Ha ha, yeah, yeah, that's... he liked that one. I mean, I didn't know what it was called, and I won't remember. You tell me something, man, I'll forget it five seconds flat. Just gone, like that! I mean, details like that. I remember... Sometimes I rememberthings like that. Parts of, uh, parts of poems, I guess, even though I don't read poetry. It's all what I got from listening He was... Man, it was some incredible shit, I tell you what.
"Yeah, I guess. I mean, what I remember of it... It all runs together, you know?" The other title sounded familiar, though it really was difficult to place. So many words, so many phrases, and all in that voice, the voice that bleeds them together, that gives to each the ring of some tremendous darkness, some... some...
He laughed uneasily. "Hollow Men, Hollow Men... Uh, uh..."
And there it was. Wasn't that it? The last he'd heard... "Shape without form, shade without color... Between the idea and the reality? God. Ah, yeah."
Wait? What! Hey, hey, calm down there! I'm not setting any fires. I can't smoke without fire, but I ain't a pyro or anything. I don't get a kick outta that shit. Just cool it, okay, okay? Man, I don't wanna set you on fire, or anything. Man, that's not what I'm saying!
The Photojournalist bent down, careful to keep the cigarette extended over his head, as far away from the talking flower (it looked like a flower?) as was possible. "Cool it, cool it. Hey, come on, you don't have to go anywhere near the fire, all right? Man, I don't want to set you on fire, or anything. You're too perky. Ha ha, you're all colorful and bright, why'd I want to go and do a thing like that?"
"Yeah, yeah, okay!" He raised the camera, grinning, took a picture. "All right, uh you know any tricks? I can get some great shots if you want to jump or something."
Ha, there's a... There's a talking dog. And a talking flower. If that was strange, it didn't really register with him. Hell, at least they were in one piece, not spilling limbs everywhere or blood or...
Besides, dogs are great. He used to have a dog, and maybe he still did somewhere, maybe Sheila was taking care of it now. That'd been a great dog.
"That's great!" The Photojournalist circled the dog, snapping pictures. This was probably the nicest thing he'd taken pictures of in a while. Lately, there'd been blood everywhere, and while he didn't necessarily mind that, he wasn't opposed to this sort of change. "Aw, you're a real cute dog, aren't you? What's your name, pooch? Can I scratch your head, or something?"
This was Elizabeth's first sorting since her unpopcorning, and she still wasn't entirely sure what the whole point of the process was, not having remembered her own. But the poor gentleman did seem to be quite distraught, and some of his ramblings made her curious.
"Two things, if I may be so bold, sir," she said, with a kind smile. "First, may I fetch you some tea? I find tea to have a very beneficial effect upon the nerves. And, secondly, am I to infer that you have had dealings with Satan's undead hordes?" Elizabeth then made him a pretty curtsy. "I'm Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I do hope you aren't scandalized overmuch by my making bold to speak to you without an introduction, since it seems commonly done here."
"Uh, that's... that's okay." His eyes were wide; what was the lady talking about undead hordes for? And what was he supposed to do with a lady? He'd seen women before, sure, but this one looked so... It was like she walked out of a history book or something. "Um, heh, it's been a while since I've seen any kind of woman. Um, lady. It's a... pleasure to make your acquaintance." The last was spoken almost as a question, and he extended his hand awkwardly before realizing that maybe ladies didn't shake hands.
"And I've got cigarettes, I'm all right." He smiled, pointed to the pack as he withdrew another cigarette. Wait, wait... Was smoking permitted around ladies like this? Um...
He still didn't know what to do about that second question. "Lady, I've seen some pretty messed up stuff. I don't know about undead, but some of them were close enough, I tell you what!"
"No tea? All right." Elizabeth waved the thought away with a breezy gesture. "I don't mind if you smoke at all. I daresay the scent is much more pleasant than that of bloody entrails. And I suppose you are fortunate. The sight of hordes of zombies is quite unsettling if one isn't used to it."
"Oh, well... That's good. Yeah, thanks. Um... Do you want one? I mean, if you don't smoke, I... withdraw the offer, or I'm sorry I asked, or something." It seemed polite to ask, anyway. He wasn't sure how formalities were supposed to work. He hadn't been sure of that even before going into the goddamn jungle.
"So are there zombies around here? Because that's kind of, ah, that's... Ha."
(( No rules violated, and the app is lovely! Oh, this reminds me of when you were Kurtz and I was Camilla. A pity that my Octavian here doesn't know any Eliot! ))
Octavian is somewhat bemused.
"Hasn't everyone seen men get their limbs chopped off," he says. It isn't a question -- no interrogative lift at the end. "Even women may view the gladiatorial games, and there would be no purpose to public executions if there were no spectators."
"What? I... uh... Ha ha, man, I don't think those were any games." No one had been laughing, had they? Hell, those creeps never laughed. So far as he could tell, they'd never even smiled. If anyone had laughed, it'd been him. "They took all of that pretty seriously, you know? And I'm not saying everyone in, ah, in Cambodia, in 'Nam, anywhere down there doesn't seem that sort of thing all of the time, but... They've got this stockpile, see, they just sort of throw... I'm just saying it AIN'T normal at home, all right? I don't know where you're from, but that's not how we do things at home."
Not that they were right not to. They ought to be, but he couldn't be sure about that any more. One time, maybe. Before the war. Before the voice. It had gotten harder, however, to tell just what was normal anymore, and what deserved to be. And maybe while he'd been away, Americans had started cutting off their arms for fun. Ha, wouldn't THAT be a sight.
((CAMILLA. :D Friggin'-A and kickass. Annnd yar, gracias, as 'tis good to know that is not
( ... )
(( A traveling Camilla, more's the pity :( So sorry not to have gotten back to this thread sooner! And so glad to see you here. And yeah, if this hadn't been clarified already, you can have two apps per month, so there is nothing wrong with apping Roma and the Photojournalist in the same month. I do hope to see more of the Photojournalist after the sorting, if you feel so inspired, as there's so much chaos at Hogwarts, it just seems like a natural home for him. ;) ))
"At home," Octavian repeated, bemused. "It's true that in the provinces, they haven't the facilities for formal blood sport on such a grand scale. However, my uncle has told me that the Druids of Gaul perform human sacrifices, which we do not. There is ample bloodshed everywhere. But you're a modern man, aren't you." Again, the lack of a question. "How are executions performed, and war conducted, under modern conditions?" He found it so very odd that this man should be shocked and traumatized by the sight of carnage.
The Photojournalist just stared for a few moments.
Human sacrifices.
Human...
It wasn't that he hadn't heard of such practices. Hell, he'd seen what happened in the compound, and a lot of that hadn't been strictly military. A lot of that had been them, the men who hardly seemed human and would stare and stare and then suddenly move in some hideous celebration, and there would be death of a different kind, death that he allowed - he the man, the Colonel - because he knew, he must have known something, something about what... about what was needed, what they needed, or the... the symbol, the... something
( ... )
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(OOC: Mistah Kurtz--he dead.)
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He laughed uneasily. "Hollow Men, Hollow Men... Uh, uh..."
And there it was. Wasn't that it? The last he'd heard... "Shape without form, shade without color... Between the idea and the reality? God. Ah, yeah."
((Shit. Yeah. :D))
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( ... )
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Ha, there's a... There's a talking dog. And a talking flower. If that was strange, it didn't really register with him. Hell, at least they were in one piece, not spilling limbs everywhere or blood or...
Besides, dogs are great. He used to have a dog, and maybe he still did somewhere, maybe Sheila was taking care of it now. That'd been a great dog.
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"Two things, if I may be so bold, sir," she said, with a kind smile. "First, may I fetch you some tea? I find tea to have a very beneficial effect upon the nerves. And, secondly, am I to infer that you have had dealings with Satan's undead hordes?" Elizabeth then made him a pretty curtsy. "I'm Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I do hope you aren't scandalized overmuch by my making bold to speak to you without an introduction, since it seems commonly done here."
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"And I've got cigarettes, I'm all right." He smiled, pointed to the pack as he withdrew another cigarette. Wait, wait... Was smoking permitted around ladies like this? Um...
He still didn't know what to do about that second question. "Lady, I've seen some pretty messed up stuff. I don't know about undead, but some of them were close enough, I tell you what!"
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"So are there zombies around here? Because that's kind of, ah, that's... Ha."
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Octavian is somewhat bemused.
"Hasn't everyone seen men get their limbs chopped off," he says. It isn't a question -- no interrogative lift at the end. "Even women may view the gladiatorial games, and there would be no purpose to public executions if there were no spectators."
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Not that they were right not to. They ought to be, but he couldn't be sure about that any more. One time, maybe. Before the war. Before the voice. It had gotten harder, however, to tell just what was normal anymore, and what deserved to be. And maybe while he'd been away, Americans had started cutting off their arms for fun. Ha, wouldn't THAT be a sight.
((CAMILLA. :D Friggin'-A and kickass. Annnd yar, gracias, as 'tis good to know that is not ( ... )
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"At home," Octavian repeated, bemused. "It's true that in the provinces, they haven't the facilities for formal blood sport on such a grand scale. However, my uncle has told me that the Druids of Gaul perform human sacrifices, which we do not. There is ample bloodshed everywhere. But you're a modern man, aren't you." Again, the lack of a question. "How are executions performed, and war conducted, under modern conditions?" He found it so very odd that this man should be shocked and traumatized by the sight of carnage.
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Human sacrifices.
Human...
It wasn't that he hadn't heard of such practices. Hell, he'd seen what happened in the compound, and a lot of that hadn't been strictly military. A lot of that had been them, the men who hardly seemed human and would stare and stare and then suddenly move in some hideous celebration, and there would be death of a different kind, death that he allowed - he the man, the Colonel - because he knew, he must have known something, something about what... about what was needed, what they needed, or the... the symbol, the... something ( ... )
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