(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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[cailisairgid]

It crosses Nuala's mind that Mr Stardust is rather pretty to look at, compared to many human men. (Probably human, anyway.) It crosses the mind of the tall, armed centaur following her at a few steps back that he cannot possibly be appropriate company for a princess.

"Is it meant to die? Are there any tomorrows left worth waiting for?"

[witfrommytongue]

The same crosses Ziggy's mind in re. Nuala, as it happens, though he never thinks for a moment that she's a human. It also happens that her guard is probably correct; Ziggy Stardust is not what you might call appropriate company for anyone at all. Not that that changes the fact that he's brilliant company, all questions of propriety aside.

He doesn't linger long on physical appreciation, though, because it's an excellent counter, and his eyes narrow in a small, thoughtful smile. 'I suppose that depends on the people, love. That's what I'm here for. The land's dying, running out of its green things, its water and air, and the people don't give a toss. The older generation's given up hope, and all the young dudes are eternally fucked over. As it stands right now...' one shoulder slides up in a languorous, elegant shrug, 'I'd say no.'

[cailisairgid]

As she counts some very strange people among her close friends and associates, Nuala opts to ignore Lonán's disapproval and continue talking to him anyway. (One takes one's victories when they come.)

"Then," as if she's merely posing a curious logic puzzle, "in your eyes, what would make it worthy?"

[witfrommytongue]

He stretches up one long, long leg, the muscles in his thigh flexing as the silver-blue of one platform boot shines dully in the Nexus light. For a moment, his gaze focuses on it, before he lets his leg drop with a small, musical sigh. 'I guess you'd call it the potential for change. That's what a messiah really is, you know. It's nothing to do with sin or morality; it's someone who knows the right buttons to push to excite social change.'

And yes, Nuala, that's him. He makes no bones about this fact; ego isn't really an issue.

'Earth's not dead yet,' he continues with a shrug. He's got time, though not that much time, and yes, even though he is quite aware of his own brilliance and beauty and talent and all the rest of it, it's still a daunting task to be set.

[cailisairgid]

Hedonist messiah to porcelain martyr; what an encounter this is. Nuala regards him with new interest, tipping her head to one side and examining him carefully with large, luminous golden eyes. "I suppose," she muses, "that you are the sort of thing I hope my own actions in another Earth have made a place for."

...well that's a mildly surreal suggestion, Princess, tysm.

[witfrommytongue]

Strange bedfellows, as they say. Ziggy holds himself quite relaxed under her piercing, careful gaze, aware that he's being studied and presenting himself openly for examination. She's an intriguing one, this elven, alien, whatever-she-is princess- because it's obvious that she's royalty, both from the guard hovering behind her and the way she holds herself- and he wants to know more about her.

Fortunately for him, her words seem to be providing the perfect opportunity to do so, and he tilts his chin up curiously. 'Am I to understand it you're in the saviour business yourself, darling?'

[cailisairgid]

"My name is Princess Nuala," she says primly (but does not outright object to his use of endearments). And then, in a very precise sort of a way, "I don't know that I am any sort of saviour - though I might well wish it were so!"

She settles herself in an armchair opposite him, tucking her feet to one side of it and arranging the drape of her skirts neatly from her knees. Green and gold fabric covers her from toes to throat, with her nails glinting under the light where she folds her hands demurely. "I know danger, though, and I have known war. I was-" hesitantly, "-a martyr."

[witfrommytongue]

Probably a good thing, as he uses them with everybody. He is constantly what many would consider overly familiar, even upon a first meeting; it's part of his charm that it doesn't come off as creepy. He doesn't really look at all impressed when she names herself, but merely smirks the tiniest bit at the correction.

What does impress him, though, is the naming that comes next- that of herself as a martyr. He may not respect rank or title, but he respects action, and his gaze goes sharp. 'A martyr. You seem curiously alive to be counting yourself among those ranks.'

[cailisairgid]

"It is curious, isn't it?" Something about her - the set of her shoulders, the twist of her mouth - is almost wry. She wears her grief, her mourning in small ways, like a perceptible shadow. "I confess I don't entirely understand myself. I was there, and, then it was over, and - then I was here."

Bleeding and confused - she made a wonderful first impression.

[witfrommytongue]

She may mourn her death, but Ziggy merely allows for a small, wry chuckle. 'Rose from the dead, did you? And you're telling me you're not a saviour; that's textbook stuff, love.'

He sobers quickly, though; a small part of him fears, all ego aside, that that may be his fate, at the end of things. It often is with messiahs. 'What did you die for?' He asks, and his voice is low.

[cailisairgid]

"I didn't mean to," she says, almost affronted in a particularly girlish manner. (Nuala is a very specific type of princess, and she plays the role expertly.)

His question, though, takes her longer to answer. When she does, eventually, it's in a softer voice, quieter. "We stood on the brink of war," she explains, almost gently. "I may have little love for man, but I've no desire to be party to genocide. If it had come to the war, humanity would have fallen, and the world that I do love left cursed and barren by the means. I am not a saviour - I upheld the treaty."

She's leaving out a number of details, but her unease with the subject is plain; it's only recently she's begun to discuss what happened, and she rarely explicitly admits her suicide, preferring to skirt the topic for her own sake. (Of course, she's perfectly happy to defiantly lay out the particulars of the human/elf conflict over time, a harsh war of survival on both sides, to demand with quiet dignity that it be acknowledged.)