006: VIDEO | ACTION
[January first, and the new year's starting off with a beaut of a day. In case you missed it, the video display is tilted upward to a sky of perfect blue, then down, to golden sand and golden skin - winter has just about bleached him of a tan but his colouring has a natural aversion to pallor.
When Chase leans over the display, he looks relaxed, as at home as he gets these days.]
Timekeeping. What sense is that, about the seventh?
[Uncurling fingers illustrate the count.]
Sight, hearing, smell, touch, taste, proprioception, circadian rhythm. About the seventh. We're all designed to keep a certain time cycle. If taste's made possible by buds on your tongue, and sight by light refracting through a ball of jelly, your timekeeper is two little groups of cells located right at the centre of your brain's base. Innate.
Screw with it and you make people sick, depressed, paranoid or otherwise imbalanced. Not to mention debatably flouting the Geneva Convention.
We need to know when we are. If we don't, we go crazy-or we make something up.
So... what year is it, again?
[He smiles and leans back, the camera picking up salt flecks on his eyelashes, his shoulders. Perhaps a glimpse of the board nearby, staked into the sand.]
Happy day-after-yesterday. All I know is, this is what January's supposed to look like.
Locked to Saya:
Interested in getting reacquainted with daylight? I won't let you get wet.
[He's not sure why that's a thing to promise, but there it is.]
[OOC: Obviously this is hugely backdated, but please take it as an open thread for the first few days of January. While the weather stays warm, this is where Chase is likely to be filling time between shifts.
ooc: and life interrupted. Now with extra backdating.]
When Chase leans over the display, he looks relaxed, as at home as he gets these days.]
Timekeeping. What sense is that, about the seventh?
[Uncurling fingers illustrate the count.]
Sight, hearing, smell, touch, taste, proprioception, circadian rhythm. About the seventh. We're all designed to keep a certain time cycle. If taste's made possible by buds on your tongue, and sight by light refracting through a ball of jelly, your timekeeper is two little groups of cells located right at the centre of your brain's base. Innate.
Screw with it and you make people sick, depressed, paranoid or otherwise imbalanced. Not to mention debatably flouting the Geneva Convention.
We need to know when we are. If we don't, we go crazy-or we make something up.
So... what year is it, again?
[He smiles and leans back, the camera picking up salt flecks on his eyelashes, his shoulders. Perhaps a glimpse of the board nearby, staked into the sand.]
Happy day-after-yesterday. All I know is, this is what January's supposed to look like.
Locked to Saya:
Interested in getting reacquainted with daylight? I won't let you get wet.
[He's not sure why that's a thing to promise, but there it is.]
[OOC: Obviously this is hugely backdated, but please take it as an open thread for the first few days of January. While the weather stays warm, this is where Chase is likely to be filling time between shifts.
ooc: and life interrupted. Now with extra backdating.]