He's charmed by the conversation, the two of them mutually leaving the phenomenal world and entering into the sublime, leading each other by circumlocution to the same points again and again, dissecting and curious. They worked well together like this, Alecto noticed, almost stunned once again by how quickly Josh's modern mind churned, whimsical and discursive, and how well it managed to compliment Alecto's deeply classical one, in all its narrow, unhesitating, and relentless manner. It's just not a quality of mutual intelligence that one encounters frequently these days and for that, Alecto treasures Joshua Archer deeply.
As they studied this present mystery together, Alecto had picked up on one of the active verbs carved into the artifact in the photo and that threw them down again another avenue talking about loss of self, about Plato's four divine madnesses, about madness of all sorts; Alecto became colorful and animated, rambling about what he called the burden of the self and why people want to lose the self in the first place -
And so another hour passes.
And when their hands come together suddenly, a symmetry of palm to palm, fingertip to fingertip, bone to bone, Alecto starts. He stares, staying still, as Josh goes on to talk about technology, and 3D and other acronyms for things inside of complicated computers that Alecto usually balked at. But he has, this time, no objections. All he can seem to focus on is that skin to skin contact, a very physical representation of the mental connection they've just forged -
Josh starts to trail off and the silence that falls manages to shake Alecto from his disrupted state. He stares at their joined hands and slowly, consciously untangles them. He clears his throat, awkwardly.
"Well. Consider me deeply interested. I've made some notes," he says, placing his small notebook down next to the photos on the table, his lines of cursive written in a masculine, rather nineteenth-century hand, with Greek e's. The ink was still wet. "And I'd be happy to take this on. It's been a long time since I've found such an odd puzzle to work through. So -" He looks Josh directly in the eye, their faces very close. "Thank you for this. Though I will have to see about moving my schedule around a bit. This semester I've signed on to do a bit more than I would have liked." He murmurs something else about timing and the pains of having to be a student advisor and the terribly dull theses he had to oversee this year.
no subject
As they studied this present mystery together, Alecto had picked up on one of the active verbs carved into the artifact in the photo and that threw them down again another avenue talking about loss of self, about Plato's four divine madnesses, about madness of all sorts; Alecto became colorful and animated, rambling about what he called the burden of the self and why people want to lose the self in the first place -
And so another hour passes.
And when their hands come together suddenly, a symmetry of palm to palm, fingertip to fingertip, bone to bone, Alecto starts. He stares, staying still, as Josh goes on to talk about technology, and 3D and other acronyms for things inside of complicated computers that Alecto usually balked at. But he has, this time, no objections. All he can seem to focus on is that skin to skin contact, a very physical representation of the mental connection they've just forged -
Josh starts to trail off and the silence that falls manages to shake Alecto from his disrupted state. He stares at their joined hands and slowly, consciously untangles them. He clears his throat, awkwardly.
"Well. Consider me deeply interested. I've made some notes," he says, placing his small notebook down next to the photos on the table, his lines of cursive written in a masculine, rather nineteenth-century hand, with Greek e's. The ink was still wet. "And I'd be happy to take this on. It's been a long time since I've found such an odd puzzle to work through. So -" He looks Josh directly in the eye, their faces very close. "Thank you for this. Though I will have to see about moving my schedule around a bit. This semester I've signed on to do a bit more than I would have liked." He murmurs something else about timing and the pains of having to be a student advisor and the terribly dull theses he had to oversee this year.