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

[ It's...logical. And so By is quiet a moment, then admits: ]

Maybe.

[ Maybe. Maybe they wouldn't have. But. ]

But it was our job to know. To give them that chance. [ A beat, then a bitter smile. ] I always did get reprimanded for thinking I could do everything, though.

Far more people don't think they can do anything. The reverse isn't the worst trait to have. Exhausting as it sounds.

[And lonely. Well, he knows a thing or two about that.

His hand curls lightly in Byerly's shirt, for lack of other occupation.]

...I don't think anything you could have done or known would have prevented this. There are worlds more advanced than yours - still gone. But-

[He almost asks-

And he thinks better of it. Shakes his head.]

But something of it survived. At least there's that. You.

[ By's hand strokes Prior's knuckles gently. He presses his temple against Prior's crown. The least of it survived. A disinherited, dissolute gossip-monger. A million men more worthy than I am, and they chose me. ]

And now I am Emperor. Responsible for all those men and women and children up in stasis. I was never quite prepared for this.

[Why would they choose me? How was I supposed to save anyone, I can't even save myself. Prior presses into the touches, shamefully needy.]

And I'm a prophet, supposed to help rewrite the order of the universe, or something. We're quite the pair.

[ That draws a little laugh out of him. ]

God help us both. Or at least someone all-powerful and God-adjacent. I suppose your relationship with God himself would be rather complicated, no?

Non-existent, actually. [Without looking up, he gives a nonchalantly regal little wave.] He abdicated. Careful or someone may offer you that position, too.

Ah, I'd pass on that one. I owe nothing to the heavens. Wouldn't be obligated to take on anything on God's behalf. Still, seems rather lazy for a god to do.

It does seem tedious. You'd have to spend all your time helping, damning or forsaking people, imagine. Although I do enjoy the hymns. [As to the reasons for it... long to go into at this hour, and more than he wants to say. It would come too close to a confession of what he's been given to prophecy and after tonight admitting that seems... not best advised.]

Ah, no. I wouldn't enjoy that part one bit. See, I adore music - [ He gestures to himself. ] But only when I get to be the one performing it. It's all about being looked at.

[Byerly Vorrutyer you know not what you've done.]

Darling you have a missed vocation in glitterballs and heels. Find yourself an instrument and I promise you'll have a captive audience - though do you sing? I like singing the best.

Ah, a bit. I was never the talented one at singing. [ A small shrug, a wry smile. ] Piano and violin.

And violin the most, I know. [Noting that there was a talented one without asking who. He could guess, but they've settled long enough on loss for now.] You can still sing. It's not as much about talent as enthusiasm.

Having had a three-month fling with Vorbarr Sultana's top prima donna - I think it's a bit about talent, too.

[Prior rolls his eyes, whether at the Prima Donna or the protests. There's a spot just below the lower rib where most people are ticklish. He tests it with a light pinch.]

I meant here, not on stage at Madison Square. Stop asking for perfection, no beautiful thing is.

[ Dammit. Byerly jumps just a bit, letting out a little grunt of protest. Dammit, Prior. He slaps the fellow's hand away. ]

Don't do that. But yes, fine. What are you proposing, a night of karaoke?

[A little victory: Prior beams at the slap before attempting to revert to innocence. Though, genuinely-]

I could be, I suppose. It sounds intriguing. What is it?

[ Byerly gives a little huff, trying to return to his prior illusion of debonair, suave confidence. Squeaking when you're poked is decidedly un-suave. ]

What's karaoke? Do you Terrans not have that? I don't know whether to envy or pity you. It's grand - you drink to the point of self-confidence, cram into a booth with your fellows, and sing off-key. While drinking more. A license for bad behavior and shameless preening.

[Squeaking when poked is refreshingly human, just a little endearing, and Prior only looks more pleased about it as Byerly tries to unruffle his feathers.]

If we do, then nobody has yet told me. Though it sounds not unlike a hundred house parties I've been to - I'd go. [Lets never pretend that parties and preening are things to endure rather than embrace - though his social life has involved both less social and less life for some time.] But I mean nothing so organized. I just mean singing, Byerly. Don't you ever sing just because?

Well, certainly.

[ A little shrug. ]

Usually when drunk. Though I doubt you'd know the songs I generally end up singing. La Belle Dame of House Vorrutyer probably isn't in your repertoire, nor Dendarii Leaves, nor Kalinka...

[There. Prior pins a finger on the one he knows.]

Kalinka when drunk would be an impressive thing. But didn't any popular culture survive? No troubles melting like lemon drops or it took all the strength I had not to fall apart? Don't tell me your world not only dislikes my people but my anthems, too.

[ A small shrug. ]

Deepest sympathies, Prior. Doesn't ring a bell.

O cruel future, with no torch songs in't. [He exhales dramatically, hand clutching at his face, lost - lost] I need a moment with my grief.

I have a bottle of whiskey in that drawer over there, if you need it.

And a pistol, I hope. [The combination would seem traditional, particularly now he's aware he's effectively sharing a bed with the space-age KGB. His chest rises and falls through two wracked breaths before dropping the effort. A sidelong glance.] Know that if you mock this, you mock my very queen.

[And, softly, with respect to the fact that there is likely a real queen asleep next door, but with a trace of performance he can't turn off-]

Some day I'll wish upon a star, and wake up where the clouds are far behind me-

[ He doesn't mock, though. Instead, he props his chin up on his fist, smiling faintly as he listens. ]

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