VIDEO

[fitofgrandair]

This is…

[A man’s face appears, expression an odd mixture of the sardonic and amiable, with perhaps somewhere a buried uneasiness. His eyes speak of unbelief and an energy without direction.] This is the strangest book that I have ever seen. Consider my very conception of books boggled, beaten into an utter absence of understanding. I have seen a book made… What is it they call this, again? No matter, let us say ‘made monstrous,’ reshaped to suit an unearthly purpose. Am I speaking to you? I’ve no idea who you are, or whether you exist. Yet let me speak! For there is no thrill in life equal to the sound of one’s own voice.

Let it be know to all naysayers and reluctant theorists, to every doubting Thomas, that we truly do exist in the most glorious of worlds, where a man may perish one moment and roam free the next! How foolish we are to believe we might die, how foolish to fear the end when every end is a beginning! Why, just think, we may continue in this manner forever, cycling from one life into another into another, and never forgetting, and never finding darkness. The scholars of optimism would call us creatures of eternal light. Why have we wasted such years in shuddering before the great god Death, when we might in rapture have praise the god Unending?

Will it never, never end. [He blinks, appears discomforted for an instant, than shrugs.]

And here stand I, believer in nothing, adherent to no doctrine. You may count me as lost as any other man, here and elsewhere, now and forever. I am a man without port, a creature lacking in connection. I belong to this world no more than to any other… ‘This world.’ I’ve yet to know what this world is, or if it is a world; if I may be classed as alive, dead, mad. What of these titles? Call me exile, call me one of un-belonging. I will answer or ignore to my liking.

But while we’re at it, a drink? What do you say? Ah, I would give my kingdom for a bottle of wine. Of course, my kingdom amounts to a thimble—That isn’t so, I haven’t got a thimble. But I would gladly take the wine, anyway. Come, lend a hand. If you must have payment, let me serenade you with a harangue or two.

I will tell you what most surprises me: that it is not emptiness that waits beyond, but more life, or whatever we would feign call life. This, well… This puts all of my knowing to shame. [Grantaire smirks, any sign of unease covered.] But that I am accustomed to, for who can trust to knowledge? It has been a joy speaking to you; we must do this again sometime. [With that, the screen blanks, and he is gone.]

Comments

[video]

[likepaleglass]

Can you consider it a conversation when only one person talks?

[video]

[fitofgrandair]

[Although he was told to expect it, Grantaire is startled by the first response, and for several moments stares, wondering. This is... This. All right.]

But of course. If my voice speaks and my ears listen, then I have a stimulating self-tete-a-tete. Add the mind, the conversations expand. Add yourself--whoever or whatever you are--and we've quite a crowd on our hands.

We might count the hands, as well, if we tend toward excessive gesticulation. [Which he does, often.]

[video]

[likepaleglass]

Technically two heads are needed for a tête-à-tête, and to have one head respond without a mind could be considered dangerous in several countries.

[He smiles.] Human. Male. Wizard.

[video]

[fitofgrandair]

[Again, he spends a moment working past the thought of a wizard before responding, though he largely maintains his customary smirk.]

All depends on your point of view, and on your definitions. I have enjoyed many a fine exchange consisting of my voice and my hearing, and have struggled through would-be conversations--imposter conversations, let us say--with fifteen speakers and no minds. Is it not a generally known fact that most men who speak lack connection with that marvelous faculty known as mind, consciousness, intelligence?

But I have never, I must say, never spoken with a wizard before. Perhaps in the world of wizards, the situation is not so deplorable.

[video]

[likepaleglass]

[This is Howl looking faintly amused.]

It takes a brave man to admit that he likes talking to himself.

The world of wizards is much like the world of Men -- which is to say they are, in fact, the same world where I come from.

[voice]

[gaveherwings]

To me, to all of us. I am Dr. Daedalus Yumeno, head of the Newcomer Community Center clinic.

Newcomers are far less likely to shun one another among our own. You need not fear exile or unbelonging on this network, rest assured we're all in the same unfortunate bucket.

Many expect this is an afterlife of sorts- because of individual circumstances...and there are strange phenomena at work here. For many of us 'newcomers', this place is like cheating death.

If you intend to continue doing so, I will strongly advise minding the curfew warnings and staying off the streets after evening sirens.

[voice]

[fitofgrandair]

And here is where we run into trouble: I never asked to cheat death. I prefer to meet a man before I cheat him. Why, where is the fun in cheating someone unknown? It is too easy, and it is incomplete. I might even say that I was cheated of meeting death. Woe to those who live on!

Ah, but these are theatrics. I am positively full of theatrics, perhaps to the exclusion of all substance. But I can tell you truly that I have yet to see men in a common situation, however dreadful, truly take heed of one another. But perhaps in such a utopia as we have here, with all of its unnamed dangers, my views are out of line.

But this is all beside the point, and I find myself quite thoroughly parched. As you, O disembodied voice, seem a benevolent soul, I beg that you answer me one question: Where might I find a bottle of wine, and is there food to be had somewhere?

That makes two questions. Well, if I claim mathematics as relative, who is there to contest my claim?

[voice]

[gaveherwings]

Death is a she, at least, as I have come to know her? She would have indulged you in good company, I think, if she were still here.

Unfortunately, wine isn't included in AGI's welcome package, though perhaps they'd be better received if that was the case? There are non-perishables at the community center, we give those out to help new arrivals find their feet. Winter coats, too, if you are in need.

....And the answer to your third and first question might be found in a bar called Gearheads, in the second sector. Though you might want to settle in a bit, before tackling theoretical mathematics. I'm told the Hillsdale students are quite rigorous intellectuals.

[voice]

[fitofgrandair]

Well, good god, she might have stuck around!

[That was an outburst, but not one for which he chides himself. A dearth of wine and an excess of "rigorous intellectuals." Suddenly, this seems a bleak world, indeed. Grantaire is suddenly aware of a forceful pounding in his head, and feels convinced that it won't be leaving any time soon.]

Tremendously impolite of her to dash off, is what I mean to say.

I'll need to fortify myself before I tackle any of the... rigorous intellectuals. [He furrows his brow, but thinks that these students might offer a sort of pleasant diversion. If he truly is caught here, he'll need to find something to do. He'll need to find others. Remaining sequestered in this room for too long seems inadvisable. For the moment, though, he understands that he will need to make the effort to locate some sort of food.] Where can I find wine? [Grantaire isn't keen on the idea of trekking out clueless to find it, but if a journey proves necessary, he doesn't intend to shy from the task.]

[voice]

[gaveherwings]

Mm. Destiny too...

[Daedalus trails off in agreement, sighing...it's been difficult to seek out sense of direction, without the tangible presence of the endless closr at hand anymore.

He's had to be a bit less superstitious. A little more practical. Which is really not such a bad thing.

This fellow's insistence on finding wine, on the other hand... a little worrisome. Or perhaps he would be hypocritical to make judgements. After all, Franz goes through wine like water, and the cognac bottle...

Best to put it out of mind.]

Any of the better restaurants at the Underground Mall? There's a better selection at the wine shop near Grayson's, but that will take you halfway across the island, which I wouldn't advise.

[And he seems a bit disheveled to send to Lion's Gate, or any of the nicer places with better winelists he'd typically recommend.]

See if any of the greeters off duty are headed over to Merlotte's tonight. Or try the Dog's Breakfast, which is close to the Towers. It's an older-looking building, tavern, still on the original city foundations, I believe. Stands out among the rest. They're newcomer-friendly, I hear?

But you should settle up lodgings, first, gain your bearings, before hurrying off to drown your sorrows.

[makeflowersgrow]

[Another man she recognises? No, it cannot be...
He used to sit in the cafe where Marius went - he would have brandy after brandy whilst listening to his friend. That M'sieur Enjolras.,zBut what was this one's name? Eponine couldn't remember, or maybe she had never known.

But perhaps she could use this man to free Enjolras, and thry could both commend her to Marius when they saw him again]

M'sieur? You are a member of the Amis? Do you recognise me?

[fitofgrandair]

You say the name of--

[His first sense is of tremendous disjoint; the face is too nearly familiar to be seen through this book or to be seen in this world at all, and the voice shocks him somehow. It isn't one he has heard at length, but somewhere, he recalls and connects it to Paris.

And suddenly, Grantaire feels disjointed, findings himself at the collision of these apparently separate existences. Have they somehow overlapped? Is this truly some joke of an afterlife? A... A...

And if she--this girl he recognizes vaguely but cannot claim to know--is here, might there be others?]

Am. Was. Provisionally, in my own sense. [He shakes his head.] You must forgive me; it has been a long night, and a long... I have seen you before, yes, I have heard your voice, though the name--alas!--eludes me. That you are here shocks my being, I confess. And you are truly here? [Whatever 'here' or 'truly' or any of these implications might mean.]

[makeflowersgrow]

Yes, M'sieur. I am truly here - at least I think I am.

[She pauses. Perhaps he's seen Marius since he left?]

You're friends with M'sieur Marius, aren't you? Perhaps that is how you recognise me - he used to bring me to the cafe sometimes.

[Or rather, she used to follow him there. But these are unnecessary details]

He used to be here too - but now he has gone. There are others, though... I didn't think you knew my name. You never smiled at me inthe cafe. I didn't think you liked me much.

[fitofgrandair]

Others? And what do you mean by saying he has gone?

[If Marius was here... or had been here? How many are there? This is... Not quite in line. Thoughts not yet matching up, so he shakes his head, allows them to collide as they will.

As for the girl... Grantaire nods. One of those who darted in and out of the cafe, perpetually in search of something. Usually food or drink, of course, but it had always been more interesting to imagine that each was on a separate search. This one had been seeking the key to the tower of absent adorations. Grantaire had never quite decided what that meant, but it had seemed appropriate enough.]

Marius never mentioned that he brought you, or perhaps I wasn't listening. [Or had been talking over Marius. That was also entirely possible.]

[He laughs.] My smiles are no more guarantee of fondness than my frowns. But I do remember you, and whether I liked you or not-- [Truth be told, he cannot recall any strong inclinations one way or another. Perhaps some irritation, but beyond that...]

But this is absurd. And if I am to wrestle with any more impossibilities, I need fortification. Shall we meet somewhere? A tavern was recently recommended, though I will trek my way to any house of wine.

[makeflowersgrow]

M'sieur Enjolras is here too. Though I suppose that you must ask M'sieur Deadpool if you can see him. M'sieur Marius... He was here; we even danced at the ball before he knew it to be me. But he has gone - the Core, M'sieur, it can bring you and send you away again. Did you see him in Paris?

[She sighs at his recollections of Marius and herself at the cafe. Of course he hadn't mentioned her. He might pretend to want to be friends with such a girl as her, but he must have been ashamed of her really. It's sad to think, and Eponine's visibly disappointed. She sighs, too, at his poor memory of her, but brightens considerably at the mention of a drink. She was already sick of Hattie and Dorian for te day.]

where shall I meet you, M'sieur? Please, not somewhere owned by AGI. But I will come to where you wish.
[She's already dumping her scrubbing cloth and dring her hands on her apron; all through the conversation she had been half heartedly cleaning the floor.]

i shall bring money. [Filched, of course, on the way. maybe from Dorian... Hmmm.]

[video]

[proxysproxy]

Ah, this isn't precisely the afterlife. I'd recommend not tempting fate.

[video]

[fitofgrandair]

Is there a precise afterlife? Come, I would like to hear your take on the matter. And if fate wills that I stumble my way to something beyond an afterlife, why, so be it! I had resolved myself to the event already; all of this seems only postponement, a space between what I was and what I was promised.

[video]

[proxysproxy]

Life is just what happens before you die. I know that some who had died before they were pulled here see this place as a second chance at life. And another who might have preferred to stay dead.

[He pauses, unsure of how to continue. Then:] I wouldn't know if there was a real afterlife. Even to me, the other side of death isn't visible.

[video]

[fitofgrandair]

And who are you, who can--if I presume correctly--see so much more, but cannot glimpse the afterlife?

[Something about this man's face--if this is a man, and after some of what he has heard, Grantaire can't be certain--is arresting, almost an alert... Perhaps he can see. And perhaps he only speaks what he believes. Either way, his words are of interest to Grantaire.]

Whatever the case, I applaud your definition of life: "what happens." Well said! We may separate occurrences and deem some momentous, may select events to be crowned as pinnacles and historic landmarks, but in the end, all runs into a wash of occurrence. All simply happens. And if what you say is true, it appears that this happening is no respecter of death.

[video]

[proxysproxy]

[If he can see something different, then Grantaire is more perceptive than most. Or maybe this talk of death makes Vincent's mask of unassuming meekness slip a little. In any case, he's a little embarrassed by Grantaire's question. He doesn't like to put on airs, so the following words are spoken quietly and plainly. Just facts.] In my own time, and my own world, I am the Agent of Death. But here and now, I'm just Vincent Law.

Sorry, what I meant to say was that anything that prolongs life, whether as mundane as nursing an illness or an injury or as incredible as resurrection, is only 'postponing the inevitable' as you said. You might have 'cheated death' once, and you might do so again, who knows? But eventually you will die for good.

video; sorry to be late but i couldn't resist!

[discretion]

[Oh, Franz likes this man. There's something about him so familiar - something that whispers to him of Counts, of Albert and Lucien and opera and con men, something that he's kept so far away from in his years in Siren's Port.

This man reminds him of home, both ugly and beautiful in its ornateness, always entertaining and rarely ever trustworthy. And oh, the speech he's given.

Franz rarely dresses as a Baron any longer, instead in more practical fashions: a high-collared sweater, though rich in make, and an office window overlooking the city can be seen behind. Still, there's training in his voice he's never bothered to hide, just as he doesn't hide his current amusement.]

It really is a remarkable place, though probably more limbo than paradise. This multi-world stuff was never my strong suit.

As for the wine here, well. Let's say it's not exactly worth dying for.

[video]

[fitofgrandair]

[Grantaire is amused and smirks, closely watching the image of this young man. Hard to tell what one can and cannot note with a picture of this sort, hard to tell what to trust. But he appreciates the young man's tone, something in the way he balances and places words.]

My luck be damned; I had hoped beyond all else to enter a life in which the richest of wine might be found bursting forth from every rock. I misjudged somewhere, horribly misjudged!

I suppose I shall simply have to accept my situation and barrel on as best I can. Poor wine may yet keep a man afloat. And who are we mortals--if you are indeed mortal--to expect better, when the world itself is only a poor reflection of all that we might hope? Paradise or limbo, we must admit that this is all rather lacking. That we have wine at all must be counted a blessing.

Though we might wish that it were more readily available.

[discretion]

I'm about as mortal as they come here. [Franz laughs, for a variety of reasons, because mortal is definitely mortal* but that's something to explain later. It's a bit depressing to talk about death with someone so full of life, not to mention personal.]

Yes, it does seem incredibly unfair that we have to secure a job to make money to buy the wine, and secure a place to live safely so we can live long enough to drink it. But that's the way of the world.

I'm Franz d'Epinay. And you're new.

[fitofgrandair]

That I am, and uncertain of how thankful I ought to be for the fact, especially when facing the prospect of employment. [Where to begin with that. Grantaire has determined that he will wave the matter aside for now; he will seek solution when it is required.] But I claim adaptability as a vital skill, and while I stand, I might as well carry on.

Am I to assume that you, too, were drawn to this... this world--for lack of a better designation--from another? This world, the world from which I hail, your own (I presume)... They seem remarkably consistent in demanding wearisome labor and pointless pursuits.

Monsieur d'Epinay, it is a pleasure to meet you, distant though we are. And I am Aleron Grantaire, one who grants worship to no doctrine and trusts to no truth.

[discretion]

--Worshiping no doctrine and trusting no truth, hm? I like the way you think.

Though toil is sadly somewhat expected, unless of course, you're rich. Siren's Port is even more inter-dependent than most city's because you absolutely do require a place to live safely during the darkness hours, which at this time of the year comprise a large portion of the day. You could become a vagrant, of course, but housing and supplies are low for the homeless, and not always reliable.

I'm sure there's something you're good at with which you can excel here.