(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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[text]

[fallofasparr0w]

I can't give you an easy 'yes' to your answer. There are some things that are just meant to pass away.

That being said, if I feared my world was dying -- whether it be the actual land or a more metaphorical one -- I would fight for it. I spent a very long time unable to do that when I wanted to, and I think that has shaped my decision.

[text]

[witfrommytongue]

Now see? That's a good answer, a wonderful answer- you've got a reason for your actions and opinions; so many people lack that, it's dreadful.

And of course that's the point; it's never going to be an easy question, there are far too many variables involved to think of things in black and white.

[text]

[fallofasparr0w]

And you, stranger? What's your answer?

[text]

[witfrommytongue]

Now, that would be telling. And here I thought I was the questioner.

[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.'

[mrseysidescousr]

Mr. Grey smiles.

"You hear them as well? Do you see them spark in their minute brilliance? Yes?"

Question the questioner; he's never been one to follow rules.

[witfrommytongue]

'Oh, yes.' The word is spoken with relish, and Ziggy's intense, mismatched gaze falls upon Mr. Grey with quiet pleasure. 'And how is it you do, brother? Usually it's only the young folk with the capacity to broaden their minds enough to see and hear that sort of thing.'

[mrseysidescousr]

"I simply do." He makes a slow, sweeping gesture with one hand. His eyes turn golden for a beat; if one wasn't observant they might have missed it.

"Who are you?"

[witfrommytongue]

But Ziggy is; he's observant as much as he is observed, at least for now, and the flash of colour does not escape him. One eyebrow lights up briefly. 'Ziggy Stardust,' he says simply. 'Who are you?' And then a little nod, indicating that beat, 'Or perhaps what would be a better question?'

[metody_green]

"Doesn't all air scream when you fall through it, though? From the friction

[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.