[In his physical body, he would squirm and grimace if she clung to him like this. But here in the dream, he's pliant, remaining in her arms simply because she wants him there.]
Yeah. But you have to focus on what you want or you won't be able to take it with you. And the more you're thinking about other shit, the more likely you'll take the wrong thing.
It'll function however you want it to function. It doesn't even have to look like a spaceship. Everything about it will be exactly what you want it to be, as long as you can hold onto the idea of it and not let the fear in.
[Ronan is standing. He wasn't, a second ago, but now he is, because she wanted him to. Whatever process led to this change in position went unnoticed by both of them.]
The thing you want is already here somewhere, and it wants you to find it, so you just have to look for it. Sometimes I have to dig for it. Sometimes I just trip over it. Sometimes I put my hand out and focus on the texture of it, and the more I touch it, the more solid it becomes. When you told me you wanted me to make this for you, you had something in your mind about what it would be. Find that again.
So it could appear all of a piece... without me having to do any work at all?
[That's so unfathomable. So unfathomable, in fact, that since this act of creation relies on the power of belief, Hange will definitely have to do some work.]
And this... your dreams, some of them, are people. Will this be a person?
[Hange frowns, looking frustrated. It's a safe, inwardly-directed frustration, exasperation with herself, the limitations of her vision. She has to see it clear somehow. That's a familiar feeling.]
Perhaps... let's go to the place where I worked.
[she raises her arms slowly. Hange has spent so much time in her lab the details are clear in her memory, though she hasn't been there for near a year. First the walls rise up around them. The roof grinds into place over their head. Bookshelves stretch out of the walls and there's a chorus of rustles, rustles like wings, as books bump and jostle into place like birds. A table rises in front of them and a microscope clicks down on its four little metal legs. Glassware shines in the dimness. There's a hand-cranked centrifuge tucked in a corner, an apparatus to create a vacuum using foot pedals. A map flutters on the wall. There's a table covered with empty, tea-stained teacups, a carafe of tea that once was hot drops down. The air dries and then becomes fragrant with the scent of old hay. There are no windows but the ceiling is high above them. The place is pretty clearly a repurposed barn. A sad-looking pitcher of flowers sits next to the teacups. Off to the side there's a tall pot with oozes down the side and a ladle sticking out of it. Soup, apparently. There's a wide space in front of the table, with nothing at all in it. That's new. Hange drops her hands to her sides and sighs, contentedly, eyes opening very wide and gleaming.]
[Ronan stands beside her, regarding the new space with a detached sort of wariness. He doesn't care for laboratories, even the sort that can be found in barns. His father's workshop was more of an art studio crossed with a library crossed with a museum, a place of reflection and creation. When Ronan thinks of science, it conjures the very opposite image: taking things apart.
But if this is where Hange prefers to work, so be it. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the table.]
I've drawn so many plans in here... studied so much... made prototypes... maybe that will help.
[Hange hops up to sit on the table, and then shuffles around so she's sitting cross-legged, elbows resting on her knees, fingers entwined, hands clasped in front of her face. She hunches forward and sits and thinks, and thinks. The light in the lab is buttery and golden somehow, even though there's no sun. Something shifts in the air in front of them like an oblong ghost and is gone in an instant.]
[Ronan shrugs and pushes off, crossing to the tea set. He's not particularly thirsty, on account of being an incorporeal idea floating around in her head, but since she invited him, he pours a cup for himself and a cup for Hange.
He returns to the table with both, setting one in front of her.]
[It's lukewarm black tea, but made from decent-quality leaves. Mediocre but with a specific flavor in its mediocrity that reminds her strongly of home.
In spite of inviting him to drink, Hange ignores the cup, brow furrowing as she stares at the empty space where this being is taking shape. Another gleaming oval appears, bulges outwards, as a larger one grows down from the top and encloses it. Shiny, chrome and modern. A space ship has to have space inside too, after all. The inner oval pinches down around its middle like a dividing cell. Two little 'rooms' now, rooms for dollies. Hange makes an annoyed noise in her throat and the shapes sublime into dust again.]
[Ronan cradles his own cup in his hands and sips slowly while he watches the shape form - reform - vanish from sight. He's unusually patient in dreams, content to work for years as long as he's certain the atmosphere won't twist into a nightmare. If it weren't for nightmares, in fact, he'd probably never wake from a dream at all.]
Hold it lightly. You're painting with a brush, not constructing with a hammer.
Everything I looked at was so... grey and gritty! Or bright and shiny.
[She lets it go completely, and leans back, grabbing the tea and taking a gulp.]
I'm not sure that's quite right for me. Maybe I'm thinking of it too technically... I could study for years and barely begin to understand how to build a spaceship, especially given where I started. Mine probably has to look a bit different...
[Hange slouches down, rests her chin in her hands. She wouldn't usually speak about this with Ronan, but...]
In my homeland there are certain people who... pilot larger bodies. [And now she's one of them.]
They're enclosed in flesh, surrounded by it and swallowed by it. In a sense it tries to devour them. If they are unwary they'll lose themselves and disappear, they'll become beasts. I don't want this ship to be like that, but perhaps it needs to be more like that than it needs to be like a machine...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Yes, she did. An errant current spins Hange closer; she bumps against Ronan and then clings to him, so they can talk.]
Aren't you enjoying yourself?
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Yeah. But you have to focus on what you want or you won't be able to take it with you. And the more you're thinking about other shit, the more likely you'll take the wrong thing.
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What were we looking for again?
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[Hange was the one who requested it. Don't ask him.]
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[The current lets up. They drift aimlessly, the sun beating down on both their heads.]
An isolated area in which to conduct... experiments... a space ship...
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[Definitely not his area of expertise.]
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[Hange frowns. The water bobs them up and down. This poses a problem...]
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[Because that's how nightmares happen.]
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Hmm. This is a very big idea, isn't it? And what about you? Are you afraid?
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[Though it would be pretty unpleasant if this devolved into a nightmare. He's experiencing every sensation and emotion she feels, after all.]
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[She sounds pretty definitive about this. The water drains enough that Hange's feet (she's floating vertically) touch the ground.]
You should stand. This is almost gone.
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This will probably be easy for you, then.
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[Hange releases him and moves back a bit, rubbing her hands together. She's been doing this, but now she's overthinking it and getting all antsy.]
It seems like such a large thing to think of... trees and oceans are easy in comparison...
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[That's so unfathomable. So unfathomable, in fact, that since this act of creation relies on the power of belief, Hange will definitely have to do some work.]
And this... your dreams, some of them, are people. Will this be a person?
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I don't know.
[That's up to her. It's her dream.]
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[Hange frowns, looking frustrated. It's a safe, inwardly-directed frustration, exasperation with herself, the limitations of her vision. She has to see it clear somehow. That's a familiar feeling.]
Perhaps... let's go to the place where I worked.
[she raises her arms slowly. Hange has spent so much time in her lab the details are clear in her memory, though she hasn't been there for near a year. First the walls rise up around them. The roof grinds into place over their head. Bookshelves stretch out of the walls and there's a chorus of rustles, rustles like wings, as books bump and jostle into place like birds. A table rises in front of them and a microscope clicks down on its four little metal legs. Glassware shines in the dimness. There's a hand-cranked centrifuge tucked in a corner, an apparatus to create a vacuum using foot pedals. A map flutters on the wall. There's a table covered with empty, tea-stained teacups, a carafe of tea that once was hot drops down. The air dries and then becomes fragrant with the scent of old hay. There are no windows but the ceiling is high above them. The place is pretty clearly a repurposed barn. A sad-looking pitcher of flowers sits next to the teacups. Off to the side there's a tall pot with oozes down the side and a ladle sticking out of it. Soup, apparently. There's a wide space in front of the table, with nothing at all in it. That's new. Hange drops her hands to her sides and sighs, contentedly, eyes opening very wide and gleaming.]
It's been so long!
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But if this is where Hange prefers to work, so be it. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the table.]
Are you building it here?
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[Hange hops up to sit on the table, and then shuffles around so she's sitting cross-legged, elbows resting on her knees, fingers entwined, hands clasped in front of her face. She hunches forward and sits and thinks, and thinks. The light in the lab is buttery and golden somehow, even though there's no sun. Something shifts in the air in front of them like an oblong ghost and is gone in an instant.]
Have some tea, if you want.
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He returns to the table with both, setting one in front of her.]
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In spite of inviting him to drink, Hange ignores the cup, brow furrowing as she stares at the empty space where this being is taking shape. Another gleaming oval appears, bulges outwards, as a larger one grows down from the top and encloses it. Shiny, chrome and modern. A space ship has to have space inside too, after all. The inner oval pinches down around its middle like a dividing cell. Two little 'rooms' now, rooms for dollies.
Hange makes an annoyed noise in her throat and the shapes sublime into dust again.]
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Hold it lightly. You're painting with a brush, not constructing with a hammer.
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[She lets it go completely, and leans back, grabbing the tea and taking a gulp.]
I'm not sure that's quite right for me. Maybe I'm thinking of it too technically... I could study for years and barely begin to understand how to build a spaceship, especially given where I started. Mine probably has to look a bit different...
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In my homeland there are certain people who... pilot larger bodies. [And now she's one of them.]
They're enclosed in flesh, surrounded by it and swallowed by it. In a sense it tries to devour them. If they are unwary they'll lose themselves and disappear, they'll become beasts. I don't want this ship to be like that, but perhaps it needs to be more like that than it needs to be like a machine...
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