You feel a gentle pressure...
The image of Delia's seated in a room that looks something like one of the upper-level solars in the palace; she has a book in one hand and a pen in the other, and bears a striking resemblance to a much taller Fiona. "Hello?"
To the image of Delia, Eric is in a stadium of some sort, surrounded by people. There appears to be much cheering and yelling. In the bright sun of a late afternoon, Eric's smile is as dazzling as it is arrogant. "Hello."
The image of Delia blinks, surprised. She sounds like she doesn't quite believe what she's seeing. "Um. You're -- Eric, yes? You don't know my name, do you?"
To the image of Delia, Eric leans back in his seat, the velvet cushions and thick arms combine with a glint from a metal serving tray carried behind him, conspiring to create a halo of light around his head. He might be some mythical king rather than a man watching a bull fight. "None other," he answers, his smile never fading. "What can I do for you, niece?"
The image of Delia says, slightly hesitantly, "That's just the thing. I'm not sure I *am* your niece, even though you look ... well, you mostly look like my uncle. Daddy says you might just be some sort of construct associated with the cards, but I don't see why anyone would bother with that sort of thing. I think you really *are* from a different universe."
To the image of Delia, Eric manages to sigh, the sound one of a man long suffering, without losing his smile. "I suppose I should be pleased and flattered that so many of today's sharpest minds find nothing more important to debate than the nature of my existence."
To the image of Delia, Eric is in a stadium of some sort, surrounded by people. There appears to be much cheering and yelling. In the bright sun of a late afternoon, Eric's smile is as dazzling as it is arrogant. "Hello."
The image of Delia blinks, surprised. She sounds like she doesn't quite believe what she's seeing. "Um. You're -- Eric, yes? You don't know my name, do you?"
To the image of Delia, Eric leans back in his seat, the velvet cushions and thick arms combine with a glint from a metal serving tray carried behind him, conspiring to create a halo of light around his head. He might be some mythical king rather than a man watching a bull fight. "None other," he answers, his smile never fading. "What can I do for you, niece?"
The image of Delia says, slightly hesitantly, "That's just the thing. I'm not sure I *am* your niece, even though you look ... well, you mostly look like my uncle. Daddy says you might just be some sort of construct associated with the cards, but I don't see why anyone would bother with that sort of thing. I think you really *are* from a different universe."
To the image of Delia, Eric manages to sigh, the sound one of a man long suffering, without losing his smile. "I suppose I should be pleased and flattered that so many of today's sharpest minds find nothing more important to debate than the nature of my existence."