milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As entrances to Milliways go, this is one of the more unprepossessing. A man stumbles through the door in slacks and T-shirt (a particular brand of underwear showing above his waistband); despite the fairly well-groomed hair and care with his appearance, he still seems a little crumpled and ungainly. The door swings near someone, and he instantly apologises before standing almost straight and looking around.

(Interesting.)

'...oh. Um.

...oh.'

Well, this is new. Jim likes new.

[OOC: Note on playing with Jim here. If more than one person tags, could we please only have one intro thread? Anything after the first will find him either sitting a little nervously at the bar, or gazing in wonder out of the observation window. Thanks! :D]

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"So . . . "

Ysalwen's brow furrows as she tries to follow his explanation.

" -- golems powered by lightning? Do they work faster than humans, or more tirelessly?"

That last one seems to be the chief draw of golems, in Ysalwen's experience.

And on that thought --

"Do you make them?"

One person has to sacrifice their soul to inhabit every golem.

Ysalwen is not really a fan. Especially when the sacrifices are unwilling. And they always become unwilling.

This brings a genuine blink from him, followed by an all-too-rare rush of euphoria; a genuine flood of something new. His throat is thick with it for a moment, which he passes off as surprise at her reply and an attempt to think of a better explanation.

'No, I just work with them. They're not like golems, I don't think. They're - well, they're definitely faster than humans-' most humans, '-and they only stop when you turn them off, or they break. They're not like any kind of person. They run...programs, you know? Sequences of numbers? They send information?'

He sounds rather like a parent hoping someone will acknowledge something good about their kid, but with not much expectation.

Liranan's head lifts and he barks, just the once.

Ysalwen rests her hand between his ears, scratching gently.

"How do you know they're not like a person?"

Call her curious.

'...well, they're made of plastic and metal. And glass, for the screen. There's nothing alive in them. We just put the bits together, and they work.'

She remains interesting, if only because she proves that this variety of non-humans has the same cares as ordinary people; the humanity of others, for example, and probably a vested interest in right and wrong.

"No animating spark? Hmm."

Strange.

"Do you like them? These computers you work with."

'Uh. Yeah? I mean, it's a job. Average pay, but it's versatile. Everywhere uses computers.'

And he's always had a knack with them.

'They do need electricity to make them go, but that doesn't make them alive.'

"Alive and sentient are two different things. You can have one without the other."

She's just saying.

"You don't sound very enthusiastic about your life's work, either, really. Average pay and significant amounts of prospects isn't an actual sign of enjoyment."

He gives a nervous little laugh - the sort of polite, neutral chuckle you give when near-strangers offer insights into your life.

'I never really thought about it to that degree. I know they're not alive. There might be a time when they become sentient, but I don't think they are now.'

He is damn sure there's a time, and it's coming.

'I don't know about enjoyment. It's a job, y'know?'

An uneasy twist of his fingers.

'Why, what do you do?'

Edited 2014-12-30 00:46 (UTC)

"I'm a mage, a Grey Warden, and apparently now the Hero of Ferelden. There are ballads."

She sounds tired.

"So forgive me if I like to think that somewhere, somewhen, people have the opportunity to take up work that they enjoy."

Edited 2014-12-30 00:49 (UTC)

'I...' he laughs again, a little disbelievingly, '...sorry, I don't understand what any of that means.'

Just a computer guy, right?

Hero. Songs written about her. On the side of the angels, no doubt. Hmmm.

"The first part is all a bit ridiculous and overdone, really."

Her smile is wry.

"Don't worry about it."

(Angels are relative.)

She's modest. Oh God, she's not going to be ordinary, is she?

He gestures - a little nervously, in case it's really impolite - towards her head.

'Uh...you're not human either, are you? I mean, not as I'd know a human.'

If he mistakes her for ordinary, on his own head be it.

"No, I'm an elf. Not Dalish, but my people are of the elvhen. It's fancier with the 'h'."

Some things are less strange these days.

"Does your world not have anyone like me?"

His definition of ordinary is not like most other people's.

'No, no one at all. Just people like me.'

Big lie.

'I've never seen an elf before. Sorry.'

They all say that.

"It's all right. There might be one other that comes here, or so I've heard. I haven't seen him yet, though."

Her mouth twists.

"Though if you have no elves, or dwarves, or anything but humans -- who do you find to despise?"

'...uh. Each other, mostly?'

Truth!

'People of a different colour, different religion, different sexuality, all of that. People who think differently. Criminals. Politicians. Bankers. Lawyers.'

The usual.

"And how often do you kill each other over those things?"

Inquiring minds want to know.

(They kill each other over sex? Barbarians, obviously.)

'Depends on which one? Religion's the big one at the moment. Still. Like always.'

He looks at her as though wanting to ask a question, but he doesn't quite have the nerve. The overall effect is of a teenage boy working up to ask a crush if he can borrow a pen.

'Do elves have religion?'

"Of course it's religion."

She sounds tired again, and a little out of patience.

"Many elves have religion, yes. Some follow the Maker and his bride, Andraste. Others follow the gods of ancient Arlathan. Some are like me and think the whole thing is ridiculous."

Because gods don't do anything. Ever.

It's like a rule.

Her tone appears to make him wilt a bit, as if suddenly aware that he's making a nuisance of himself. So he sounds a bit more awkward when he speaks.

'I never saw much point in it either, but lots of people think killing gets them closer to their god. So I doubt it'll ever stop.'

Idiots, the lot of them.

"Even if the gods all came down off their thrones, or back from wherever they sequestered themselves, and actively told people to stop -- I really doubt it would stick."

People in large groups are fools, most of the time.

'Ah. Well. See, I don't think that's an option where I'm from.'

But hey, what does he know? There could be thrones and things.

'There's only supposed to be one, but no one's ever seen him. But every 'one' is different - I don't know. Not my area.'

"I don't think it is where I'm from either, but some people live in eternal hope."

He raises his eyebrows, an innocent with no opinion on this.

'Good luck to them, then. I'll just get on with life and try not to be caught in the crossfire.'

he brings hims hands together, rubs the palms a bit awkwardly, and glances towards the door.

'I might get off, actually. I'm kind of in the middle of a project at home, and it'll annoy me if I stay away. I heard the bar brings people back though, so I suppose I'll just hope the door opens here again.'

"You and I both," Ysalwen says, laughing again.

Liranan just looks up and barks twice.

He has very big teeth.

"Good luck with your computers, Jim from I.T."