January catch-all

[apricitous]

Who: Clark Kent (apricitous) & you!
What: Catch-All and some concern about the state of things
When: January
Where: largely Wyver
Warning(s): none so far


[ scouting for reporters | wyver | open]
[ While Clark's put up his message, he's also putting up a few flyers around town with the same basic content; while his focus is the refugee population, just for ease of communication, he's not opposed should any locals show any interest in helping. He obviously can't offer any money since it's not a business as of yet per se or anything but... if you see him, feel free to ask about it. ]

[deserters | outside of the city | open ]
[ There are things Clark can't do, but there are also things he can do, things that he can't not do when it comes right down to it... and one of those things is look out for people. Especially people who are desperately trying to avoid a conflict.

Clark goes there first, asks what they need, and at first he uses some of the funds from his dragon bounty, what was still there. It's after Christmas, so it was a little more scant than he'd like, but he makes up for it by eating less, sitting in the sun more; he'll cook portions for Jessica the same as usual but he can make do himself. Eventually, he does have to ask for money, but he'll run into the city and bring back just about anything. He's also taken to spending the occasional afternoon out there, though, patrolling from the sky or ground to take care of any natural threats that might be stalking the smaller settlements just in case... ]

[ home | wyver | open ]
[ If you happen to come by their house, you'll find Clark at one of three activities: attempting to write something on the current Wyver-Olympia conflict, trying to figure out how he can better siphon some of his paycheck into supplies, cooking the occasional bit of food, and working from a particular book given to him for Christmas as a present, muttering to himself in a strange language that your character almost certainly isn't familiar with. ]

Comments

[vorrutyer]

The moment I got here.

[ He smiles, shrugs. ]

When I was born, I was sixty-third in line for the camp stool. Due to various births, deaths, marriages, et cetera, in the year before I came here, I was eighty-seventh in line. I am, you see, a perfect nobody - the disinherited eldest son of a penniless youngest son. But all eighty-six before me died. And so.

[apricitous]

[ That makes him sit up a little. And he can't, well, he can't help but blink.]

So... you're Emperor by default, then. You're Emperor because everyone else is in stasis?

[vorrutyer]

[ He lifts his eyebrows in confirmation. ]

Disappointed? Regretting the interview?

[apricitous]

On the contrary.

[ That smile is... just a tiny bit devious. Or perhaps just playful. He doesn't have any ill intent, after all. ]

That's actually more interesting.

Because now I'm curious what an emperor without a country has planned in his new world.

[vorrutyer]

Drinking and carousing isn't enough?

[ He gives a little shake of his glass. His eyes are just a little too sharp, though, a little too watchful. He doesn't wholly look the part of a drunken fool. ]

[apricitous]

[ He doesn't, does he? Hmm. ]

You don't need to be an emperor to do that. So why call yourself that? Why declare yourself holder of the title?

[vorrutyer]

[ He lifts his eyebrows. ]

It gets people interested in me. I like attention.

[apricitous]

You're not interesting enough on your own?

[ He doesn't add a zing, isn't being mean. He's just asking. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ A little shrug. ]

I suppose you could tell me better than I could tell you.

[ Hardly true. Hardly a single word of this conversation hasn't been playacting of one sort or another. Wherever the real Byerly is, he's buried deep below a lot of twisty irony and doublespeak. ]

How do you advertise yourself, Monsieur Kent? Not as a farmer. A journalist. And you lead with that pretty smile of yours.

[apricitous]

I actually don't advertise myself much. [ He spreads his hands before reaching out to take a sip from his beer. ] I mentioned my job as a journalist because it was on the topic. And because I'm not actually a farmer.

[ He bows his head. ]

Though I'll take the compliment.

[ He turns his hand over towards Byerly. ]

As to you, I'd say you're very interesting. But you're the one who's throwing around the part about you being an Emperor. I'm curious as to the reason.

[vorrutyer]

[ He's quiet a moment, watching Clark. Then he tilts his head, and says something a little closer to the truth. ]

I am the Emperor.

[apricitous]

[ He's watching Byerly, listening intently, and something about the way he says the words... it hits on something, on some of his own anxieties, his own frustrations. His tone, when he speaks, is quiet, more intimate, but also a little more respectful. Unsure, because it's a guess, but still, kind. ]

And... it's weighing on your mind?

[vorrutyer]

[ He smiles, and takes a drink. Sets it down again, and says: ]

Journalist, or therapist, Monsieur?

[ Then, because the attentiveness and concern on Clark's face earns him a bit of honesty: ]

If you were nothing but a drunken fool, and suddenly you were your entire world - Emperor, Count, every citizen alive - wouldn't it weigh on you? Doesn't it?

[apricitous]

Neither.

[ Earnest. Utterly earnest as he looks to Byerly. ]

Someone who actually understands. As much as I can.

[vorrutyer]

[ A look down at his drink. He smiles down at it. ]

I expect you understand quite a lot. My grief is not a special grief.

[apricitous]

Isn't it?

[ He glances off, distant, towards nothing and... well, towards the Natha. Towards his mother. ]

Just because we're all grieving doesn't mean our grief isn't special. Isn't specific.

[vorrutyer]

[ A little shrug, and he rolls his head to the side with a wry smile. ]

Who can say? I think it likely that all grief feels the same. But you can't know without hopping into someone else's head, I suppose.

[apricitous]

[ Clark glances down at his beer. ]

I don't know.

The way I miss my mother, the smells, the taste of her cooking, the way she'd brush my hair back when I was worried about something... it's different from how I miss my boss or my coworker or my... girlfriend.

Missing each one of them feels different to me.

And I don't think that's just me.

[ He turns to Byerly. ]

Maybe it is, but you're right: who can say?

[vorrutyer]

It's like lemon and lime.

[ He shrugs. ]

They taste different when your eyes are open. But if you close your eyes, and put either one on your tongue, they're indistinguishable. It's merely context that gives different coloring.

[apricitous]

Lemons are sour.

Limes are bitter.

[ He isn't trying to be mean. He just- ]

But they both have a bite. They're both overpowering. I guess it doesn't matter how you're overpowered, in the end.

[vorrutyer]

Let us discuss something less depressing, hm?

[ He smiles easily, picks up his whiskey. ]

I find talk of emotions to be tiresome.

[ Difficult. He finds it difficult. ]

[apricitous]

I thought your interest was people.

[ But he's still shifting the conversation. Or rather, letting it shift. ]

[vorrutyer]

Oh, it is.

[ He sits back, his smile cheery. ]

Gossip. Chatter. Fun. Nothing maudlin. Sorrow weighs down the soul, you know. Keeps it from flying free. Don't you agree?

[apricitous]

I don't know. I think a little sorrow keeps things from feeling artificial. Saccharine. But you can't overdose on it either.

[ He sips at his beer then tips his chin to By's drink. ]

Can I get you another?

[vorrutyer]

[ A short laugh. ]

God, yes. And quickly.