revivalproject | Clarice's Event Catch-All

Entry tags:

Clarice's Event Catch-All | OTA

WHO: Clarice and youuuuuuuu
WHERE: Various places around Coruscant
WHAT: Exploring, investigating ... and being a bit of an art snob
WHEN: All through the event!
WARNINGS: None yet, but if anything worthy comes up I'll put it in the comment headers. <3

Starling had scarcely had time to get her bearings on Temba before she woke up on the ship, to the strange message. It hadn't taken much to wake her: she'd slept lightly, and took a speed-run of a shower, not wanting to waste the precious hot water afforded to the crew. She didn't want to step out onto new ground and make the impression of a hot mess, after all. After combing out her damp hair, she put it up in a ponytail to keep it off her neck, then shook out her only set of clothes, judiciously inspecting the cashmere sweater for wrinkles and wishing for an iron. Ah well. It was what it was. She'd been provided with credit, at least. Maybe the first order of business - after breakfast - was to get something new to wear.

A: (In Person) Everything will always be alright - when we go shopping
The amount of options were even more staggering than New York, or Paris, Clarice marveled, as the taxi dropped her off in Coruscant's shopping district. She'd counted her credits on the ship, not wanting to be tacky in counting them in public.

She starts off by window shopping, browsing from store to store to get a feel for the prices and the styles: what people consider high fashion, lowbrow, and somewhere in between. She decides a sturdy outfit, something working-class, would be the best choice for back on Temba, but there was also nothing wrong with spoiling herself a little and having something that would make her look good should a situation call for it. Feel free to find her as she's molesting various pieces of clothing, rubbing it between her fingers to check texture or thread count, or as she's sitting down on a bench to try on a smart-looking yet rugged pair of boots.

B: (Network) And you told me all your plans - how you would never let them go
New as she is, Starling takes her responsibility and her new mission seriously. The mystery of Coruscant and the many people brought to Temba from this place has piqued her interest, and so her first thought as a newcomer is to seek them out. She takes out her comm device - a new, strange thing in itself - and taps on the garish pink icon, thinking a moment before composing her message.

Hello, everyone. My name is Clarice Starling. I only just arrived in Temba the day before we were sent here to Coruscant, and I admit that I have many questions ... particularly for those of you who are familiar with this world. In the interest of helping the Agri, would any of you be willing to sit with me for a brief interview of sorts? I would be more than willing to get you a cup of whatever equivalent to coffee they have here, or light lunch, to thank you for your time.

C: (In Person) A bittersweet, evocative song... that doesn't remind us of Musetta's Waltz
After a long day of investigating and attempting to do what she was brought here to do, Clarice changes into the nicer of the ensembles she's bought for herself: a jewel-green gown with a white shawl to stave off any evening chill. The opera house is advertising a new Bith opera, whatever that might mean, and Clarice shows up to purchase herself a ticket with confidence, sliding into the crowd as though she belongs there. Anyone who hasn't met her yet may just mistake her for a native, even as she purchases a program, hoping to learn a bit more about what she's about to indulge in.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Ezra isn't illiterate. In fact, his parents read to him so much when he was little, and encouraged his curiosity and eagerness to learn enough, that he can barely remember a time when he didn't know how to read. Even when he'd been living on the street, he'd self taught himself a lot, off of the Holonet.

Writing, on the other hand...even just messages more than a sentence or two long doesn't come as easily to him. He's never had any formal classes on composition. Maybe he should take the opportunity to practice, but honestly he's a touch intimidated.

So, he answers in video format.

"Hello...miss? Starling." That's polite address to a stranger, yes? "I'm from this galaxy, although not from Coruscant. You saw the message Master Kenobi sent out soon after we landed, right? What sort of things do you want to know?"

The video format takes her a little by surprise, as she's still just barely from the age of cellular telephones smaller than a forearm. She makes sure she's not a hot mess before turning on the video function, though it takes a little finagling to hold the device at an angle that isn't awkward.

"Kenobi ... yes, we spoke. But I'm interested in individual accounts just as much as I am information about the world. He said this is almost a thousand years ahead of the time he knows. Is that the same for you?"

Thanks to a certain Someone back home teaching her about Hawking's principles of time and a little quantum theory, she's not stymied by the concept of multiple universes or times co-existing quite as much as she would have been even months ago.

It should have been easy to hide in the warrens and spires of this city, but there was no hiding from Tony on the network. It only took a few messages for Tony to have a name, a voice, a face, a propensity for politeness, and a code to track whenever a familiar device was nearby. He hadn't thought too hard about Clarice Starling yet, or where she might fit into the sprawling puzzle they found themselves part of, working as he was at a severe backlog.

But he was staring at her now, arm folded over his chest to scratch the other hand thoughtfully through his beard, a strikingly cold and calculating consideration over the fanciful hats and even more fanciful, alien heads of the crowd mingling in the lobby. If he couldn't already rifle carelessly through the communications device she carried, he thought, the American accent would have piqued his interest, making him tilt his head then with a kind of nostalgic fondness as she negotiated for her program in a voice that certainly couldn't be called common in this crowd that he had been working his way into since their arrival.

When he did make his approach, it was with a sweep over her shoulder and with a glass of something fizzing and fragrant offered primly. "A lady who arrives at the opera alone should have ten offers to see her home by intermission," he suggested, that grey-blue gaze that had studied her so piercingly for so long suddenly wandering anywhere else like he wasn't all that engaged with the conversation, searching the other faces. "Who do you think will make their move?"

There was a creature that looked mostly like a long head, with a heavy, alligator-esque snout tipping it down their front and wearing a fluttering feather behind their ear like it could distract from the scene. With a gesture of his chin, Tony said, "He's here with his sister," which could have very well been true, another similar alien bumping clumsily into the first's shoulder. "Can't stand her, will be looking for someone else's attention, if you're not careful."

Starling had noticed him out of the corner of her eye, of course, and seen him coming. The drink was a nice touch, she thought, accepting it graciously with an oh-so-subtle nod of thanks and a polite smile as he rambled on.

He might have been playing the part of the Nice Guy Just Looking Out For Her, but that seemed a little too heavy-handed for a man who could move so suavely through a crowd and present an offering with that kind of ease. Not to mention his syntax, just formal enough for the crowd at first. 'To see her home', juxtaposed against a truncated sentance such as 'can't stand her'. He was posturing, posing, that much was apparent. It was the motive that intrigued her, right along with the egregious way he was treating that beautiful tuxedo. It looked like he'd already worn it to at least one function without pressing it in between.

Her reply, then, was a carefully pitched hum that held only the slightest hint of cynicism. "I admit, I haven't given it much thought. I'm looking forward to the artists' performance more than anything else." She tipped the flute to him. "To culture, Mr. ...?"

Edited (spelling correction) 2021-03-13 06:27 (UTC)

"Yes," he says, with a nod. "I'm from a little later than him, actually. At least a decade and a half, or a little longer." He hasn't asked Master Kenobi exactly how long it's been for him since the Purge started, and he doesn't plan to.

"Individual accounts," he echoes, thoughtfully. "Can I ask why? Just - you used the word interview, and to me that sounds...formal. Professional?"

Shopping and especially shopping for clothes has never been something Jon has done a lot back on Earth. Most of his wardrobe consisted of very similar pieces bought at the same stores that he simply knew fit him and he was comfortable enough to wear.

On an alien planet, this has proven difficult. The styles here are vastly different. Buttons hardly exist, instead robes and tunics or futuristic zippers are almost everywhere. But it's not really actual clothes Jon is looking for this time. It's footwear. And he is determined to pick up a few pairs to last him a while once they return to Temba. A pair of sturdy boots is what he is at least hoping to find when he sits down at the other end of the bench Clarice sits on and quizzically turns around the single shoe he has brought along with him before slipping out of his own, by now rather worn shoe to try on his find, muttering a little curse in a notable British accent.

"...Jesus Christ. The seizing of these makes even less sense than the ones before! Is it too much to ask for a moderate amount of consistency...?" The question, while not aimed at anyone and purely rhetorical, isn't entirely free of some of his compulsion, however. Clarice may notice a faint little tickle at the back of her mind, prodding gently for what answer she may have.

Eddie was able to get one new outfit on his first day there, but he'd be damned if he was going to survive with just one set of clothes. He was currently examining some trousers on a nearby shelf and frowned.

"What the fuck is this made of? Burlap?" Realizing there was someone else nearby, he gave her an apologetic smile. "Uh... Sorry. I'm... Not from around here."

"Interestin'," she said. She tended to subconsiously mask her accent less when she was analyzing data: possibly because her mind was focused more on other things.

"That's an old habit," Starling confessed. "I used to be ..." He wouldn't know what the FBI was, so she only paused a brief moment to decide how to describe it. "... part of a group that investigated certain types of crimes, where I'm from. Organized crime, or things that affected more than one location's jurisdiction."

His language made her raise an eyebrow, but she wasn't about to judge. She'd found a pair of slacks in the same material early in her own exploration and found them just as reprehensible. Maybe it was the f-bomb that made her feel a little less formal, but she smiled back.

"S'alright. Neither am I." Between the American accent and the unfamiliarity with the territory, she made an easy guess. "Did the Agri send you here, too?"

"And interviewing people was part of that?" he asks, sounding less curious and more wary.

Product of being labeled a criminal himself, under a government with little to no regard for the well-being of prisoners.

That wariness pinged her like a beacon, but she didn't show it, still smiling as she nodded. "Yeah. Just for gathering information ... which is all I'm doing here. I have a certain set of skills, that's all, and they could come in handy for what the Agri want us to do. I figure ... yes, you're all from the same place in space, but you're still different people."

She infused her words with earnestness and let a little of her Southern accent creep in. She found people tended to think she sounded a little warmer when she used it, and that was to her advantage. "If I talk to you all separately, I might be able to find some commonalities that could lead to an answer for them."

She feels the knock at the back of her mind palace and startles a little. Jon will get the sense of a sturdy door, but one that isn't yet locked, because the owner hasn't learned how to do so yet. There's a sense of a vastness behind it.

Starling glances at the man on the other end of the bench, and wonders.

"Well, there are a lot of different species here," she says, unable to keep a certain note of wariness from her voice. "It would stand to reason that the sizing would be different for each of them to account for the foot shape."

"So, this isn't just curiosity but...data collection. In a way you've done before," he says, slowly. "Looking for patterns."

The drawl in the accent does, in fact, read as more Outer Rim to him. A little less of that formality.

"Exactly." Her smile widens just a bit at that, glad he's picking up what she's putting down. "Besides, I left them in the dust a while 'fore I showed up here. They ... Well. I won't bore you with th' details, but they set me up to fall. And I didn' appreciate that one bit."

"I don't know, that sounds like a story." So now she, what, wishes she could throw herself back into her work and prove herself, but got dragged here, instead?

He's quiet a few seconds, weighing options.

"Ok, let's find a place where we can talk that we're both comfortable with and also isn't way out in the open where anyone could overhear. Even just a personal account from me involves some pretty big potential future events."

Unfortunately, Jon isn't aware of any doors aside from the metaphorical one in his head he's trying to keep firmly shut to not be drowned by what's on the other side. Though this isn't an intentional action from him and he usually gets no feedback from it unless people suddenly answer his questions, so he remains unaware while tying his single boot. And yet he gets an answer. One that initially gets a frown from the Archivist.

"Well, yes. Naturally there are. And I am trying hard not to accidentally look into footwear designed for lizard-men or--" A pause and the frown is replaced by a moment of puzzlement. "What are the ones with the head-tails called again? I-I mean- It's fine, obviously, but- I was looking for human-sized ones specifically. And yet even there there is no discernible consistency!"

"It is. I'll be happy to share a bit. Quid pro quo, maybe." The way she says it suggests she finds that absolutely hilarious for some strange reason, but is trying to downplay her amusement.

She thinks about it for a moment. They all have hotel rooms, but that's inappropriate and unprofessional.

"What about on one of our ships? No one would bother us there. I could pick up some food or drinks on the way."

Well, he's not an imbecile and has logic to work with, Starling realizes. The fact that she seems to have offended him a touch means that there's a considerable amount of thinking power under the hood, so to speak, and he may possibly be the strange presence she felt. If she knew how it worked, she'd try to push back to be sure, but alas, such powers are beyond her reach.

"Maybe they're made by different races who have varying thoughts on what human sizes look like," she posited, tugging on a boot and lacing it up. "What're you looking for, in particular? I've already gone through a couple of racks on this side, I might've seen something." An olive branch of sorts, to apologize for offending.

He doesn't follow the not-Basic, and his brow furrows a little, but he thinks he gets the gist from context.

"Sure, that works for me. Which one's yours? Just tell me when and I'll meet you there."

Though she neatly sidestepped any pitfalls of trying to join in on Tony's gossiping to blend in, Clarice did encourage him with an invitation that got his focus back on her with a slow grin. He let the question hang for a moment in that smile, head tilted slightly like he was asking if she was sure she wanted to know, before raising a hand to insist, "Please." She wasn't even asking the right question. "Call me Tony."

He offered the gesturing hand then to take hers, but what he asked in return was, "Big fan?," with his nose faintly wrinkled just enough to be dubious of how committed she was to the opera circuit. "The performances, well, that's one thing, but there's not much they can do with the abysmal material they've been putting out all season. The best I can hope for is that this one actually has a story."

"Something sturdy and functional that will survive the daily abuse of traversing the ruins of a destroyed civilization." Jon responds to the actual question rather than commenting further on which part of a society of mixed alien and human beings produces which commonly required products. He finishes with his current boot and sits up to inspect the outcome for a moment, then stands up to test the feeling of this particular piece of footwear.

"I have been stuck with one pair of shoes for at least a year now." Jon offers further, which may explain the sorry state the pair of rather simple shoes he has been arriving with.

"I believe it's called the First Breath," she replies. She makes a mental note to explain the Latin when she sees him, as she realizes it didn't make sense... and of course it wouldn't. Silly Starling.

"Would an hour from now be too soon? If not, what would you recommend I bring for refreshments? Clearly you know the food and drinks here better than I do."

"This is the first Bith opera I've been to," she admits. "But if they're not keen on anything with storylines, you can hardly call it opera, can you?" A judgemental eyebrow accompanied that last remark, and she decided to test him right back, namedropping one of the race names she'd heard while barhopping with Cayde. "I'm mostly familiar with Toydarian opera."

He was trying to read her hard, play her for some motive. It wasn't to bed her, though, she was almost certain. His focus was more on her social and cultural prowess than the decollotage she was unashamedly showing off. She gave him a glimpse of bare shoulder as she adjusted her shawl, just to be sure, her pale skin spattered with freckles.

"You're giving me a few misgivings, Tony. And not just about why you're concerned about how many offers I have to escort me home."

A few of the details he offered up made the puzzle piece that he was slot easily into place, and she nodded. "Did you come in from Temba, then?"

It was an incongrous enough question to a passerby - it could have been the name of a distant or podunk town. But Starling knew that if he had come in with her, Cayde, and the others brought by the Agri, it might spark a very different reaction.

She finished lacing up her own boots and stood along with him, rocking back and forth on her heels, wiggling her toes to test the room in the toe block.

The name does, in fact, get a different reaction from Jon. Even though the slightly raised brow may also be one born from simple confusion. "I don't recall seeing you back on Agra 10. Did the Agrii..." Jon cuts himself off at that point. Well. It happened back on Risa, didn't it.

He sighs, then nods. "...right. Right. Yes. I come from Temba. And eventually... We will all be heading back there." Again he pauses, then turns to face the woman and offer a hand in greeting, mismatched shoes and everything.

"I'm Jonathan Sims. Jon is fine, however."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 8

Clarice's Event Catch-All | OTA

B:

no subject

C

no subject

no subject

A!

A

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject