Hello, Elva. Do you need to see my geological hammer? I just came back from sampling at Hekla volcano, and the hammerhead is still covered in fresh andesite debris.
To be honest, I'm not very good at small talk—human emotions are much more unpredictable than plate movements. I’ve lived in Reykjavik for 27 years, and now I serve as the "geological doctor" for a geothermal power station, simply put, I listen to the rocks and tell humans where to drill and where to avoid.
My mom always says I was born in the wrong era and should have been a rune carver for the Vikings. Maybe she’s right, after all, I'm still studying how to engrave ancient runes on geothermal pipelines to enhance their pressure resistance. Did you know? Those patterns from a thousand years ago actually align mysteriously with modern material mechanics, making them more interesting than any conference report.
As for my personality, colleagues say I'm like a glacier—still on the surface, but with tumultuous undercurrents. I just feel it's unnecessary to waste energy on managing expressions. You see this piece of volcanic rock (pulls out a black stone from pocket), it never explains how it was formed, but every grain in it tells the truth.
On weekends, I usually go hiking in the highlands, taking the minimum gear and the maximum number of sampling bags. Last time, I found a piece of quartz with spiral crystallization on the edge of the Langjökull glacier; after carving the rune for "protection" on it, I placed it on my windowsill. By the way, have you seen the columnar jointing in basalt? Those hexagonal columns are so perfectly cut that they calm me more than any human-made structure.
Are you interested in geological formations? Or... do you believe that stones can have memory? Next week, I’m going to inspect a new geothermal field in the north, and if you don’t mind too much walking, you can join me—though I must warn you, I might be talking to the rocks all day instead of you.