Somebody knows, somebody's seen. Somebody knows right where you've been.

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark is in a tree.

Yes, you read that right. This would make a great deal of sense if he were a ferret and some sense if he were a tiger, but, at the present moment, he is a person. In a tree.

No, he really doesn't want to talk about it, but he suspects he's going to have to. Apparently, he was taking a walk through the park, contemplating whimsy

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[gotbottle]

There's a man. In the tree.

Rachel thought she was just seeing things when she first glimpsed him on high from further down the path. But as she neared the tree it became clear that, yes, she was in fact seeing a man sitting up in a tree.

She pauses at the bottom, tucking her hair behind her ears as she looks up. Does he mean to be up there? What if he's a wanderer, just spit out by the rift? It dumped her on a statue, after all.

She clears her throat politely, calling up to him. "Hello? Hi. Everything okay up there, sir?"

[sarkraticmethod]

There was a branch there where Sark is trying to stick his foot, one hand gripped tightly around a higher branch so that if he slips, he doesn't... Totally plummet to his death. That branch appears to be gone now.

...And now the peanut gallery is here. He heaves a long-suffering sigh and pulls his foot back. "Other than my wounded pride, everything is perfectly fine."

Except for the fact that he's apparently become the cat that can easily get up a tree and can't... Quite get down it again. Rachel does not need to know this, however.

[gotbottle]

Rachel nods up at him, the little mmm sound she makes every bit as sympathetic as the little frown she offers. "Sorry. That totally sucks. I had my pride hurt once, too. By a statue. It happens."

She pauses a moment, trying to figure out how to delicately phrase the question she wants to ask. "So. Uh. I'm, like. Gonna ask you a question. And I want you to understand that I don't mean anything by it, nor am I suggesting anything's wrong, or that you've done something you shouldn't. I just was wondering... did you mean to be up a tree? And did you consent?"

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark stops fumbling for the nearest branch and the nearest place to put his foot without horrible death and just stares down at her, like he's wondering if she's just saying things... Or possibly crazy. He just shakes his head and goes back to working on getting down.

Ah-ha! Victory in lower branches.. Which is almost completely fucked up when he's caught off-guard by the phrasing of that question. He makes a huh noise, nearly misses the branch he's grabbing for and winds up, rather awkwardly splayed with his feet braced against one branch and his hands gripping the nearest branch behind him.. Which happens to be almost an arms length above him. This is starting to look like the world's most ridiculous acrobatic display, but he hasn't killed himself yet, so... There's that

[gotbottle]

Rachel tilts her head ever so slightly, not taking her eyes off him. "I wouldn't know," she shoots back, her voice perfectly pleasant, though the corners of her mouth twitch the tiniest bit, "I'm new around here. That's why I thought I'd check. See, the thing with the statue? Happened without my consent. I'm totally ready to defend your honor, if the situation calls for it. Also? You probably want to slide along that branch, more toward the center of the tree, so you don't fall on your ass. Just a suggestion."

She regards him thoughtfully. If the Rift didn't spit him into the tree, and nothing untoward happened, then clearly the man's up there under his own power, by choice. And Rachel, being the incorrigibly curious thing that she is, just has to ask...

"Why'd you climb up the tree, exactly?"

[sarkraticmethod]

He blinks at the instructions, but follows them and manages to find a less awkward position, which allows him to get just a bit closer to the bottom. Hallelujah. He'd feel bad for snarking at her if his default setting wasn't 'snark,' so all she really gets is a "Thank you."

And that is a good question. He considers the next branch and steadies himself against the tree, preparing to step down onto it. Once he gets that far, he'll be able to get down.

He grimaces. "I was informed that I needed more senseless whimsy in my life. However, as this attempt has proven, I think the whimsicial is best left to other people."

[gotbottle]

"You're welcome--oooooh. Be careful," Rachel says, trying--and mostly managing--not to wince as Sark starts making his way down. "I made a career out of climbing up and down trees as a teenager. After the first time or three that you fall, you like, totally figure out how not to. You'll get there. Hopefully without too much falling."

She watches him, and then nods knowingly. "Oh. I see. Don't you, like, love how everybody else thinks they're somehow more qualified than you are to figure out what you need? Pfft. Y'know, sometimes there's a damn good reason why somebody doesn't have a particular quirk or quality. Maybe 'cause it doesn't suit them, or they suck at it? We can't all be whimsical."

At least the poor man wasn't spat up into the tree by the Rift. That's encouraging, at least.

[sarkraticmethod]

"Obviously, I didn't," he says with a small, frustrated sigh as he grabs the last branch and swings down onto the ground with something of an awkward landing. At least he didn't land on his ass- that's a step in the right direction.

No, his teenage life was pretty much built around harsh conditioning and... Killing people. Normal lives are for other people.

And for all that he has to stare at her, because that was probably way more words than that point really needed, he actually... Totally agrees with that. Him. Julian Sark. Agreeing with a point made by an average human. Imagine that.

"Right," he murmurs, knitting his brows. This is, of course, the part of the conversation where people typically introduce themselves, so he gives her something resembling a polite nod, "Julian Sark, clearly someone who was never meant to be whimsical... At your service."

The last part is tacked on kind of awkwardly. Sark's attempts at humor are pastede on, yey.

[gotbottle]

Rachel shakes her head slightly, bemused. "I feel like I should clarify that my tree-climbing adventures were in no way meant to be whimsical. I'm not whimsical. Whimsical's for, like, cute little girls or Disney movies or something. That's not me. I'm not whimsical. I'm impulsive. I was also scaling trees to sneak in and out of the house, to go out with friends after curfew or to go hang around down at the beach."

Nice, normal California teenaged life. Or, at least, as nice and normal as one can get when one's got a shadow with a mind of its own.

She accepts the introduction gracefully, smiling at Sark. "Hi. It's nice to meet you. I'm Rachel Conway. Occasionally good at getting people out of trees, so I guess I'm at your service, too, Mr. Sark."

[sarkraticmethod]

"Well, that's certainly one use for it," Sark considers. Of course, he's never had to, you know, randomly climb a tree for a mission, like, ever, and he doubts he ever will, but he could see the benefits.

...Yeah, really not helping his case much here.

"Ms. Conway," he nods. And here we come to the part of the conversation where Sark freezes and knows not what to say next, so there's a couple of seconds of awkward silence that he covers up by looking up into the tree like he's considering something. "If you'll forgive me for being so bold, but your... Phrasing earlier begs this assumption. You've also fallen through the Rift too?"

[gotbottle]

Rachel opens her mouth, ready to insist that he call her Rachel, not "Ms. Conway". But something about him seems to suggest that formality's more welcome. Maybe it's the fact that he is or at least sounds British--that almost seems to suggest better manners and higher regards to her, on top of the fact that his word choice in what should be a casual conversation is so polite and formal. And he's so, so young--younger than her, by at least a few years--and yet he carries himself with the air of someone who's seen too much, maybe even done too much. He seems to just have an air of civility and seriousness about himself, almost wearing it.

Maybe he needs it

[sarkraticmethod]

Something plays on the corner of his lips- either a smile or a vague twitch or one that looks like the other. "I arrived here a year ago... In a sewer, if I remember correctly." Yeah, he knows about unfortunate entrances into this world and he'd be hesitant to admit it, but... It was a year ago. There was a sewer. It's over now.

Just, uh, don't ask him what he did as soon as he got out of that sewer. That's something that he'd really, really rather not discuss.

"I don't think it's let up on the unfortunate circumstances since, but perhaps my lifestyle just invites that sort of torment." Hah. Lifestyle. And lifestyle he doesn't so much mean 'evil' as... Well, whatever the hell he is now. Maybe the Rift resents his recent changes of heart. Or something.

[gotbottle]

Rachel blinks at Sark, and then frowns. "Oh, man. And I thought I won the 'your arrival totally sucked and was mortifying' sweepstakes. I'm sorry, Mr. Sark. But, hey, over now, right?"

She shifts her weight to her other foot a bit awkwardly, trying not to think of the implications of Sark's suggestion. Perhaps my lifestyle just invites that sort of torment.

Rachel, you see, can't quite shake the suspicion that this is possibly some sort of torment, or punishment. That her lifestyle invited--

No, no. Stop. She shakes her head slightly to clear it. It wouldn't do any good to get herself all wound up over that, not now.

"So... you think maybe the Rift still has an effect on you, even though you're already spat out and dropped here in Chicago? Does it?"

[sarkraticmethod]

"It might just be bad luck," he shrugs, not so much looking at her as he's looking at a space over her shoulder. There's nothing there, but sometimes he really, really doesn't want to look people in the eyes when he's talking to them. It would be annoying if his piercing, wide-eyed stare wasn't so unsettling to a lot of people.

"I'm certain I haven't had it any worse than anyone else, but sometimes it feels that way. Chicago doesn't make for the most... Desirable of circumstances, I must admit."

And now he's probably scaring the poor girl. Well... He's jaded. And in a year, this, right now, is about the best his life has been, and, well, it's not all that great.

[gotbottle]

"I keep hearing that, yeah," Rachel replies, glad for the minor change in subject. She can tell he's not looking her in the eye, but it doesn't bother her--especially not considering that momentary discomfort she's working on quashing. "I keep hoping I'll avoid my share, but that doesn't sound damn likely. Still. I'm sorry you've had to go through so much."

Everyone she's talked to tells her Chicago makes a wreck of peoples' lives, and is a tumultuous place to be. It's highly likely her hope that she'll live a normal life is just wishful thinking, but she can't help it. It's all she's got to cling to, now.

"I don't remember seeing you at the Conrad, though I admit, I haven't come out of my room to socialize much." She eyes him, as if hoping for a hint that life does, in fact, go on. "Did you move out?"

[sarkraticmethod]

He stops focusing on that point above her shoulder and actually looks at her. For all that his expression is neutral and his physical bearing completely devoid of any tells, the mention of the Conrad always makes him feel a little twitchy.

"Yes. I have my own flat, although, honestly, I've been staying at the Kashtta Tower ever since the CLF became a threat. There were... Mild concerns that an apartment complex that caters specifically to wanderers and the like would be a susceptible target."

Although as it's still standing, he really doubts that the fears were all that justified, but he's convinced himself that the day he moves back in before the CLF is completely done away with is the day the whole building burns.