multiversallogs | OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

Who: Everyone!
What: St Kelley's evening
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Veerdi evening.
Notes:
(1) The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread.
(2) All mementos will appear overnight in some part of your character's apartment.
(3) Dance!

St Kelley's is one of the more sedate occasions in Baedal, at least as holidays go. It passes more or less unnoticed by the majority of the population as many of them feel it doesn't concern them. It's not their holiday; it's for the others. Those with severed ties and broken hearts. The temple and church preach that it's a time for reflection or for glorifying the generosity of the gods. It's one of the few days on which no one looks askance at first generation Citizens mourning their missing loved ones publicly.

As night rolls around and floating lanterns are set to sea, the Apache in Mog Hill prepares to accept guests from the newer cohorts. It's something that happens every year, making it a practical tradition. The alcohol will be cheaper for first timers, and the music will be kept at a reasonable level.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Due to crippling shyness, Wolfgang has actually been spending more time outside, smoking and politely, but distantly, socializing. He's easily lured out by the promise of cheap alcohol, that's why he bothered at all -- and then sent out a boat for the hell of it, even if now he feels a little guilty. It's not really a big deal, but he still probably ought not be doing anything involving Baedal's Gods.

He comes back inside whenever he runs out of whiskey, like now, leaning over the bar to talk to the bartender -- something he says makes Wolfgang lean back and laugh, which softens his face somewhat.

While he normally makes an effort to dress down in situations like this, apparently tonight he felt like going nuts. He doesn't usually do much with his hair aside from brushing it, but the worse he feels, the better he has to look, apparently. No one will notice.

Shrieky doesn't actually need a drink, he just caught a glimpse of platinum white hair and decided to follow it and corner Wolfgang into some conversation.

The Bar area is busy, so rather than actually elbowing people out of the way to reach his target, he just squirms an arm between some of the tightly packed patrons, to pat it lightly on the other man's shoulder, trying to get his attention.

Wolfgang startles visibly and exaggeratedly at that touch, turning swiftly, but he relaxes immediately when he recognises who it is. -- In that he relaxes that he recognises them at all, being touched by complete strangers completely wigs him out. "Oh, hello!" He smiles broadly and then immediately pulls it back; he's one of those people who get weirdly self-conscious about showing their teeth. "I see you made it."

Shrieky could probably stand to have someone sit him down for a serious discussion about how not to invade people's personal bubbles by way of getting their attention. He grins, and splays out the fingers of his hand to give a little wave, "I did! And I see you made it too!"

He squirms forward slightly, so now he's wedged between the two other bar patrons, side on to Wolfgang, "Are you having a good time?"

Wolfgang moves as much as he can to make room for him -- thankfully he doesn't take up much space, horizontally, anyway -- but it's still awfully crowded. "Um --" He pauses and bites down on saying 'I'm getting there' because it sort of makes him sound like an alcoholic, even if it's true. Well, it's not like he's having a bad time, it's certainly a better use of his evening than otherwise, so -- "Yes, I am, thank you. This," he gestures outside, where all the little boats are still drifting away, not visible from here but it's the general idea, "it's very lovely, yes?"

Edited 2012-02-11 18:40 (UTC)

Shrieky shifts forward into the space Wolfgang's managed to make, and the need for that talk about personal space becomes ever more pressing, as he's now close enough that talking a particularly deep breath would probably result in an inadvertent chest bump. Fortunately, he's not particularly tall even compared to those of average height, and he has to crane his head back slightly to make eye contact with Wolfgang, which probably makes the experience more akin to having a large dog rearing up to try and lick your face than it does anything more threatening.

Shrieky resists the urge to lick Wolfgang's face.

"Oh yes, it's a very beautiful thing to do, I think!" He turns his head to look out the way Wolfgang gestures, as if he does expect to be able to see them floating away from here, "Even without the things that are send back, I think it is a very nice tradition."

Oh... well, now it's awkward. He looks rather uncomfortable, but God knows he'll never mention it; Wolfgang can't even bring himself to speak up when someone steps on his foot. It's how he winds up trapped in so many conversations in bars and on the train, too polite to tell them he's not interested. ... Not that he feels trapped by Shrieky, he quite likes him. (He would like him significantly less if he licked his face.)

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, smiles at the bartender when he brings him his drink, and knocks about half of it down right away. It makes him much less nervous in general. "I like the holidays here -- this might be my last one, though. Did you get anything?"

Edited 2012-02-11 20:35 (UTC)

Cheerily oblivious to Wolfgang's discomfort, Shrieky reached up to fish out a piece of cord that he's tied around his neck, tugging it up from where it's vanished into his t-shirt, dangling from it is a wedding ring.

"I got this! Not the string though, that's just to keep from losing it. How about you?"

And with that, less important topic out of the way, he zeroes in on the more pressing question, "And, what do you mean this might be your last one?"

"Oh, that's beautiful." He pauses, unsure whether it's appropriate to ask about the significance -- everyone else is, it's probably the one time of year here where it's acceptable to pry into people's personal business like that, but it seems a little rude to him. Dilemma. Finally he decides he might as well, it seems to be the night for it, and Shrieky doesn't look as morose as a lot of the other people here, so -- "Whose is it?"

He shakes his head and gives a little half-shrug, glancing once again in the vague direction of outside. "Nothing I recognise. It belonged to one of my sisters, probably. A doll." It troubles him deeply, though, the state that it's in -- burned, headless. It must be from that long gap in his memory -- the period of his life where he doesn't remember anything at all.

Glad to change the subject, though, he shrugs again and says, "Um -- I don't worship the gods here, so it feels a little weird to celebrate holidays for them, you know?"

"It belonged to Everett, my friend. The same man who told me that story about the sun stealing children." He twines his fingers down the length of the cord, until he's holding the actual ring. Absently, he slips it onto one of his fingers, but it's a little too large for him, "He got it when he was married. I wonder, if these items being here, mean that they have been taken away from those back home."

The moment Wolfgang mentions his own gift however, his attention is rearrested. Not by the gift of a doll, that's information which he can take or leave, but by the far more interesting revelation about the other man, "You have sisters? That's wonderful! What are they like?" There's a beat, and then it occurs to him that this might not be a very welcome question, considering this is a day almost entirely devoted to commemorating loss, "Actually, there are probably reasons why you would not wish to answer that. I'm sorry."

The final comment only inspires further questions, in fact, so many questions that he suspects if he asks them all right now, they're feet will get tired from standing here while Wolfgang diligently lists the answers, so instead he gestures vaguely behind himself, "I wish to continue this conversation! Would you like to go and sit down somewhere?"

"That's a thought. I'd like to think they're just copies, otherwise a lot of people are missing something important right now -- then again, if it's the real thing, maybe that's a clue about where we are." It's disturbing to think how many people have had their loved ones vanish without a trace -- they can't possibly know they've been kidnapped to another dimension, they might just think they've run away or died. A small minority might know enough to believe in the existence of other worlds, and having their belongings in addition to their friends and family disappear might be enough of a clue to find this place. That idea fascinates him, although he's sure it's come up at the university before.

"Oh, no, it's fine, I'm not bothered at all." But this is probably a bad place to talk about it, so he nods at Shrieky's suggestion to move. He pauses to finish his drink and get another before they go, beer this time, since if he's going to be sociable he should probably not get falling-down drunk.

He'll ask Shrieky if he'd like one too -- Wolfgang will pay for his if he does, why not? He's sort of got a real job again and if this isn't the holiday with the best excuse for gratuitous drinking, what is.

When that's settled, he elbows his way out of the crowd around the bar towards the lounge, where it's quieter.

"Do you think it's possible that's true of all of us? That the reason why no one's found us here, is because back home, none of us are actually missing?" Shrieky looked down at the ring again, then slipped it off his finger and dropped it back down into his tee shirt. The idea that there was another him, drifting around somewhere wasn't entirely pleasant.

Shrieky hesitates at the offer of a drink (because he sort of feels like he's been getting a lot of free stuff, lately) but he accepts none the less, and follows Wolfgang through the crowd and into the lounge.

He drops into an empty table, and leans forward, attempting to reengage the conversation, "I've not really spoken to anyone about the Gods yet. Things like this... is worshiping them so important to it?"

"Oh --" Wolfgang says something that sounds like an expletive, awkwardly out of place on him. "That's really disturbing." He's heard that it's not unusual for multiple incarnations of the same person to appear in the city -- alternate realities, blah blah -- but looking at that from a personal point of view, the idea that there's more than one of him out there, really freaks him out. Shit.

Hopefully that's a mental image he can chase out of his head with beer.

He sits slowly and crosses his legs at the ankles, propping his chin in his hand on the side of his face away from his hair. "It's -- I don't think so, no, this in particular, it seems casual? But, mm -- celebrating what amounts to another religion's holidays feels a little awkward. I don't think they care too much whether or not you actively worship them. At least, they've given things to everyone regardless, I think."

"Well, it's probably wrong." Shrieky adds quickly, because... it is kind of a disturbing thought, and he feels a little bad for setting up shop pedaling nightmare fuel so soon after he's gotten a free beer out of Wolfgang, "I did just make it up, there's no reason at all why it should be correct."

"Do many people who arrive here choose to worship the gods? It seems like... I don't know, there doesn't seem to be any obvious reason why someone would choose to do that." Worshiping your kidnappers, who didn't care whether or not they were worshipped. It just seemed strange to him.

"I don't know the statistics --" Yet, he's totally going to go look that up later because it's interesting okay, "-- but I think most people do? It seems to me like, like... most people come here from places where the gods are less hands-on than they are here. Here, you can talk to them -- directly, I mean, if you go back over the Network, there are actual posts from the gods, it's really..."

He stops, refocuses. "I mean, we can see that with traditions like these; they say it's the gods who bring you the gift. So if you go from somewhere where the gods are so distant they may as well not exist to a place where they actively take an interest in your life, and do things for you..." He shrugs. "It makes a lot of sense to believe in something you can see with your own eyes, talk to, touch. It's easier to believe in a god who cares if they do things like this for you."

Shrieky frowns, swirling his beer in the bottom of the glass, "See, I would have thought that all of those things which you describe? It makes them all less godlike. I understand, perhaps, why people believe in them, and that they are known as the gods, that they live for centuries, and that they created this city, but... many things live for centuries, and under the right conditions, almost anyone could create a city."

He tips back his glass and takes a swallow of his beer, before lowering it again, thoughtfully, "Mages or monsters intervene in the lives of people. Sometimes, I've been told, an entire city can be commanded by a strong enough sorcerer. Gods keep to the firmament of heaven, they descend only in secret, and the consequence of their intervention is unknowable. Without that distance, they're hardly Gods at all. They're just extremely powerful, intrusive wizards."

"That's the basic problem with polytheism, I think." He wouldn't even be saying this if he hadn't already knocked back a few, because he is extremely wary of anything that comes close to criticism about any of Baedal's native gods -- not that he's worried about the gods themselves, he's sure they've got better things to do than smack down every punk-ass new immigrant with half-baked ideas about theology. He's more worried about the mortals in charge of running their city.

"At that point, I'm not sure how you tell the difference between a god and any other powerful being -- not when the gods can be killed, which happens... a lot. I guess you could argue it doesn't count if they resurrect, but from what I've read, mortals have been able to do that, too. They were born, and they live until they die. It's true that in some worlds, the gods die and stay dead forever, and life goes on as normal. You might as well give offerings to a very powerful mage -- wouldn't it have the same effect? You worship them, so you earn their favour? I suppose there has to be some difference, but nobody has been able to explain it to me." Wolfgang winces. "Not that I'm preaching, it's just, personally why I've never been able to put my faith in that. I should also disclaim, I am not a theologist, I am the least qualified person to have this conversation."

"Well, I think you're right." Presses Shrieky, never hesitant to subscribe to an unpopular opinion, "I think... if you're expected to worship something, and to treat it as if it's infallible and all powerful, then it should be... unassailable. You should be completely convinced that what you're worshiping is a god, and not just a Mage, and, information which is essential to making that very basic distinction, should not be exclusively in the hands of theologians."

He pauses, then touches his fingertips to the ring around his neck, expression thoughtful, "So, because you don't believe that they're actually Gods, you don't plan on attending any more festivals?"

"A god who's human enough to be fallible makes sense from an anthropological standpoint but in terms of devoting actual worship to them, I don't know. I'd get nervous, I think? Riding your hopes on someone who is relatable enough to be nearly human. But maybe people think that's comforting, being able to relate to their gods instead of praying to a void they can't even be sure is listening." His smile is crooked and self-conscious, because that last bit is awfully personal.

"Oh, well, I didn't say that. They might be, they might not be; I can't tell the difference, and they're not my God, so it doesn't matter one way or the other, really." A little shrug, and he gnaws on his lip while he considers Shrieky's question. "I'll probably come out to observe, but participate, I don't think so, no. So, are you religious?" Not strictly speaking the most polite thing to ask, but it's relevant and they're discussing it anyway, so why not?

"I think people who look for close personal interactions with deities, are probably just very lonely. That's not what deities are for." He taps his fingers lightly on the glass, and dips his head, still watching Wolfgang with interest, "So, what's your God? Is it one from your home?"

He lifts his beer to take another drink, shaking his head at the question, "No. Mermaids don't have souls, and I couldn't have gotten to a temple anyway."

It's not until his mouth is well and truly filled with beer that it occurs to him that he might not have mentioned to Wolfgang that he's a Mermaid up to this point.

"I don't know. I think I'd like to know that He's listening enough to do something, and also know He is not taking a big shit on me." ... sir. Goodness. That's affectionate, anyway, like he's talking about a distant family member -- he has neither the bitterness of an ex-believer nor the rapturous reverence of the highly devout. "Yes, I'm one of those self-righteous monotheists." He's quoting one of the usual descriptions of the 'types' associated with the House Ecumenal -- where 'self-righteous' is on the gentle side.

"You're a mermaid?" He looks very surprised, but also terribly interested -- that would hardly be the weirdest thing anyone's ever told them about themselves here, and thinking about it... it explains an awful lot about Shrieky.

"I don't think there's anything self righteous about only worshiping one God." Shrieky offers, because those were a lot of quite self depreciating things that Wolfgang said in rather fast succession. It's probably not wonderfully reassuring to have to wonder whether or not your god is defecating on you from on high, "So, what's he like? Your singular God?"

Shrieky clears his throat a little, and nods, in response to the question, "Yes. I was more obviously a mermaid, up until recently, with a tail and functioning gills as opposed to legs and an exclusively lung based respiratory system... But despite having undergone these recent changes, I am still a mermaid."

He may have partly been repeating that for his own benefit, but he feels that he should clarify about such things.

"Distant. They say He's dead." Wolfgang fidgets unconsciously -- playing with his hair, running his hand along his neck, chewing on his lip. "There are a lot of different schools of thought, we have... some central holy texts, but they were written a very long time ago and no one agrees about what they mean. Generally speaking, we believe in one omniscient, omnipotent God who created the universe and everything in it. He made man -- and His chosen people -- and we immediately set out cocking it all up." Accurate? Accurate. "I don't know -- for us, my family, anyway, it's more cultural than religious. For a long time, God was all we had. Plus there's sort of this important rule about not worshiping any other gods." Hence his hesitation.

The revelation about Shrieky's species makes him tilt his head slightly to one side, blinking rapidly -- that was definitely unexpected. "Oh." He considers this for a moment -- it's not so much that it affects how he thinks of him as he needs to adjust his Shrieky-schema to absorb this new information. "Huh. That's really cool, actually. You're not... I mean, do you change, or?"

"How do they know?" Shrieky asked, "whether or not he's dead, I mean? Was there some kind of cataclysmic event which might have killed him?" He finds the way Wolfgang talks about his religion fascinating. From the description given, he envisions it more like an obscure cult to an immense, possibly necrotic deity who consumed all other gods and then receded to the furthest climbs of existence than anything more benign and personal. Still, at least it sounded like he worshiped a proper god like God.

This was going fairly well, really. It wasn't that he'd expected Wolfgang to take the news particularly badly, he just... well, he still wasn't quite used to it not being obvious about him, "No, I don't change. I mean, I can't change. This is just what I'm going to look like from now on. Which is a good thing, really, because not being able to walk was quite terrible."

"Oh, well, it's metaphorical. Mostly. I mean, literally it might be true, it's not like we'd have any way of knowing -- generally people from my world who claim to have literally heard the voice of God, they aren't taken so seriously -- but it's this school of thought, theothanatology," he starts gesturing broadly and vaguely, a habit of his; at least it keeps him from fidgeting so much, "it goes back to Nietzsche. If there's no cosmic order, then the universal and absolute moral laws prescribed by Abrahamic religions are outdated and ought to be rejected. Rubenstein argued that the Holocaust broke God's covenant with Abraham... and in the Kabbalistic understanding, God died while creating the world anyway." Well, that's thoroughly morbid! And thoroughly nerdy!

He goes on to consider this information about him, trying to imagine what it must be like to have one's body so radically altered -- to be the same species, but in a body that doesn't align with that. Actually, maybe that's not such a hard concept to grasp. "Yes, I can see how legs would be pretty useful... do you miss it at all? -- I'm sorry, that's a stupid question."

OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)