(no subject)
There are many metaphors that can be used to describe reality, and all fall short. When Fiona chooses to try and describe what her mind instinctively knows, it's usually a metaphor of fabric. That is what reality is, a very fluid, tangled fabric fanning out from a stiffened center that her family could play with, could bunch and weave and merge into. And Chaos was the frayed ends, knotted and unwoven enough to send one mad.
But Fiona is not concerned with Chaos tonight.
Instead, she's contemplating Trumps. They are the bookmarks of her family, or maybe to continue the fabric metaphor, the needles. No, that doesn't work either, because there is no constant thread. Bookmarks, then. Bookmarks for people walking the Pattern of reality and always keeping them on the same plane of time, if not literally.
For the moment, though, the redhaired princess has put aside her contemplations of Trumping someone from another time.
No, what she is contemplating as she paces in the library is creating a Trump for Milliways. It shouldn't, logically, be that hard - any picture of a place can become a trump if you concentrate enough on it. But Milliways...Milliways is different. It doesn't have a set size, nor shape, nor time, and she has no idea if it could be Trumpable. But she is going to try, for Fiona never liked being at the whim of anything, letting alone vaguely sentient buildings or doorways. And a Shadow? Oh, no. It was just a Shadow, when all was said and done. Just another wrinkle in the fabric of the ultimate reality, and wrinkles can be pinned down.
So, maybe the metaphor has a more extended life then she thought.
But Fiona is not concerned with Chaos tonight.
Instead, she's contemplating Trumps. They are the bookmarks of her family, or maybe to continue the fabric metaphor, the needles. No, that doesn't work either, because there is no constant thread. Bookmarks, then. Bookmarks for people walking the Pattern of reality and always keeping them on the same plane of time, if not literally.
For the moment, though, the redhaired princess has put aside her contemplations of Trumping someone from another time.
No, what she is contemplating as she paces in the library is creating a Trump for Milliways. It shouldn't, logically, be that hard - any picture of a place can become a trump if you concentrate enough on it. But Milliways...Milliways is different. It doesn't have a set size, nor shape, nor time, and she has no idea if it could be Trumpable. But she is going to try, for Fiona never liked being at the whim of anything, letting alone vaguely sentient buildings or doorways. And a Shadow? Oh, no. It was just a Shadow, when all was said and done. Just another wrinkle in the fabric of the ultimate reality, and wrinkles can be pinned down.
So, maybe the metaphor has a more extended life then she thought.