booker/elizabeth - open to others - afternoon
Even if Booker wasn't in a sour mood he wouldn't have laughed because he didn't find anything relating to the situation funny. Moving on from Wounded Knee was hard enough without old ghosts bringing it up every which way. He was seventeen for god sakes, an early start to a long life of self-loathing, but weren't all the mistakes he'd ever made at that age?
His eyes found their way back over to her and watched idly as she sifted through the book and made her guesses like she was plucking them out of thin air. He'd suggest she could do better if she got any sleep but that'd likely be ignored, so he kept his mouth shut.
Taking a mouthful of his coffee, Booker considered the situation from his own standpoint, and what it sounded like to him. "That's dream time, or whatever they call it. There's a different label for it all but it's not the same as dream walking. We're talking about a people who believed spirit and soul was everything, that every living thing and none living thing is connected somehow, that it correlates through those realities."
Booker didn't know too much in the way of all that. Anything he'd learned was a long time ago, and he'd tried unfortunately, to repress a lot of it. "I don't know anything about demonic possession. But there's a difference between having a vision in your dreams--which they did constantly--and it sounds almost the same as dream walking. They're not entirely specific. They all sound the same but I do know that if you leave your body it leaves it open and vulnerable, as you could imagine. In a dark place like this? All this bad energy? It wouldn't surprise me if that's what was happening."