Sarah had been working away, with Jareth and Rook quietly and creatively insulting each other in barely comprehensible, heavily accented idioms, providing a comforting background noise. It was days later when she realised that while she had no idea what they’d been discussing, at least some of their insults had filtered through and she now had no idea if it was trash talk or not. The more she had thought about it, the more bizarre it sounded, so she figured she may as well ask.
When she found the pair, both Jareth and Rook were tapping paintbrushes to create a splatter effect on the canvas. It was a technique Sarah had used herself in a recent ceramics collection she’d been working on and she was more than familiar with the amount of splatter that ended up in places other than the intended surface. Her work apron bore plenty of evidence, as did her arms, the work surface and, no matter how careful she was, there was always slip that managed to find its way into her hair.
Sarah shook her head at how Rook echoed her own experience with the technique due to being liberally dotted with colour, while Jareth was mysteriously free from any stray paint droplets. The disparity didn’t seem to bother Rook, but Sarah would have been displeased if Jareth had been magicking his mess into her lap, so it was probably best that their hobbies diverged.
Jareth set his brush aside, placed his hands in the small of his back and stretched, his white tee tightening across his chest in a way that made Sarah’s mouth go dry. “How did it go today?” Jareth flashed her a knowing smile.
Swallowing audibly as she booted her brain back into gear, Sarah returned her husband’s grin. “We got everything in the kiln, so we’ll have to wait and see. I have to ask; you said something the other day about a lack of visual imagination and it’s been bugging me.”
If she’d blinked she would have missed the silent communication of Jareth’s raised eyebrow and Rook’s slight head tilt. It was the kind of thing that had initially concerned her until the Labyrinth had bound her to her own guardians and she understood the connection. You may well torture each other, but would nobody else had that privilege without consent.
Rook set her own brush aside. “It’s called aphantasia and it means that I don’t picture things in my mind.”
“But you’re an artist.” Sarah spluttered as Rook shrugged her indifference. “Does that mean you don’t dream?”
Rook shook her head. “Of course I dream.”
“So it’s not a disability?”
Rook shook her head. “People’s brains just work differently.”
“That is so weird.”
“You’re telling me.” Rook returned to her splatter. “I thought people seeing things in their mind’s eye was a euphemism.”
Sarah opened her mouth to reply and then stopped. “Okay, that kind of makes sense, but how did I not know this was a thing?”
Aphantasia
Sarah had been working away, with Jareth and Rook quietly and creatively insulting each other in barely comprehensible, heavily accented idioms, providing a comforting background noise. It was days later when she realised that while she had no idea what they’d been discussing, at least some of their insults had filtered through and she now had no idea if it was trash talk or not. The more she had thought about it, the more bizarre it sounded, so she figured she may as well ask.
When she found the pair, both Jareth and Rook were tapping paintbrushes to create a splatter effect on the canvas. It was a technique Sarah had used herself in a recent ceramics collection she’d been working on and she was more than familiar with the amount of splatter that ended up in places other than the intended surface. Her work apron bore plenty of evidence, as did her arms, the work surface and, no matter how careful she was, there was always slip that managed to find its way into her hair.
Sarah shook her head at how Rook echoed her own experience with the technique due to being liberally dotted with colour, while Jareth was mysteriously free from any stray paint droplets. The disparity didn’t seem to bother Rook, but Sarah would have been displeased if Jareth had been magicking his mess into her lap, so it was probably best that their hobbies diverged.
Jareth set his brush aside, placed his hands in the small of his back and stretched, his white tee tightening across his chest in a way that made Sarah’s mouth go dry. “How did it go today?” Jareth flashed her a knowing smile.
Swallowing audibly as she booted her brain back into gear, Sarah returned her husband’s grin. “We got everything in the kiln, so we’ll have to wait and see. I have to ask; you said something the other day about a lack of visual imagination and it’s been bugging me.”
If she’d blinked she would have missed the silent communication of Jareth’s raised eyebrow and Rook’s slight head tilt. It was the kind of thing that had initially concerned her until the Labyrinth had bound her to her own guardians and she understood the connection. You may well torture each other, but would nobody else had that privilege without consent.
Rook set her own brush aside. “It’s called aphantasia and it means that I don’t picture things in my mind.”
“But you’re an artist.” Sarah spluttered as Rook shrugged her indifference. “Does that mean you don’t dream?”
Rook shook her head. “Of course I dream.”
“So it’s not a disability?”
Rook shook her head. “People’s brains just work differently.”
“That is so weird.”
“You’re telling me.” Rook returned to her splatter. “I thought people seeing things in their mind’s eye was a euphemism.”
Sarah opened her mouth to reply and then stopped. “Okay, that kind of makes sense, but how did I not know this was a thing?”