(Untitled)

[witfrommytongue]

Some of you in the Nexus may recognise this man- tall, whipcord thin and striking; androgynous, alien-looking, with a shock of hot red hair and made up face, eyes mismatched, lips narrow, cheekbones high.  He looks, in fact, just like David Bowie did during the early seventies, when he was masquerading as the spaceboy saviour of Earth.  Only

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[teachme_2sing]

Pardon Johanna while she stares. Blinks, and passes a hand over her eyes to be certain she's not imagining things. She knows this man. Well. Not him, but she's met Jareth, and David Bowie more or less inspired her to learn more about "modern" music. Never mind that her idea of modern seems to be stuck in later part of the twentieth century, rather than the earlier part of the twenty-first.

"Some people are of the opinion that life is a precious thing," she replies, voice faint. Mark this as the second time in as many days that she's met someone she really didn't think she'd ever see here.

[witfrommytongue]

Darlin', he does not mind the staring; that's what this body is intended for, to be noticed and looked at. Whether it's appreciated or reviled isn't really the point, merely that people pay attention. And so, seeing those pretty blue eyes of hers so wide with shock, Ziggy's lips curl into a slow smile. He does so love getting to see people's reactions to him.

'Some people?' He counters easily, smoothly. 'And what about you, love?'

[teachme_2sing]

Oh dearest God in Heaven he called her love. She takes a breath, reminds herself that she has a boyfriend, and licks her lips nervously before replying.

"What about me?" she says, slowly. Carefully. "Does my opinion mean anything to you?" All the while, she's trying not to think about how much she adores his flashy style, or his voice, or... She really shouldn't have stopped. T.T

[witfrommytongue]

If that's making her breath flutter in her throat, the lazily intense look he's fixing on her from under his lashes probably isn't going to help much either. Ziggy Stardust does tend to have that effect on people; he's an intensely sexual creature, after all, it's one of the greatest diversions Earth has to offer. And he fully prescribes to the by now long-dead hippy stricture of free love. Ziggy loves wildly and with abandon, each love as fresh as the next.

He nearly scoffs at her nervous, careful answer, but the derision is quickly followed by a tiny smile. 'Of course it does. Everyone's does; I'd be a dreadful hypocrite if I thought otherwise.'

[teachme_2sing]

She closes her eyes to compose herself, and says, just as carefully, "I find value in life, yes. It's certainly much more productive than death."

And then she opens her eyes, just a fraction, and takes a small step back, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. "For the individual concerned, at the very least."

[witfrommytongue]

More interesting than her answer is her continued reaction to his presence, and Ziggy shifts, the limbs that had hung so casually this way and that over the arms of his chair now coiling in, long legs bent under him. His arms are still loose, though, resting on the arms of the chair as he lets his head fall to one side.

'You're nervous, sweet thing; I do hope that isn't my doing.'

[teachme_2sing]

She turns her head slightly, glancing away. "Nervous? Why in the world should I be nervous?" She laughs, then, a small sound, and not nearly so brave as she'd have liked.

Maybe she's nervous because he's Ziggy freaking Stardust and she idolizes him and even went so far as to name her robot dog Stardust. (Her friend has Ziggy.)

[witfrommytongue]

'Well, there's hardly any way I could know that, is there? I wouldn't have asked otherwise.'

Though he's lying if he claims he has no idea. The man's a rock'n'roll star, after all, he knows how to recognise fannish behaviour when he sees it. And of course, attention whore that he is, he loves it. But shh, he's not going to tell Johanna that; partly it's manners on his part, and partly, he'd really love to hear her say it.

Lifting the cigarette to his lips, again he inhales in that ever-so-slightly indecent fashion, exhaling the smoke in a wavering plume with an iridescence to it that cigarette smoke probably shouldn't have. 'Don't be, please.' Because he knows she is. But nervousness only breeds undue formality, and he's never been one for that.

[teachme_2sing]

Her eyes flicker toward the cigarette smoke, and she resists the urge to tell him what that's doing to his lungs, because he'd laugh at her and then she'd be crushed. Or something like that, anyway.

"I'm sorry, it's..." She takes a breath. "You're a bit... Well. Overwhelming." Her eyes are practically shining by now; there's no doubt that she's absolutely star-struck. "I mean..."

[witfrommytongue]

He does laugh, but not cruelly; quite the contrary, he's genuinely delighted by her. There's a light to his own eyes, and he snakes his way to his feet, taking a few loping, graceful paces over to her. His already considerable height added to the platform boots he wears means he positively towers about her, which probably doesn't help much with the whole overwhelming thing.

'What's your name, darling?'

And once she gives it, he'll take her hand and press a lingering kiss to the knuckles, his eyes grinning up at her.

[teachme_2sing]

You have a boyfriend, she reminds herself sharply, but it doesn't stop her from staring up at him. "Johanna," she whispers, and half-regrets it the moment he takes her hand.

She's faced Jareth, but he was different. She'd known ahead of time the best way to face him down. She's more or less defenseless against Ziggy.

[witfrommytongue]

'Johanna.' He makes music of her name, tasting it on his tongue, rolling it around in his mouth, his lips just brushing the back of her hand as he pulls away. It suits her, he thinks; conservative in a pretty, old-fashioned way that's quite charming. Oh, the many varied faces of humanity; it never ceases to thrill him. 'A pleasure,' he adds warmly, like it's a postscript to his repetition of her name. 'And you, call me Ziggy.'

[teachme_2sing]

"Ziggy." She breathes the name as though it's some kind of charm, some spell. "It's... lovely to meet you."

And as she stares up at him, she can't help but think that it's a bit foolish that she ever considered in the first place dressing as him for the modern holiday of Halloween. She can't imagine being able to pull off the makeup or the hair the way he does. And she'd never be comfortable enough to exude pure sex the way he does.

[witfrommytongue]

Again, he makes no effort to disguise his enchanted laughter, head tipping back for a moment with a bark of it. 'I could tell!'

But he schools himself back into quiet after a moment; sweet thing though she is, he really would rather she not be so nervous. That's not his gig. So he cocks an eyebrow at her- rather cheekily, it must be said. 'So now we're on first name terms, Johanna, try and relax a bit?' Tripping backwards with calculated grace to sprawl on a couch, he invites her next to him with a tip of the head. 'Or if you require chemical coercion, I've got a spliff on me somewhere.'

He might light up anyway, but there's no fun in smoking a joint by oneself when one is in company.

[teachme_2sing]

She approaches the couch slowly, hesitating before sinking down to join Ziggy, folding her hands carefully in her lap. "I won't say a word against it if you feel the need to indulge in this spliff of yours," she replies, "But I'd prefer to keep my wits about me. What's left of them, at any rate."

Still, the fact that she's able to string together not one but three coherent sentences suggests that she is beginning to loosen up a bit on her own.

[witfrommytongue]

Still, it's a very Victorian sort of loosening up, which really doesn't seem like anything of the sort to Ziggy. Regardless, though, he doesn't pull out the joint, sticking instead with regarding her evenly. 'Wits are overrated, love,' he murmurs, smiling a little, 'But if that's how you like it.' He's not one to push these sorts of things; far too laid back and groovy.