Application for The Corinthian
Without any particular herald to his arrival, there’s a man standing at the gates, just before the greyness starts. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans, and round black sunglasses. His hair is as white as bleached bone.
Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
He turns, and laughs. His shades are well mirrored, only reflecting back at the watcher without giving any inclination of what lies behind them. “I am The Corinthian.”
"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.
“My quest?” The smile on his face falters a little, then widens exponentially. “To do my job, I suppose. Isn’t that everyone’s?”
"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"
"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"
The Corinthian gives the cat what translates as a disbelieving look, even from behind his shades. “I’m not a genie.”
Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"
“Well…” He looks thoughtful, tilting his head to one side. “I fufill my function better than my predecessor, but unless this revolution calls for a great deal of violence…”
The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"
“Any of those.” He replies instantly. Chocolate isn’t quite as good as eyes - it has no memory, for one thing - but it’s still delicious, at least to the part of him that appreciates mortal things.
"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"
“The..coolest?” He makes a slight face at the term, but answers anyway. “Humans are at the top of the list, obviously. I rather like humans. They have such wondeful... minds. The fae can be even better, although I’m not sure that was what you meant.”
"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"
The Corinthian puts a hand in his pocket, feeling the swiss army knife there. Finally, behind his sunglasses, he smiles like a blade himself, although it’s not visible on his features otherwise.
“No,” He says blithely. “Nothing sharp.”
((If you’ve read The Sandman Graphic Novels by Neil Gaiman, you might be vaguely familiar with this guy, or rather - nightmare. This is the second Corinthian, albeit the vaguely saner and more logical version. He shouldn’t be a problem…or at least I hope not.))
Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
He turns, and laughs. His shades are well mirrored, only reflecting back at the watcher without giving any inclination of what lies behind them. “I am The Corinthian.”
"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.
“My quest?” The smile on his face falters a little, then widens exponentially. “To do my job, I suppose. Isn’t that everyone’s?”
"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"
"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"
The Corinthian gives the cat what translates as a disbelieving look, even from behind his shades. “I’m not a genie.”
Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"
“Well…” He looks thoughtful, tilting his head to one side. “I fufill my function better than my predecessor, but unless this revolution calls for a great deal of violence…”
The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"
“Any of those.” He replies instantly. Chocolate isn’t quite as good as eyes - it has no memory, for one thing - but it’s still delicious, at least to the part of him that appreciates mortal things.
"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"
“The..coolest?” He makes a slight face at the term, but answers anyway. “Humans are at the top of the list, obviously. I rather like humans. They have such wondeful... minds. The fae can be even better, although I’m not sure that was what you meant.”
"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"
The Corinthian puts a hand in his pocket, feeling the swiss army knife there. Finally, behind his sunglasses, he smiles like a blade himself, although it’s not visible on his features otherwise.
“No,” He says blithely. “Nothing sharp.”
((If you’ve read The Sandman Graphic Novels by Neil Gaiman, you might be vaguely familiar with this guy, or rather - nightmare. This is the second Corinthian, albeit the vaguely saner and more logical version. He shouldn’t be a problem…or at least I hope not.))