(no subject)

[chiastic]

Name: un: PXW
Date: Feb 13
Format: Text

[Anyway.]

WANTED-- Lodging in a respectable rooming or boarding house, with a strong desire for the latter. The following accommodations must be met: No animals kept indoors; No children; No fellow tenants who might be susceptible to the vices of liquor, betting, or marriage. The room must be clean, quiet, private, and immediately available. A locking door is most preferable.

Prospective tenant is an educated man of science accustomed to long hours, with little taste for parlor games.

Make your reply here. References to be waived for the sake of expediency and convenience ONLY, and may be requested upon inspection of the premises.

Comments

[chiastic]

The incident regarding the plate ware was, contrary to what some may believe, indicative of an able mind coming out of a deep state of analysis initially triggered by the significant environmental shock of moving from one world state to the other. It would be inaccurate to describe this state as dissociative, as referred to in the work of Pierre Janet, James, Sidis and so on, as the term implies a state of hysteria or speaks to some cognitive deficiency of which the sufferer is most likely unaware and therefore likely to relapse. Rather, the extremity of the action taken upon exiting that state of self-reflection speaks to the mind being both cognizant of the dilemma and willingness to take sure and decisive action in order to somehow reassert its grasp over the unfamiliar.

In summary: Unless we are to go traveling through another mirror into yet another version of reality, I rather doubt there will be any further trouble whatsoever.

[supersoldier]

[This man really is a scientist. Sephiroth is focused enough, intelligent enough, to parse the meaning before the neat little one-line summary (despite a list of unfamiliar names), but exasperation threatens to roll across him all the same. He tamps it down, partitions it away — knows that unflattering associations are not grounds for impatience when he was the one who asked for an explanation.]

The unfamiliar will continue to surround you in the foreseeable future. This world is foreign to us. There’s no guarantee that you, or any of the Mirrorbound, will avoid experiencing an event just as jarring.

And I don’t want my living space to suffer as a result.

[Cope less destructively.]

But as long as that’s made clear, I can give you the benefit of the doubt. You know your mind better than I.

[chiastic]

[Ha ha! Eat it, everyone who told him he'd never find a suitable arrangement.]

The terms have been made perfectly clear. And may I congratulate you on the sensible progression of this interview. Where shall I bring my things?

[supersoldier]

[Straightforward and simple enough, and done without any needless prattle. It’s about as much as he could hope for, profession notwithstanding.]

The Haven district. Northernmost part of the city, if you’re not already familiar.

[And he will just send the address here. The house itself has more than enough room for a paltry two people, though it is nothing very posh at all — rather ordinary, suited to the neighborhood.]

--> action; im sorry lol

[chiastic]

Then I will be with you directly to see that the space meets my needs.

[Which is how the good Doctor Pellinore Warthrop, looking rather more like a man who has recently crawled out of a roadside ditch - skeletal thin, dark flashing eyes sunken, hair grown long and his beard unkempt - than a scientist of any kind appears at the requisite doorstep with a single extra set of especially featureless (if one ignores the washed out, faintly rust colored stains speckling them) clothes under his arm.

Is it a good sign or a bad one that his handshake is so firm and his attitude so perfectly brusque despite undeniably unpromising appearances?]

Doctor Warthrop.

Don’t be, i’m laughing

[supersoldier]

[The man who meets him at the door presents a striking contrast. Tall frame, sharp cat-like eyes that do not spare anyone of their scrutiny. Straight-backed, dark clothed, and oddly still, even if he doesn’t deny the other the expected handshake. (Though he keeps it brief, much like all pleasantries often are.) There isn’t a single hair gone askew in the long curtain of silver that trails down his back, or the bangs that frame either side of his face.

Compared to the stranger and now-potential-roommate (hm.) standing before him, unkempt versus orderly, the difference is almost comical. Unlike what he assumed, what he’s used to. Maybe that’s his own misstep. Problematic? He wonders.

One facet lines up rather neatly, though, matching in the mismatch — his own tone is brusque. Not particularly warm, but professional.]

Sephiroth.

[His name, of course, though obvious enough from his username on the network.]

...Is that all you have?

[Referring to the extra set of clothes. Even then, he steps back and aside to let the other wander in if he chooses. The house is plainly furnished, almost exactly as Sephiroth found it, indicative of only having recently moved in (true) or someone who does not leave an overly personal footprint in any given setting (also true).

He can ask after his state in a bit.]

dwrp is the best joke anyone ever told

[chiastic]

At present.

[This said as he brushes past the man - him and all his impeccable hair - and into the foyer beyond. Wander Warthrop does, roving from room to room with the air of a rangy bloodhound tracking a scent. A creaking floorboard, once discovered, is stepped on repeatedly to verify its squeal. The stairwell banister is tested to see that it is securely in place. Doors are locked and unlocked. The spare room is observed with little interest. Eventually, he asks:]

Is there a basement or cellar?

[supersoldier]

[Sephiroth follows like a very tall shadow, hovering just a little down the corridor, or framed in a doorway, or a handful of steps below the length of the stairwell, as if loosely tethered to Warthrop. He has no commentary to make; there’s nothing that can’t be assessed by anyone with eyes. There’s more to be learned about this apparent scientist by observing him instead.

A pale brow arches faintly at the question.]

Both a basement and attic. Will you be using either?

[chiastic]

The basement would be most preferable, particularly if it has a floor of either stone or dirt. Fluids might be more easily contained there than in the attic, and the air is likely to be cooler and so reduce any smell.

[How promising.]

[supersoldier]

[This is not promising.]

What will you be doing that fluids and unpleasant smells might pose a problem? Are you going to turn it into your lab?

[chiastic]

As I said, it is a careful business and best kept near to hand. It would be irresponsible as well as inconvenient to pursue my work elsewhere.

[He has wandered back down into the parlor now, running a hand along the mantle to check for dust.]

[supersoldier]

And again, your work will consist of doing what?

[No dust on that hand. Sephiroth, as useless as he is with most other things mundane and domestic, can and will at least keep a clean living space. He had seen to it first and foremost.]

Are you bringing samples back from the field?

[chiastic]

[He runs forefinger over thumb. Good. Yes, that's quite good.]

I would think it very likely, yes. And of course there will be the evening deliveries.

[Warthrop looks to him then.]

This basement. Tell me, is the ceiling of a reasonable height, and are the beams supporting the floor above it exposed or have they been closed in?

[supersoldier]

[The basement, as far as he’s concerned, can wait.]

Evening deliveries. [Dully.] I recall stating that your science, and all that it entails, is only tolerable as long as it’s out of sight and out of mind. I don’t see how that’s possible with potential leaks, smells, and now unnamed deliveries.

[chiastic]

Which is precisely why I recommended the basement rather than the attic. I trust that with a solid door, the aforementioned factors will be all but completely mitigated. As for the deliveries - they really are no different from the post or milk. You will hardly notice them. Besides, it is likely to take some days to find myself a new man for acquisitions. I imagine the market to be stretched quite thin in a place like this one.

[supersoldier]

[He notes that this man tends to offer answers while simultaneously side-stepping the finer details.]

What are these acquisitions?

[chiastic]

Specimens for study. Were every scientist to rely solely on he could personally collect, we might still be as good Ezekiel wandering the Valley of Bones, waiting for the Lord to explain the concept of tendons.

[Which, he seems to think, is an excellent joke albeit one Warthrop waves away with a dismissive hand as if he immediately regrets the distraction of his own rancid humor.]

As for specifics - that remains to be seen.

[supersoldier]

[A frown tugs at his face, though certainly not at the joke mired in references he cannot hope to understand.]

I’ve been surrounded by my fair share of researchers poking and prodding at their curiosities to achieve some nameless goal. If I have to live with it here, too, I expect you to keep your work separated from the rest of the activities in this house. Especially the specimens.

[For the sake of reiteration.]

I assume you won’t have much company over?

[chiastic]

[Oh honestly.

Warthrop draws himself to his full height. He is a dour figure, all pale and thin, but he is quite tall all things considered.]

You have my solemn oath that you will see neither hide nor hair of my work here in the parlor or kitchen or wherever else you prefer. I am willing to sign an affidavit to that effect if you require it.

[Lapsing. The proud line of his shoulder sloping back into some portrait of disaffected ambivalence.]

—And no. I expect not.

[supersoldier]

Your word is good enough for now.

[The unwavering nature of that word remains to be seen, but as long as the point is hammered home, Sephiroth remains cautiously satisfied.

The curious ease in which Warthrop deflates is telling, more of a guarantee than his prior promise.]

So no Bonded?

[Going to preemptively assume a negative on that one.]

[chiastic]

[A line in his narrow face narrows further.]

No.

[There's a whole world in that no, but most of it boils down to a profound distaste - a depth of revulsion in that single syllable. It's followed by a sharpening look, the lines of him a dark cut against the yawning mouth of the open hearth.]

And as for yourself?

[supersoldier]

[The doctor’s tone speaks volumes. It overrides even Sephiroth’s dislike of the notion, whose displeasure at the idea is, admittedly, kept at a quiet simmer rather than a visible disgust.]

No.

[No, he doesn’t, and no, there won’t be wayward visits on his end, either. He was the never the type to collect social calls.]

A necessity to be addressed at another time, maybe. I’d rather focus on settling in.

[chiastic]

[If there is a moment to ask questions, it must be this one. What does the man do? What was he before he came to this place? Does he have any concept of what he is here yet? Why is some solitary creature like this one willing to let a stranger into his very new home?

They are questions which either don't occur to Warthrop, or ones he dismisses as unimportant. Instead, he dusts off his hands and nods approvingly.]

Quite sensible. Then it seems all is in order. I'll take the room and the basement in whatever state it's in.

[supersoldier]

[They’re such a boisterous, open, and oversharing pair, aren’t they. Because even if further questions skip through his own mind, they are never strong enough to coalesce themselves into vocalization just yet. And Sephiroth certainly isn’t offering details about himself at random.]

Then I can show you the basement, if you want. [...] But if you’d rather take some time to get yourself cleaned up first, that might be better.

To wash the blood from your clothes. [And the like.]

[chiastic]

[He seems to suddenly recall the pair of mottled clothes as of yet tucked under his arm, as if without the reminder he might have forgotten about them and their dubious bloodstains entirely.]

Nonsense. Show me the basement.