[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

[cacoethical]

[To call anything Dirk Gently does 'investigating' would, perhaps, be extraordinarily generous. Dirk, being an extraordinarily generous person, is happy to ascribe that verb to just about any activity he likes. In fact, the very nature of his methods -- and not just his methods, but reality, in which he applies them -- precludes the possibility that he is ever not investigating. Sometimes, though, he gets whimsical. Sometimes, for instance, when he's feeling particularly restless, particularly in need of something to remind him that yes, he is in fact a real detective and rather an effective one too if he says so himself (which he would, if asked), he pulls from his vast repertoire something that almost looks like investigation if one were to squint very, very hard and in the direction of something roughly adjacent to it.

The method goes like this: first, one must accept that the universe -- any universe -- is a fundamentally chaotic place, one prone to resisting any kind of probing into its squishier, more tender bits with vigor and enthusiasm. Secondly, one must accept that everything within that universe -- any universe -- is intrinsically and inextricably connected, that any one thing affects all other things in myriad and generally absolutely inscrutable ways, and that therefore knowing the angle from which to interrogate a given problem is an irrelevant question in the first place, as following any given thread will, inevitably, lead eventually -- sooner or later, if admittedly not always with the greatest efficiency -- to the desired solution. It is in fact sometimes it's best not to know much of anything at all, therefore. Check and check.

These two axioms accepted, processed, subsumed, one may proceed to step three: to find someone who looks as though they know where they're going. Someone attuned to some siren call -- call it intuition or neurochemistry or an intense desire for a sandwich -- leading them somewhere personally meaningful and therefore of objective importance on some scale. Step four, naturally, is to follow that person and see where they're going and what happens along the way.

Step 4b, in this particular iteration of the algorithm, is to run smack into someone turning a street corner at the same time as Dirk is hurrying along the sidewalk trying to keep up with his preternaturally long-legged quarry. In a universe in which there are only accidents, it follows that there may as well also be no accidents at all. One doesn't ignore a message writ so large across the face of reality. Particularly if one has just run into someone, and must take that someone by the shoulders to ensure that neither of the involved parties falls on their hindquarters.]

I am so sorry. That does happen. Hazards of the trade; you know how it is.

[He gives a little laugh, almost a guffaw, and waves an airy hand (silly me) as though yes, everybody knows how it is... whatever 'it' actually refers to in this case. A wide smile, too, which comes to his face partly because he's simply prone to smiling, and genuinely, but also partly because this is obviously some kind of lead. Remains to be seen what sort, of course, but he really does feel as though he's getting somewhere. Closer to his goal? Maybe. Further away? Also maybe. Still somewhere, and that's rather nice.

Once he's sure they're steadied, Dirk accompanies all this with a cheery wave of greeting.]

Hello! Dirk Gently. Are you quite all right?

[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?]