fandomhighdorms | Fifth Floor Common Room, Sunday Morning

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Fifth Floor Common Room, Sunday Morning

It wouldn't be the first time Dolf surfed the TV channels in the common room; he'd gotten over the shock of being reintroduced to audiovisual stuff pretty quickly. It was the lack of familiarity of the channels that still threw him, at this point, and he was determined to do something about that.

It might be a case of a very small victory, but it was something, and kept him from feeling like he had to relearn everything.

Still, he had to admit he was very, very relieved to find that, given enough presses of the next channel button, Eurosport finally appeared. Sure, it wasn't football but the Vuelta, but it was still strangely comforting.

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Faramir rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked for the one wearing a golden shirt. "He does not appear to be winning now," he commented ~~while modding the race~~.

Edited 2010-09-12 13:12 (UTC)

"No," Dolf agreed, watching intently.

Actually, there seemed to be two people in gold. Three?

"...I don't think gold is the winner's colour after all," he said, philosophically. "It must have changed."

"I shall simply remember then that they get some colour to acknowledge that they are winning," Faramir offered, and he could not quite help the next question, even if it might be trying to make Dolf explain it.

"How are these images moving?"

...Ah, a more technical question than 'what is this?', which Dolf could have explained just by pointing out it was a play in a box like he would have, normally.

He scratched the back of his head. "Um, I'm not a... scientist," he said, his careful, awkward wording reappearing under the pressure. "You have a picture, and... if you put one picture after the other very fast, it... tricks your eyes? And looks like moving."

Perhaps Faramir should have started with the less technical question, it would have made more sense to him. Sometimes, however, he tended to overreach.

"That are a lot of pictures to paint," he remarked, squinting at the television like he was expecting to see the seperate pictures if he paid enough attention.

"Only for cartoons," Dolf said, following Faramir's gaze back to the television. Oh, how to explain this? He barely understood it himself! "This is... not painted. They have machines, that copy light onto paper. Like... a mirror that keeps the picture."

"Copy light onto paper," Faramir repeated slowly, sounding awes. "That sounds like magic, capturing something that one cannot touch."

"It's not," Dolf replied, shaking his head. "It's really really not. Though science can look like magic, I guess."

"Perhaps, but it sounds almost too poetic to be science," Faramir said with a laugh and he shook his head. "Can anything be captured like this?"

"If you have a camera," he said, nodding. "They get smaller every year."

"Anyone could do it?" he asked in surprise. "It sounds like you would need skill to capture something to detailed. Not just anyone can make a painting, or at least not a good one."

"It's in the machines," Dolf replied, shrugging. "The people who make the machines have the skill. They teach the machines how to-- capture? It."

A pause.

"... in a way," he muttered. He didn't think Faramir needed that kind of word-babying, really.

"I will have to take your word for it," Faramir decided with a shake of his head. "As much as I would like to understand everything, I think it will be easier on my mind to simply accept some things to be true. Thank you for explaining."

Dolf smiled at him. "I'm used to it," he said, off-handedly. "More so than most, I think. Don't worry."

"A lot of people turn to you with their questions then?" he asked as he leaned back in his seat, his attention half on the television as the landscapes intrigued him. "That does say much about you."

Dolf flushed, just a little bit, thinking back to the children, and all the day to day little worries that now seemed very far away. "Things were different before I came here," he said, evasively.

Faramir turned his attention away from the television, studying Dolf for a moment. "And are you different too?"

"I don't feel different," he said, shooting Faramir a look. "I'd hoped I would."

He frowned a little and glanced out of the window for an instant, gathering his thoughts. "It would seem to me, that it is not such a bad thing to be the one who can inspire enough trust in people to have them turn to him with their questions."

"I know," Dolf said, sighing, and he let his head drop forward. "I'm not-- it's not bad. But things were simple, back home. I thought, if I came back, it would be simple again. You know?"

Faramir nodded slowly and reached out tentatively to place a hand on Dolf's shoulder. He had not meant to strike such a chord and he felt badly now, but he couldn't not be dishonest.

"I think I understand," he said quietly. "I am just afraid that things do rarely return to being what they were once they get complicated."

He smiled, though it was a little slighter and a little more tentative than earlier.

"Do you feel any different yet?" he asked instead. "This place is very new to you."

"I feel more confused," he offered with a crooked smile as he withdrew his hand. "It is very different here, but I do not think it has changed me. Perhaps it will overtime, but not yet."

"Give it some weeks," Dolf advised, his own smile gaining something in depth. "Strange things can happen."

"Strange things have happened," Faramir pointed out. "Did you see the strange disembodied hands last weekend?"

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