objects on the Late Winter map, then closed his books and organized what he needed for his work into a separate pile, the books he had borrowed into an adjacent pile, and made sure they were neat. Atticus took his journal in hand and flipped idly through the pages, trying to find his hypotheses. He wasn't sure why exactly Casimir had shown interest in his work, but he didn't mind. As long as he wasn't distracting from work.
He rolled his seat next to Casimir and opened his book to the appropriate page. It reminded him loosely of a long time ago when he had done the same thing to his mother, read to her to lighten her mood. He hoped it would have the same effect on Casimir. It seemed like Atticus was in a position where helping him could be necessary and he had seemed to open himself to the stargazer, which he wasn't sure whether he should be careful and vastly grateful for the trust given or trepiditious given the possible consequences of playing with this poor man's psyche. Caution would have to be exhibited in fair amounts with such delicate handlings.
Atticus, while sitting next to Casimir, observed his height, and realized it would be easier to sit on the actual desk next to him while he read. He placed his hand delicately on his notes to prevent them from getting crinkled as he placed himself slightly above Casimir, with his feet on the chair below. He scooted a bit closer. Atticus opened the book and placed it just so both parties could read along comfortably if they so desired, clearing his throat before he began reading off of his own pages.
"I've come to the necessary conclusion that light is produced by objects with means I cannot yet describe, but it cannot be created organically and sent, otherwise, in a darker environment, they would be easily visible by onlookers. With that in mind, there are a few concepts to be considered." He began. He placed his finger on the list his journal described, moving it down with each item he rehearsed.
"What is light composed of? How quickly does it move to meet our eyes if things like stars require telescopes to view? Does everything produce light, or simply reflect? Is there a finite amount of light to be had that is perpetually reflected off of the appropriate objects? Can the speed of light be used to estimate the exact distance of stars? How does light move? Is light linear in movement? What is the shape of light?" He cleared his throat. His notes went onto hypotheses. "I have hypothesized that light inherently is incredibly small in single parts to not be easily or previously detected to my knowledge. I also believe that light either moves very quickly or are preexisting strands connected to their source like string, able to reconfigure after being interrupted (shadows). I believe that if light were to move, it would be at speeds yet unheard of, and immeasurable by any current means (though I do aim to try)." He looked over at Casimir, and realized he had rambled. He closed the book, a bit bashful of his subpar understanding of physics and mathematics, and apologized. "Sorry... So um... In summary, light is produced by things through means I cannot yet describe. And um. It's either sent out or already exists in strands. My next move is to investigate what it's uh..." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Composed of. I have experiment ideas but it's... Complicated. And requires... Stuff. So I won't get into it."
He glanced over at Casimir. He hoped the Ethaefal had profited from this, because Atticus was deeply embarrassed. He supposed it didn't matter much as long as Casimir gained from it.
He hoped he did.
