milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

meg giry,
yrael

(no subject)

One of the things about having full control over your outward appearance is that you are always more Insert Feeling Here than you look. For example, the albino young man dressed all in white there at the bar is quite a bit more tired than he looks, despite the fact that he looks rather tired anyway.

He's making his way through a plate of fried paradoxes and chargrilled conundra at the moment. He doesn't look like he's about to share, though, if someone asks. Call him selfish, and he'll agree.

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*However, as everyone knows, it's a fake-sibling's right to steal paradoxes whenever possible.

Even if that sibling has no intention of actually eating them.*

Salut, Yrael -

He smiles slightly, raising an eyebrow at the paradoxical theft. "Bonsoir, Meg."

His accent hasn't improved much.

*Meg fans her French vocabulary papers out in front of her, with a rather pointed air - then, glancing down, quickly reshuffles so the one for 'common conversational terms' is on top.*

Ca va?

"Eh. Oui, ca va." His lackluster answer is accompanied by a curious look to the papers.

Vocabulary sheets, *Meg explains, with a grin.* For all the good people who've had the good sense to want to learn French - I'll give you a set once I've got copies made.

*She glances at him, and adds, lightly,* I don't know if much would sink in right now, anyways.

He looks up at her, bemused, "Hm?"

Well, *Meg explains,* you just look a little too tired to appreciate grammar and pronunciation, is all.

Chuckling, he nods slightly, "I admit they are not high on my list of priorities at the moment, no. It has been a wearying week and a half, Meg. Two world visited, and one trip took a lot out of me. I am thinking of visiting the Old Kingdom for a little while, to see if I can recover a bit."

It's always nice to go home, *Meg agrees, a little quietly.*

- are you too tired to talk about the wearying week and a half? 'cause it's fine if you are, of course; but you can't blame me for being curious.

"Yes, I am very glad to be home."

The narrative doesn't think he'll ever not correct those who refer to the Old Kingdom as home for him. Stubborn cat.

"I can blame no one for being curious, Meg." He smirks slightly. "I can talk about it. It just took a lot out of me. The second trip was not so tiring as the first, as there was at least some good food. The first was with Rachel Grey - I do not know if you know her. She felt she was needed elsewhere than in the bar, and I offered to go with her. We went to a... different version of her world than she comes from. And we were passengers in the minds of people very much like ourselves. She in hers and me in mine. Only, Yrael of that world was mortal, and a mutant. A singer," he grins, "of rock songs. The Rachel of that world was in his band."

*The minute 'rock songs' are mentioned, Meg's face gains a look of extreme wariness.*

I've heard some modern music, *she says, carefully.*

It was. Er. Interesting?

"Eh." Yrael says, noncommitally. "They were not songs I would have written. Of course, those songs were written for the specific purpose of being played to the humans. The mutant government was paying Yrael of that world and his band to play music to the humans to pull from them all of their strong emotions, sorrow, joy, love, hate, anger, hope, so they could not band together to form a rebellion."

- oh fantastique.

*Meg rubs her hands through her hair, with a snort.*

Is there any government anywhere that's not conspiring something awful against its citizens?

"Well, this one wasn't, actually. The humans were not considered citizens, as such."

. . . that, *Meg says, dryly,* doesn't make it better.

Dieu - if it's not the humans rounding up mutants, it's mutants rounding up humans. It's depressing.

"I did not realize until afterward how wearying it was, confining myself to the mind of a mortal. I only noticed when I got back here."

"I've been very tired, since I came back. I sleep as much as I can, but I think I may have to visit the Old Kingdom for a while to recouperate fully."

*Meg taps her own head, with a finger.*

- oui, these mortal brains can get a little old, after a while. So - limited and erratic, I guess would be the complaint?

*Her face is very, very solemn.*

Honestly, "Limited, more than erratic. Everything disorderly in an ordered system. I did not realize that humans sensed so little."

"It explains a few things, at least."

- you mean in terms of actual senses? *Meg asks; curious, now.*

Sight, smell, all of that?

"Well, those and others, and in terms of what they can tell of the world around them in a general sense."

I guess that makes sense.

*A little ruefully:* Amazing we survie as well as we do, n'est-ce pas?

"Yes. Though, being mortal, mortals tend to survive as a whole, rather than as individuals."

Yrael offers his little sister a piece of chargrilled conundrum.

*Meg nibbles on the conundrum, and heaves a sigh.*

Well, it's all too much for this mortal brain. I think I'll stick to my vocab sheets.

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