Sometimes your own culture likes to shock you

Iliril of the Chant

To be perfectly honest, Iliril really hadn't fully considered what the ramifications of multiple worlds were. He had assumed that of course the High Mage had come from his own messed up world in the future, and that he and the younger Enelen were both from the same one. The idea that this just wasn't the truth seemed so out of the blue. It hadn't even crossed his mind. Because really, why would it?

"Um." Feeling put on the spot, he fiddled with his teacup before downing its contents. "T-the s-same y-year as y-you, I'd t-think? Um." Sometimes, when watching a disaster play out, people would say something along the lines of it was like watching a collapsing bridge in slow motion. This was exactly how Iliril felt right then because as he quickly reviewed every doubt he'd had since coming to this world, he found that every single one turned out to be true.

He'd never been so terrified in his life. Just what kind of place was this.

Iliril cleared his throat nervously and poured himself some more tea. "TT-hree h-hund-dred and t-thirt-ty-s-sev-ven?"

Iliril of the Chant

Fifteen years ahead. He took a sip of tea, trying not to think about it too much. Since he was failing on that point, he took another. We could all three be from different variations of the same world. Wow, he was floundering on everything today, wasn't he? Iliril just went ahead and drained the entire damned cup. At least the water wasn't scalding anymore.

"Enel, I t-think w-we b-broke t-the un-niv-verse." Iliril jostled the teapot a little to see if there was water still sloshing around inside. He could feel a bit left but since he'd already taken a fair amount, he let it be. "I m-mean. W-were t-those v-var-riat-tions alr-read-dy t-there b-bef-fore? Or d-did t-they j-just s-suddenly h-happ-pen b-bec-cause w-we m-mess-sed w-with s-somet-thing w-we s-shouldn't h-have?"

The Chants mage shook his head. Any sort of teleportation magic definitely wasn't in his field of study. Time travel, dimensional travel, just. They weren't exactly part of his ideal day. "N-nev-verm-mind. M-mayb-be d-don't t-think t-too h-hard ab-bout it."

Iliril of the Chant

Iliril was listening. The fact that he was honestly disturbed by the entire situation and would have rather listened at all not did not change this fact. With how Enelen was explaining everything, too -a lot more simply than Iliril had expected- it was hard for him to not understand exactly what the other mage was getting at.

"Ok-kay, s-so it's l-like w-writ-ting m-mus-sic," was the first thing out of Iliril's mouth. It was as basic and watered down of a summary that he could provide for Enelen's rambling. Saying this, too, gave him a bit of a foothold on the conversation. Teleportation wasn't his field but music definitely was so he had gone straight to defaulting everything into some sort of relationship with that.

He blinked once and said again, more firmly, "It's l-like w-writ-ting m-mus-sic." He didn't really want to say more on it since any explanation was going to be horribly butchered by the stutter. Iliril hoped that Enelen would get the message.

Iliril of the Chant

"Hm? Oh, y-yes s-somet-thing l-like t-that." Iliril frowned a bit, suddenly wondering how much information would actually get across if he kept making metaphors like that. Did Enelen even know anything about music? The idea that he wouldn't seemed absurd and strange to him but then again, who even knew what went on in the School of Staves? Thinking about it some more, all that he could think of was a thousand Stave mages just standing in a circle and banging the ends of their staves against the ground in tandem.

"L-look, it's l-like, um." Iliril looked around quickly but didn't see anything that could have been an instrument. What he did see, however, were a bunch of glass containers. Glass containers everywhere. He considered the option for a moment before going over and unstacking a few, really hoping that the roommate wouldn't mind. But if he was already getting his fingerprints all over them, he figured it was too late to be having second thoughts.

Clearing a bit of table space, Iliril set down seven containers of varying sizes, water swishing about inside but not out, at least. He gave each one a flick to make sure they were actually glass before starting to add and remove water. There was a somewhat empty vase nearby that he dumped the excess in. As the water levels changed, he struck the glass lightly with a pen until the sound was was more proper.

Actually, maybe I didn't need to do this. But music. Okay. Just. It was nice being able to tune something from time to time. Soothing, really. Halfway through, Iliril was already starting to forget what his point had been. Feeling and looking a bit dazed, he passed the pen to Enelen.

"Uh, s-sor-ry. I s-swear, t-there w-was a p-point t-to t-this. J-just. Um. H-hit s-some of t-them?"

Iliril of the Chant

Ugh, if he had any doubt about it before, Iliril could be absolutely sure of it now. Enelen really didn't have any idea about music, did he? Somehow, that made him feel a bit more disappointed than he cared for. But, fine. He could work with that. Taking the pen back, Iliril played the same notes that Enelen had just moments before. With a bit of thinking, he found a dozen or so scores that contained this exact set.

He gestured at the glasses. "N-notes, v-var-riab-bles, ok-kay?" Then, playing the same series as before, only on a different rhythm, the mage said, "R-rhyt-thm, c-chance. S-still s-same n-notes, s-same ord-der. L-list-ten." The rhythm changed again, to something unusually cheery. For some reason, that tune had stuck in his head. Back in Sard, there had been a classmate of his who tended to hum constantly. This bit of music seemed to have been a favorite.

"W-words, h-hum-man f-fact-tor." At that, he had to frown. He hadn't brought anything to write on and he didn't think it would be very nice of him to just scrawl on the tabletop. He cleared his throat a bit and began, "In ol ath ed an im uz ut at ad ist er eth orm as." Iliril frowned a bit more deeply as he went on. The way he was butchering the language to skip over the initials seemed so obvious to him.

"T-that's as b-best as I c-can d-do w-without m-mak-king it s-sound h-horr-rid, s-sorr-ry. B-but y-you g-get t-the id-dea, I h-hope."