((OOC: Another party thread. You know how it goes. And if you don't... ask! ^^ Happy Riftversary! Even if it's two hours until... it's over. :/ I'm sorry I'm slow
( Read more... )
Sark scoffs and leans back in his chair a bit, waiting for his drink. "It does appear that way. Chicago certainly turns leaving your home into an extreme sport. I think I preferred the odds back when I made the choice to take risks as opposed to when that choice was made for me by the unpredictability of this city."
Not that his willing risk-taking ever got him anywhere fast here, and that's just another problem he has with this place. It just doesn't work the same way that he's used to.
And that is suspicious behavior right there- the mirror trick. Sark logs that away, but keeps his eyes on his glass, giving no indication that he even noticed. The waitress brings his fresh drink over and he immediately starts into it, considering his words.
"Perhaps I just find it pointless," he says, after a moment. "After all, it's difficult enough to make a name for oneself in a world where you do, in fact, exist, as opposed to one where you don't. Forged credentials or not, any business worth being involved in requires you to know someone."
Which gives absolutely no indication towards his preferred business- it's a fact of all business. He stays here, because April is here, because Sydney and Suzie are here, because, at some point, he might actually be able to do something with himself. He's not going to get that elsewhere, and he doesn't want whatever Cole, Sandric, or that vampire have been selling.
"Or when staying in your home became one," Arlin responds, a little more genuine amusement behind his smirksmile now. He doesn't take his eyes off the mirror -- he knew from the first glance that it was pretty obvious what he was doing, but it was better than physically turning and scanning the crowd; anyone could have had their eye caught by something in that mirror, anyway.
"Pointless, perhaps," he says, "though merely knowing someone can do just the same amount as ambition." He glances at Sark out of the corners of his eyes -- it's nothing suspicious, it's just how he looks at people, though it's not like Sark knows that. "Sounds as if you have enough of at least one."
Sark makes a soft 'hmm' noise that gives no real indication to the thoughts in his head. He remembers what it was like under Calisto- he remembers fearing for his life every time he stepped back into that warehouse. He's fairly certain he couldn't go back to that warehouse even now without getting a sick feeling of dread in his stomach.
"Ambition I have in spades." Sark returns that look, which does strike him as a bit suspicious, with one of his own, mimicking it exactly almost. "That, however, is not enough to get me anywhere." Age is a big factor- ambitious kids without someone to vouch for them tend to come off as cocksure. "Perhaps I've just become resigned to this fate."
Almost lies. He's not resigned to anything- merely waiting for an opportune moment to prove himself.
Arlin smirks at the imitation of his look, though it's hard to tell whether it's an amused smirk or not. It is, but facial expressions can only betray so much, especially on Arlin, anyway. "Just have to know where to push it," he replies, shrugging, giving nothing away other than maybe that he got what he wanted out of it, nothing more.
He swirls his drink around a bit, taking another sip of it. "That is, if you don't mind my saying, not a particularly pleasant place to be, resignation."
Easier said than done, honestly. Life would be so much easier if he hadn't destroyed any 'in' he might have had with organizations on the right side of the tracks. Not that he has any clue who the organization that keeps stalking him represents, but the vibes he's gotten off the people who keep speaking to him don't suggest anything good. Normally, he wouldn't care, but normally he doesn't have as many compunctions.
Life was better when he wasn't in the middle of difficult road to eventual redemption.
He chuckles just a bit, staring at his own drink. "Not particularly, no, but, for all intents and purposes, it's a place I'm used to being in."
He resigned himself to a hell of a lot long before now, after all.
Arlin almost laughs at that, he does, which means he gives Sark a wry smile that's more smile than smirk. And then raises his own drink in agreement. "Spoken like a true Wanderer -- pardon my assumption," he says, then takes a good, large swig of his drink. It's not really a gulp, but it's more than a usual sip someone might take of their alcohol, anyway.
Not that he's resigned to his fate, by any means. He's just gotten good at convincing himself that he's okay with what the Rift did to him because he's okay with his job. Never mind that one is not like the other.
Sark responds in kind with his drink. "In this case it's a correct assumption." He tilts it back and drinks a little bit more quickly than he probably should have, because being a wanderer is something that is worth drinking to and not in the good way.
"So I'm to assume that you're also one of the lucky many," Sark responds, after a long pause to shake off the effects of the alcohol. His tone is sarcastic, because luck is not the word he'd use for it.
Arlin takes another drink when Sark does, because yes, that is a proper thing to drink to, dammit, and he came here to do just that. Though he's not particularly planning on getting drunk, and it takes a good deal more than two White Russians to do so, but it's the feeling behind the actions that counts in this case.
He does chuckle slightly at Sark's tone, because oh does he agree with that. "Lucky, indeed. Though I've been here awhile." A pause, in which he shifts his drink around, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "One becomes...acclimated, at least." The tone of his voice suggests he's not terribly happy with this.
"The term 'going native' seems to be the appropriate phrase," Sark muses softly with just a hint of bitterness, leaning back a bit to stare at the ceiling. Going native, in his case, means a lot more than just resigning himself to the fact that he may never get to go home again.
He scoffs a bit. "If you believe some, however, there's apparently some sort of reason we were brought here."
Yes, he heard about the Prophet if only just from his journal entry, and all he could really think about him was that he was probably full of it, and reminded him a bit too much of Arvin Sloane for comfort.
"Hardly," Arlin replies swiftly. "Unless one's planning on staying, given a way back." It's not that he hasn't run into some things that would make him mildly unhappy about returning, or things that he appreciated about this universe, but there hasn't been anything he wouldn't give up to get home, at this point.
He raises an eyebrow at the next bit, giving Sark another sidelong look. "I did read that," he says. "They also seem to think that what the Rift did to us was a gift." It's pretty obvious from his tone of voice that he disagrees. Vehemently.
Sark stays silent, quietly sipping his drink. He's not sure where he stands right now- part of him wants to go home so very badly, but another part of him just wants to be wherever April is, because at least she makes his crazy, fucked-up world now make sense.
Sark snorts a little. "That I also have difficulty getting my head around." After all, he's had no less than two Rift-given abilities, and neither of them struck him as being gifts. The invisibility really didn't help him much in dire situations, after all, and while turning into a tiger could be beneficial and ferrets are small and can sneak into buildings easily... He's really not seeing the appeal of being furry.
"Amazing what people will believe though, isn't it?" And now they've veered into the casual- possibly Sark's just starting to get too soused to really care anymore.
"As do I," Arlin replies, downing the rest of his drink and starting in on another as soon as the bartender brings it to him. "I would imagine certain abilities could be useful, particularly for those sort that didn't have any to begin with, but what the fanatics seemed to have overlooked is the fact that sometimes the Rift takes something away." It's really kind of amazing that he manages to get through that sentence without his voice betraying the anger seething underneath the words.
"But then," he continues with a small shrug, "I guess some people need a promise of a greater plan to hang on to."
"It always takes something away," Sark corrects with a grimace around the lip of his glass. The good Rift giveth and the good Rift taketh away, and sometimes it doesn't even give.
It took his entire life away and he knows he's not the only person who feels that way. His own fault for defining his life based on a job and the power that comes with it, but it doesn't make it any easier to cope with.
"Perhaps they do," he muses. Irina and Sloane and their ridiculous obsession with Rambaldi... It didn't seem so ridiculous at the time, but in retrospect, it seems like such a fool's folly. "I've known people who've dedicated their entire lives to concepts that seem far less omnipotent than the Rift, after all. And here... Here, I can most certainly understand the need for greater purpose." He finishes off his drink, closing his eyes against the increasing effects of the alcohol in his system. "But wanting something to be true doesn't make it so."
"I meant more beyond the fact that it's whisked all and sundry away from the comfortable certainty of their everyday lives, as uncomfortable and uncertain as those might have been in the moment," Arlin says, swirling his drink around a little so the ice cubes clink on the sides of the glass. He doesn't bother to hide the bitterness this time, though he doesn't quite spit the words out yet. Not drunk enough -- not even bordering on drunk, really, though possibly a little warmer, closer to tipsy, given this is probably his third or fourth drink and the bartender was instructed to make them strong.
Because while he misses his old life, as falling-apart as it was when he was taken, he misses his identity quite a good deal more, even if he can't quite admit that to himself completely.
"Very true, that," he says after a bit. "And yet, so often people seem to flock to claims similar to this Prophet's, Rift or no Rift." He shrugs. "Then again, very little else has been so...all-inclusive; most pick and choose." Though the words are benign, there's a slight hint in the tone of voice that suggests that Arlin may like it that way -- the picking and choosing keeps the incompetent rabble out, of the O at least, and really, that's all Arlin cares about at this point anyway.
Not that his willing risk-taking ever got him anywhere fast here, and that's just another problem he has with this place. It just doesn't work the same way that he's used to.
And that is suspicious behavior right there- the mirror trick. Sark logs that away, but keeps his eyes on his glass, giving no indication that he even noticed. The waitress brings his fresh drink over and he immediately starts into it, considering his words.
"Perhaps I just find it pointless," he says, after a moment. "After all, it's difficult enough to make a name for oneself in a world where you do, in fact, exist, as opposed to one where you don't. Forged credentials or not, any business worth being involved in requires you to know someone."
Which gives absolutely no indication towards his preferred business- it's a fact of all business. He stays here, because April is here, because Sydney and Suzie are here, because, at some point, he might actually be able to do something with himself. He's not going to get that elsewhere, and he doesn't want whatever Cole, Sandric, or that vampire have been selling.
Reply
"Pointless, perhaps," he says, "though merely knowing someone can do just the same amount as ambition." He glances at Sark out of the corners of his eyes -- it's nothing suspicious, it's just how he looks at people, though it's not like Sark knows that. "Sounds as if you have enough of at least one."
Reply
"Ambition I have in spades." Sark returns that look, which does strike him as a bit suspicious, with one of his own, mimicking it exactly almost. "That, however, is not enough to get me anywhere." Age is a big factor- ambitious kids without someone to vouch for them tend to come off as cocksure. "Perhaps I've just become resigned to this fate."
Almost lies. He's not resigned to anything- merely waiting for an opportune moment to prove himself.
Reply
He swirls his drink around a bit, taking another sip of it. "That is, if you don't mind my saying, not a particularly pleasant place to be, resignation."
Reply
Life was better when he wasn't in the middle of difficult road to eventual redemption.
He chuckles just a bit, staring at his own drink. "Not particularly, no, but, for all intents and purposes, it's a place I'm used to being in."
He resigned himself to a hell of a lot long before now, after all.
Reply
Not that he's resigned to his fate, by any means. He's just gotten good at convincing himself that he's okay with what the Rift did to him because he's okay with his job. Never mind that one is not like the other.
Reply
"So I'm to assume that you're also one of the lucky many," Sark responds, after a long pause to shake off the effects of the alcohol. His tone is sarcastic, because luck is not the word he'd use for it.
Reply
He does chuckle slightly at Sark's tone, because oh does he agree with that. "Lucky, indeed. Though I've been here awhile." A pause, in which he shifts his drink around, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "One becomes...acclimated, at least." The tone of his voice suggests he's not terribly happy with this.
Reply
He scoffs a bit. "If you believe some, however, there's apparently some sort of reason we were brought here."
Yes, he heard about the Prophet if only just from his journal entry, and all he could really think about him was that he was probably full of it, and reminded him a bit too much of Arvin Sloane for comfort.
Reply
He raises an eyebrow at the next bit, giving Sark another sidelong look. "I did read that," he says. "They also seem to think that what the Rift did to us was a gift." It's pretty obvious from his tone of voice that he disagrees. Vehemently.
Reply
Sark snorts a little. "That I also have difficulty getting my head around." After all, he's had no less than two Rift-given abilities, and neither of them struck him as being gifts. The invisibility really didn't help him much in dire situations, after all, and while turning into a tiger could be beneficial and ferrets are small and can sneak into buildings easily... He's really not seeing the appeal of being furry.
"Amazing what people will believe though, isn't it?" And now they've veered into the casual- possibly Sark's just starting to get too soused to really care anymore.
Reply
"But then," he continues with a small shrug, "I guess some people need a promise of a greater plan to hang on to."
Reply
It took his entire life away and he knows he's not the only person who feels that way. His own fault for defining his life based on a job and the power that comes with it, but it doesn't make it any easier to cope with.
"Perhaps they do," he muses. Irina and Sloane and their ridiculous obsession with Rambaldi... It didn't seem so ridiculous at the time, but in retrospect, it seems like such a fool's folly. "I've known people who've dedicated their entire lives to concepts that seem far less omnipotent than the Rift, after all. And here... Here, I can most certainly understand the need for greater purpose." He finishes off his drink, closing his eyes against the increasing effects of the alcohol in his system. "But wanting something to be true doesn't make it so."
Sark's not a cynic- he's realistic.
Reply
Because while he misses his old life, as falling-apart as it was when he was taken, he misses his identity quite a good deal more, even if he can't quite admit that to himself completely.
"Very true, that," he says after a bit. "And yet, so often people seem to flock to claims similar to this Prophet's, Rift or no Rift." He shrugs. "Then again, very little else has been so...all-inclusive; most pick and choose." Though the words are benign, there's a slight hint in the tone of voice that suggests that Arlin may like it that way -- the picking and choosing keeps the incompetent rabble out, of the O at least, and really, that's all Arlin cares about at this point anyway.
Reply
Leave a comment