[open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

[priorly]

Who: Prior Walter (priorly) & you??
What: Catch all logs for October!
When: October!
Where: various
Warning(s): language, likely mention of terminal illness (AIDS). Adult themes?
Notes: Please PM me if you'd like a starter, or feel free to wildcard me anytime.

Comments

[priorly]

[Prior is himself walking with a purpose. That purpose being finding a bench, or some other place to sit down in a goddamn city that seems to have no municipal concern for the infirm. Really, he'd get around fine if there were just a little more public seating.

He's considering writing a strongly worded letter to whatever counts as the Mayor's office here (can you write strongly worded letters to an empress? One suspects her imperial highness may not give the smallest of shits). He's also considering how the very idea of writing a strongly worded letter makes him feel like an impossibly more pedantic person than he is. He doesn't need his ex boyfriend anymore, not if he's going to become him.

So, no letters, but some loud internal complaint, noisy enough to distract him from keeping an eye on where he's going. Although even if he had, the crash when it comes is too quick to prevent.

In the next moment a strange man's holding him up by the shoulders, and Prior's half bent over with a shooting pain in his leg, which he's not capable of facing with a stiff upper lip.]

Do I look alright to you? [Only if deathly pale and sweaty happens to be a good look in Dirk's part of the world.] My leg's about to - ah.

[And the next minute there are two men clutching each other on this particular street corner, as Prior reciprocates Dirk's shoulder grip.]

Just... hold me up. One second, and I'll be fine.

[It may be more than one second, and he won't, but the details of that are too much to spit out through gritted teeth.]

[cacoethical]

[This much Dirk can do. This much Dirk is reasonably accomplished at doing, actually: standing about feeling like a bit of a prick. His expression is appropriately sheepish, not entirely unlike a small child who's been caught doing something he oughtn't.]

Take your time. I've got plenty of it, probably.

[Nor is he particularly bothered by the prospect of being tactile with an absolute stranger, apparently.]

I really am also terribly sorry, though in my defence, I couldn't possibly have known, and generally speaking I don't. Know, that is. Much of anything, actually.

[For instance, whether or not someone is all right, or would prefer to pretend they're all right even when they're not all right, which is also something he's adept at and can respect. There's no call to be snappish. Or rather, there's every call to be snappish, but that doesn't mean one has absolutely to give in to the temptation.]

What to do, for starters. Ah... do you... I mean, shall I bring you to a doctor? I live with one, I suppose I could give him a call, or...

[Or... something. Something that is not entertain the growing bubble of panic in his gut. Dirk doesn't like hurting people. He really, really doesn't. If he comes off as a bit callous about it, it's because he doesn't ever seem to have much choice in the matter, and if he thinks about it too hard, everything starts to unravel. This is true of his situation in general, his life, his so-called 'ability' -- really just best not addressed in any detail. Better to keep moving, to keep talking, to keep smiling. Not that he's managing much of that last one at the moment.]

[priorly]

[Pain does tend to make Prior snappish, although only once it passes a certain threshold beyond the daily and into the debilitating. Still that's less this stranger's fault and more his goddamn leg. Any other person would simply have stumbled and moved on.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, lifting his head so that he meets Dirk's eyes across this weird shoulder balance, looking like a pair of inept Russian athletes doing a floor routine.]

No, no doctors. I just need to-

[Brace a little harder as he straightens his leg out and puts his weight on it. Painful, but pain he's prepared for: pain he knows. He even ungrits his teeth after a second or two.]

Sorry. I mean, not sorry, you crashed into me. But sorry that I didn't just fall over and swear. Next time.

[cacoethical]

Yes, I have found that to be terribly satisfying, though I confess I fail to see how it would be any more useful to me personally.

[That, at least, makes sense. The failing to understand something, that is, though also the bit about the falling over and swearing. Dirk looks appropriately relieved, though he doesn't let Prior go just yet. For one, it doesn't seem appropriate. For another, he's faintly afraid that if he does the prophecy will come true: there will be falling over, and swearing, probably at him.]

I mean, I could, if it would make you feel any better. Stick around long enough and I probably will, for some reason or another. That sort of thing does tend to turn out be my narrative role, if you see what I mean. What was your name again?

[priorly]

[Fortunately for Dirk, the prophecies in Prior's life tend to warn more of the imminent destruction of heaven and earth than the likelihood of a bruised nose should he fall straight down again. But he doesn't mind being held onto, it gives him a better chance to test his leg before trusting it with his full weight again.]

You may want to change your narrative. Isn't that kind of think reserved for the comedy sidekick?

[Although, now that he's close enough and unclenched enough to notice things, maybe the brightness of Dirk's attire also marks him out for that position. Well then.]

It's Prior. [For the first time, he thinks, unless pain makes him spit his name in people's faces thesedays. Always a possibility.] And I think I can be trusted on my feet again - at least, I'll have nothing to blame you for if I can't.

[cacoethical]

Yes, well, it isn't as though I haven't tried.

[It's somewhat sheepish, accompanied by a slumping of the shoulders and a wan smile, as though this is in some way, shape, or form a sentiment he's heard before. You may want to change your narrative. He so often does. Not always -- it's rather magnificent being Dirk Gently, most of the time. Walking arm in arm with the bizarre is generally more exciting than it is miserable. At other times, though, it becomes painfully obvious both that he has no idea what he's doing and that he has no real choice but to be doing it. At times the undercurrent of certainty is in itself a source of uncertainty.]

It's how I'm designed, it seems. I always end up where I need to be, even if it's rarely where I intended to go.

[Dirk gives an eloquent shrug as his hands finally drop back to his sides. What can you do?]

Well, in any case, it's good to meet you, Prior.

[A brief, introspective frown crosses his face. Prior to what?]