Quoted By:
>Go bushwhacking
"—the Biomes?" It doesn't matter where you actually go, you figure, just that you slip away with little fuss, and tricky terrain ought to help in that department. "Er, nowhere with snow, though. I'm highly against snow."
"We fucking hate snow," Gil echoes.
"No snow! Got it!" Casey snaps his fingers. "You wouldn't want snow, anyhow. Stuff's cold! Gets everywhere! Hard to walk through! No, ladies, you want <span class="mu-i">sun.</span> Am I wrong? I'm never wrong! Haven't been wrong in decades! You want bright, beautiful sun, and beautiful fresh air— how's the air, by the by? Crushes water any day?"
You've grown so used to thin manse air that it hardly registered as unusual. You widen your eyes to compensate. "Uh... yes!"
"<span class="mu-i">See!</span> This is what we <span class="mu-i">do</span> for people, Charlotte. I swear to God, get a M.A.N.S.E. in your system— you'll be <span class="mu-i">revitalized.</span> But later, eh? Not now! Now—" He splays his fingers. "—the <span class="mu-i">sun!</span>"
That's all that needs to be said, apparently, because he sets off decisively down the steep curved slope, and you wonder for a moment about glue-soled shoes or some other ingenious device before Gil takes his own steps and you realize he's not flailing off into the aether, either. You hasten to follow.
You're never quite settled with the concept, even after walking untroubled for a minute or two— it's only after Casey fishes out his bouncy ball, squints, and throws it skidding up (down?) and along the sphere that you grasp 'down' must be wherever your feet are. You resolve not to think about it any further and devote your energies to batting away clouds that drift too close.
When a rounded doorway comes into view, Casey ushers Gil through it first, then you, then stoops to grab the ball back— it's made a perfect loop around. You clamber onto a hanging bridge and nearly bump into Gil, who has frozen in thought. He's staring out over the rest of Headspace.
And then you're staring out over the rest of Headspace: over a clustering of some two-dozen white orbs, some fully enclosed, some with the tops or sides caved out, all suspended weightlessly over a rushing sea of clouds. Bridges delicately link them— the string in the pearl necklace— and you spot people here or there strolling between the orbs, though they're too distant to make out any detail. (Especially with your missing good eye... wait. <span class="mu-i">Is</span> it missing? Is this your real body or not? You make to prod—)
«Do <not> think about it.»
Richard's shock is more of a warning tingle, but you get the picture. You have the eye. Done. You still can't see any fine details with both eyes, though, so it's really just what you saw earlier— well, now that you squint, there are a few open-air spheres clustered together, and it looks as though one may be forested? One's all orangey. The Biomes, maybe?
(1/3?)
