Seymour's trip to Sariel's world

[visible_sariel]

The Bar door opens on a house's front walk, all sun-bleached white stone and nearby waving palm trees and long grass just short of tangling. the lane it leads to is busy, just like the one beyond it, and a short distance off there are the strains of something upbeat and jubilant--clearly, the activity in the winding streets of Castries is matched and exceeded by the celebrations on the major roads they connect to. The people going by are in bright colors; greens, blues, yellows and a hundred others, and there's laughter and a babble of languages and yes, that man is singing at the top of his voice, and wouldn't you know he's not bad.

The masquerades and the monarchs and the road march all come later. Right now, what they're walking into is the middle of an elated afternoon at everything's start, and as it's carnival Tuesday, no one's going to mind. Just the opposite, in fact.

Comments

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

Seymour takes Saint Lucia in with wide eyes. His brown and white ensemble is looking rather plain, but for a moment he's not thinking about how out of place he must look, he's merely absorbing the sights and the smells - so different than Skid Row, so different than Milliways.

"Wow. Everything's so...bright. Like in a magazine." Except magazines in his time had much fewer black people in them.

Seymour adjusts his glasses to cover up feeling white and nerdy. It, unfortunately, doesn't help. "So, um...." He makes a vague shrugging gesture to Sariel - this is her show, really.

[visible_sariel]

That smile Sariel was wearing on walking into the bar earlier? It's back now, and just as bright as before. "It really is, isn't it? and I'd imagine so." If she's aware that magazines from his time are a heck of a lot whiter, which she might be, she's not saying anything about it.

It's true, too; Saint Lucia is bright, especially now. when you're on a tropical island, bright is something of a given year-round, but a fortnight in the middle of summer tops all the rest rainbow-wise. In several directions, at that. The people passing by are of any number of nationalities; one woman looks Indian, sari and bangles included, two laughing young men are clearly Hispanic to at least some degree and yes, there are even a few light-skinned revelers in the crowd. but this is very much an island of black faces, even three hundred years on. Sariel fits right in. Seymour? ... Well. He's not blue like that man who just went by--wait a second, what?

"... Oh. There are a few people here who aren't from Earth." Nice of her to warn, isn't it? Even if the warning was a little late...

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

Skid Row was actually pretty ethnically diverse - it had a large immigrant population - but Seymour only had Audrey for a friend there. And all of Seymour's friends at Milliways tend to be white. Huh.

Oh my God. Seymour realizes he's totally going to offend Sariel by saying something stupid. He has to say nothing! No, wait, he should tell her he supports that Martin Luther King fella! Or--

-- hey. Blue skin. Seymour blinks a few times.

"Oh," he squeaks. "Wh-- where's he from? Um, Neptune?" That's the blue planet, right?

[visible_sariel]

for what it's worth, Sariel's not easily offended. For the moment, she's more worried about Seymour reacting badly to the Bolian who's now rounding the far turn and disappearing from sight than anything related to human skin color. "Neptune? From orbit it looks bluish, yes, but it's uninhabited. That man was from Bolius." Pause. "bolians have blue skin naturally." Because these things need explaining, ahem.

One step forward turns into two, turns into reaching the end of the front walk they're standing on. If Seymour's following, they'll both be on the edge of the crowd. "You might see a person with spots, here." A vague hand gesture indicates the side of her face and neck. "Or someone with very large ears."

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

"Oh, yeah, I-- Bolius. Haven't heard of that one yet. I mean, if we're even in the same....Which we might not be."

Seymour listens to the descriptions, nodding a few times, eyes darting in case he actually spots one.

Very, very casually (in a way that makes the question obviously too casual) he asks, "You ever come up against a species of talking plants?"

[visible_sariel]

For now, Seymour won't be able to spot any aliens, blue or big-eared or otherwise. There *is* an animated knot of children going by though, all around age twelve or so and all in very bright, very festive clothes. There are sequins, in one case. Not anything normally seen in America in 1960, that's for sure.

"... Talking plants?" For a second, Sariel's caught off guard. "Only in Milliways." And she step forward and to one side, the better to join the people streaming toward the source of the still fairly distant music. and if by talking plants she means Zhaan, how's Seymour to know?

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

Sparkly children. Seymour literally stops walking for a moment and stares at them. Then he clears his throat and follows Sariel.

Talking plants in Milliways. Now, Seymour knows Twoie got into Milliways before. Thus the glance he gives Sariel is suddenly ever so nervous as he asks, "Oh? Really? What'd it look like?"

[visible_sariel]

Very sparkly children. One of them whispers something to his companion, who pokes him in the arm. Another glances back at Seymour before moving on, but it's just that: a glance. Just curiosity. "Nice costume!" Er, well. curiosity and... appreciation? Never mind that unless he speaks Creole, the compliment will go over his head.

"She was humanoid, actually," is Sariel's answer as she continues walking. "Or looked it anyway. Her skin was blue, though. I think she said she was called 'Zhaan'?"

They're getting close to a bend in the lane, and that music's growing steadily louder. they're not on top of it yet, but it won't be terribly long before they are, at this rate.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

Seymour looks blankly back at the kid. He bobs his head once and gives a small, uncertain smile. He's definitely thinking he should've brought something more colourful. White and brown are not exactly the standard here.

"Oh, Zhaan. Yeah, I know her. She's real nice. Very, ah, peaceful. Centered. And nice." Her potion also enabled Seymour to have a touching goodbye with his girlfriend.

Seymour looks around for something to distract him from his thoughts which, as they usually do, are becoming morbid.

[visible_sariel]

"Were you expecting someone else?" it's casual, but curiosity isn't absent. "She makes wonderful tea. zhaan does." and when Sariel gets back to Milliways, she'll have to see about getting more of the same. "And--oh! He said you have a nice costume." Slightly belated translation is still translation.

A distraction comes in the form of the end of the lane with the bend in it. It's clear from the view from the corner that they've connected up to a more commonly used road; less twisty turny, more space between the curbs, and still no cars but plenty of people. As in people everywhere.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

"Oh, yeah, I was just...just wondering. About stuff." That was some brilliant misdirection, Seymour. Particularly with it being said in such a nervous tone and all.

He chuckles faintly. "Didn't know this was a costume," he mutters, then, hey! People! Distraction!

"Wow! It's...people."

[visible_sariel]

"Are you sure?" Sariel's not that clueless, naive though she can be. She doesn't press the issue any further than that, however. She's too busy beaming at the scene before her; some things are just a delight, plain and simple. "Oui, people everywhere!" Normally crowds might not be exactly her thing, but this is clearly different.

The people in question are keepin to the edges of the road, so far; most, like Sariel, are definitely black, though a few look biracial. Brightly-colored clothing abounds. In one or two cases that includes bracelets and anklets that chime with the distinct sound of bells, and does that lady have feathers braided in her hair, honestly? Somewhere a short distance to the right, a local flag is suddenly unfurled, flying above the heads of the crowd to a chorus of cheers. The scent of tropical fruit of several varieties is in the air, and from the opposite side of the street comes what can only be glasses clinking together.

that music's getting closer by the second, though by this point it's obvious that whatever language the lyrics are in, it's not English. In the distance to the left, something green, blue and wheeled is just becoming visible. Looks like they still have parade floats in this century.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

Compared to all this, maybe Seymour does look like he's wearing a costume.

He manages to perk up a little as he looks around.

[visible_sariel]

That smile Sariel's been wearing pretty much since they left the bar? It's getting steadily brighter. The green and blue wheeled thing is rolling steadily closer, and the music's coming with it. and if one thing can be said about what's being played, it's that lively most certainly applies. The lyrics sound French, at least to someone who's heard the language spoken enough to recognize it, and as the great streamery float gets nearer, a few people in the crowd start singing along.

They're outnumbered by the ones who begin to dance, of course.

Sariel's not one of the dancing people or at least, not yet. "It's probably a little overwhelming, being here. We're just at the start of a parade." Explanations are helpful, even if they're a touch belated. Hopefully.

It's at that moment that an older woman goes by in a blurr of swirling pale pink skirts and jangling beadwork, arms filled with flowers in easily a dozen shades. "You need some color in that outfit, man! This is carnival!" And a bright yellow blossom is tossed Seymour's way. Never mind she aimed her laughing comment straight at him as she passed--catch, Seymour!

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

"A bit like Macy's Day!" Seymour exclaims about the float. Except brighter. And fewer cartoon characters. "That's, uh, on Thanksgiving. If you still have that here. I didn't always get to go see it, but--"

Seymour quiets as the older woman throws a blossom at him! Oh noes! It...bounces harmlessly off his head. Seymour blinks for a moment. "Am I in trouble?" he asks Sariel nervously.

[visible_sariel]

"A bit like... no, I'm sorry. We haven't got that one." Not that she hasn't heard the name 'Thanksgiving' before, somewhere. "That's American, isn't--oh!"

And Seymour has a flower bouncing off his head. for a second, Sariel's caught between giggling and wincing at her friend. "He'll find it, I think." The first is to the woman with all the flowers, who turns back and grins before disappearing into the crowd. "She said you needed color in your outfit. We have two languages here, and I keep forgetting you only speak one of them."

that yellow flower's not gotten squished yet, for what it's worth.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

But everyone knows American holidays! ...Except for the people that don't.

"Oh! Colour! Not sure where I'd put it on my outfit if I found it--" And Seymour, being the nice guy that he is, does scramble around to pick up the flower. Hope no one walks into him when he's bent down!

(His shirt does have a front pocket, but Seymour isn't used to making fashion decisions like that.)

[visible_sariel]

Seymour's luck holds; nobody crashes into him while he's bent down. A pair of thirty-something revelers do spin by, but neither one treads on him. "Um... you could put it here, maybe?" Sariel's not exactly knowledgeable about fashion herself, but this's different. That and she's already got that pink blossom tucked behind one ear. That's what she gestures to.

The blue and green float's steadily rolling by, and there's a large orangey one coming into view behind it. The music in the air is changing accordingly; still upbeat, still not in English, but clearly a different song.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

Flowers behind the ear are girly. Seymour is relatively concerned with gender roles, and does not want to be perceived as feminine.

So he hems and haws and says, "Weeeell..." as he examines the flower. With a quiet shock he says, "I don't know what type of flower this comes from." He used to know a lot about flowers. He used to love knowing about them. Now...he's losing that knowledge, it seems, and that worries him.

[visible_sariel]

Sariel's never been that concerned with gender roles, herself; she's a product of her century, as much as Seymour is of his. The flower question makes her tilt her head consideringly. "I don't know if those grow in America or not. I've only heard of them around here. they're called--" the name she gives is obviously French, and quite foreign to the States.

Some of the revelers are walking rather than dancing, drifting up and down the road and greeting friends as they go. It's early as carnival days go--now is better for catching up than later. Sariel starts to move in the wake of one of them, then pauses. "We can keep going and still see everything, if you like." Or they can stay where they are; either's clearly alright with her.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

"...Have to look that up," Seymour murmurs. Look up the name in French. That'll go so well.

"Huh? Oh, sure, we can keep going. I mean, if that's what you wanna do."

[visible_sariel]

Maybe Bar can translate it? Of course, that depends on pronunciation...

"We could... Or we could stay." Sariel is still smiling fit to light up a small room. "I know we can find a glider near here--I promised you a flight." And she intends to keep that promise, apparently. "Or--"

She's cut off by a rise in the general noise level as the music in the air changes again; something bright yellow and sparkly's rolling by, and there are suddenly dozens of scraps of colorful fabric waving above the heads of the crowd, held up by the revelers as they dance.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

"Hey, a glider sounds real swe--!" Seymour begins happily.

Then he blinks and peers at the fabric waving and feels like he should be doing something. He glances at Sariel, looking lost.

[visible_sariel]

"It's right down this next road--" and that puzzled expression registers. Sariel peers back at him for a second before it clicks. "Oh. The song just called for--" and then an uncertain look. "You don't know how to dance to this sort of music, do you?"

She's not holding out much hope on this one, but it's worth asking, at least.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

"I...I did a tango once," Seymour explains. "But that was during a number. Dancing without a number - with, um, with normal music - is different."

Seymour is prepared to explain what the heck he's talking about.

[visible_sariel]

Headtilt. Faintly puzzled glance.

"A number... of what?" It's not that she doesn't know about musical theater; she does. The idea of an entire world existing as a production of the same just... hasn't occurred to her yet. For all she knows, Seymour's from a fairly standard version of twentieth century Earth. For a given value of standard, of course.

The tango bit will click in shortly.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

"A number," Seymour repeats. "A musical number. I'm...from a universe where people spontaneously break out in song and dance with unseen musical accompaniment." He projects a manner of whaddaya gonna do?

He suddenly looks pained when he adds, "Or, I was." Because he's dead. It's always a downer when he remembers that.

[visible_sariel]

Blink. Blink blink. "You... oh." That one takes a minute to process. "I've never heard of a world quite like that before." At least, a world not contained within a holodeck.

The last bit, though? That makes her wince in sympathy, the smile she's been wearing dimming somewhat. "You still are though, aren't you? From that world, I mean?" She's talking point of origin more than current location, all trips through other people's doors aside. the question is whether this's apparent or not.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

"I guess," Seymour says.

And suddenly he decides to tell her something he hasn't told anyone yet. "I can't do numbers in Milliways since I died. I always used to be able to."

Why's he telling her this? He nods to the surroundings, beginning to smile ever so faintly. "This makes up for that, a little."

It's not perfect, of course, but it's music and dance and movement and fun. It goes a long way to filling the void inside him.

[visible_sariel]

Yup, that smile's dimmed visibly. "I'm sorry." It might not be adequate, but it's the first thing she thinks of to say.

A long second's pause, and then, "I'm glad I could help, at least a little." It's what friends do, don'tcha know? Even in unexpected ways.

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

Nothing is adequate, really, and Seymour is in a good enough mood to appreciate the effort. He smiles.

"So, uh, how do you dance to this?"

[visible_sariel]

For a second it's an internal battle of reserved nature versus the yay, music she knows how to dance to! factor. There's a momentary flicker of uncertainty, but it's home, and it's carnival and it's everything right in the world and a little bit becoming right in someone else's, and said uncertainty evaporates fairly quickly in the face of the general mood of the day.

Yup, that smile's back at full strength again.

"To this? Oh, well... first, it's a little like this..."

[skidrowseymour.livejournal.com]

Seymour doesn't mention that he danced the tango with Mr. Mushnik pretty badly.

About as badly as he dances now.

But at least he's having fun.

[visible_sariel]

Sariel's willing to give him a break; he wasn't raised dancing to this sort of thing, after all.

and she's having quite a lot of fun, herself.