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

[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.

[fitofgrandair]

If ever I possessed the capacity for usefulness, I have long since burned it away. Perhaps I am destined for vagrancy, though I fear I have no love for life without shelter and the certainty of fine wine.

But no matter, I will shake my disbelief and find a way. We must survive, or we do not. A basic fact of human existence, though given recent events, I might suggest an emendation: we must survive, or we must survive. I begin to fear that the negation abides merely as a concept.

Thus: I will live on. And constituted as I am, I will find wine.

And what of you? Where does your particular skill lie?

[discretion]

I've been surviving here for two and a half years. I'd almost dare to say I'm not just surviving, but thriving. But while wine definitely drives about half of my will to do it, I like to think the other half is a little more substantial.

My particular skills lie in looking good in nice clothes. [Franz snorts softly.] That doesn't matter right now.

I'm serious about you needing shelter. In the darkness, terrible things come out. I'm not talking metaphorically here. You will be torn to shreds, or eaten, or dissolved in poisonous acid if you don't have shelter after the sirens that go off at night. [Franz is as matter-of-fact about this as one might be discussing local laws or weather conditions.] As much as it might crumple your adorable sense of self-deprecation, if you don't shape up and find some way to support yourself and stay safe, you will die, and the Core could bring you back over and over again and again until you learn your lesson.

Or you could be snatched up by one of the companies while you're vulnerable, and end up more or less their property.

[fitofgrandair]

[He bristles somewhat against this order to "shape up"--who is this man to level a finger?--but in the end almost appreciates the bluntness of the statement, and watches the injunction slide past.

Grantaire doesn't particularly want to hear of employment or consider seriously this new-found necessity of earning his maintenance. His head already aches with the struggle to accept this world shift (though he doesn't identify the source of the ache, nor attempt any such pinpointing), and employment adds an inconvenience for which he has little tolerance. Still, the more he hears, the more keenly he recognizes the necessity. It is something that he cannot forever push off, something with which he must come to terms.

In time, in time.

Grantaire waves a hand dismissively.] If I apprehend correctly, I am provided with housing for a month. A man may do much in a month, so I am told... Though I will take your warning to heart and be wary of my marked disinclination to act. What I know now is that I have no inclination toward occupation of any sort; what I know after rest and fortification may well reveal a transformation. Who knows what I may discover about myself in this city visited by poisonous acid and ravenous monsters, ruled by those who trade in souls and bodies? It may be that I possess a capacity for sense, after all.

This city is not a friendly one: that much, I begin to understand.

[discretion]

Newcomers - people like you and I, who were pulled here to Siren's Port by the Core - do our best to look out for one another. [Franz would never admit that's why he's hard on people, blunt, sarcastic, some might even say sassy. He's simply seen and suffered too much for it not to be so. Dare to be preoccupied, and someone will slip poison into the pitcher or drag you into a back alley simply for looking at them wrong.]

But no, it isn't a kind city, I'm afraid. Everyone fights to maintain the status quo, and it's all newcomers can do to try and keep up without being too violently preyed on for simply existing.

I know it's a lot to take in, but I'm sure if you're as smart as you sound when you talk, then you'll figure out a way to make it by here.

[fitofgrandair]

Be wary of taking sound for intelligence, sir; we who reel off words with such manic zeal rarely know of what we speak.

As for whether I will find a way... [He shrugs.] I defer and I bristle, but I am not dense enough to shun your words. Forbearance is rare enough among men, and timely admonition is not to be shrugged aside.

But tell me. What is your understanding of this city? How have you come here, how have I, how has anyone? I expect no certainty, understand; only venturesome contemplation.

[discretion]

No one knows exactly how or why the Core has brought us here. There's a machine beneath that baseball field, it brings people here, and then they're trapped. No one here on the island can leave it, the machine will pull you back even if you take a boat out and try to escape it. Many people have died trying.

I came here because the Core pulled me here, just like you. Some people are pulled from their every day lives, others are pulled post-mortem. There are people from different places, different times and different histories. Some people here aren't even human. The city is divided into two factions, each backed by a great conglomerate. They're broken down into the thugs and criminals, AGI, who believe we should stay the course and never mess with the Core, and the evil scientists, SERO, who believe we should experiment on the Core and see its behavior can be altered or stopped. [A pause.]

Life is unnatural here. Death isn't necessarily permanent. The beasts that come out in the darkness are tied to death too, it's like the whole place is haunted, only the ghosts are very real and can kill you.

Contemplation is nice, but I suggest you do it in safety.