such a rush

[pacificate]

Who: Adrian Veidt and YOU
What: What's up with your wires, Paradisa?
When: Feb. 25
Where: Castle hallway
Rating: PG for now

Adrian had found a sort of beauty in the way systems are arranged. Electrical systems winding through the bowels of a house, seemingly random but not, each little wire minding its own business, heading to its destined place. Here it is different. The wires and pipes seemed happy enough to keep going without getting anywhere.

He contemplates a hole in the wall with the systems exposed. There is a group of multicolored wires heading down toward an electrical outlet but stopping short of actually reaching it, and plugged into the outlet is a makeshift light bulb. Fascinating.

Comments

[supes]

"Both are farm dogs and used to sleeping outdoors, and I'm pretty insulated," he replies, with a shrug, but he doesn't look too insulated in his spring jacket. Krypto doesn't look much better with his short fur, but Clark doesn't bother explaining too deeply. Most people don't put that much thought into it.

He glances at the wires.

"They don't go anywhere."

[pacificate]

Adrian puts more thought into it, but there is little sense in arguing about another person's tolerance to cold weather or that of his pets. He turns his gaze back at the wires, still a few inches too short to reach the outlet, and the brightly lit light bulb stuck to the outlet.

"No. They don't," most people wouldn't be interested in cables however, not as much as he would be. He chuckles and glances to the man. "I shouldn't think too hard about magic."

[supes]

"It's probably a lot more effort than it's worth," Clark admits, with a smile. "Everything here runs on magic... I think electricity is just an illusion. Jab a fork in the outlet and it'll shock you just to keep up that illusion, but as far as I can tell, those wires are there for show."

He gestures along the top of the wall, and then overhead.

"If you pulled off the drywall, you could see that the wires end somewhere above us. Many of them aren't even connected to the main power lines, and there's no source for any of it."

[pacificate]

He tips his head up to watch the ceiling, lingering there as if he can imagine the pipes and wires somehow congregating for no other reason than that they do. If even electricity, energy, is an illusion, what of everything else? He was never a fan of Plato. "The castle is fond of putting on appearances," he concludes, just to end that conversation for now.

"I don't think we've spoken before," he glances back at the man, walking closer to offer a hand in greeting. "Adrian Veidt."

[supes]

Clark extends a hand to take Adrian's. He has a firm handshake, fostered (unbeknownst to him) by a father who always said you could tell everything about a man by the quality of his handshake. Adrian's name does not slip by Clark, either. He never forgets a name, and this is one he's heard before.

"Clark Kent," he offers. "You've arrived recently, I assume?"

[pacificate]

Adrian thought little of the meaning of handshakes. It all comes down to the task at hand, and a man with a flaccid handshake may still be the best man for the job. Still, there are many who use it as a measure of someone's confidence and so he has tailored his near perfection, right down to the timing.

"A pleasure, Clark," the man seems too young to be called Mr. Kent. "Not too recently." Though he supposes that's relative.

He steps toward a slab of drywall resting beside the hole, picking it up to cover the wires and pipes. He figures the castle can handle the actual welding it back into the wall. "You've been here long enough, I presume?"

[supes]

"Three and a half years," he replies, watching Adrian replace the drywall, and vaguely wonder what he hoped to achieve by ripping it out in the first place. "One of the oldest here, at any rate."

[pacificate]

There is little else to be done in this castle when he owns nothing that requires managing, other than learning about the castle and keeping an eye out for a hidden exit sign, somewhere somehow. There is nothing to destroy here, nothing to rebuild.

Adrian brushes his hands to get the dust off of his palms, glancing at Clark with a smirk, amused. "How do you view us newcomers?"

[supes]

Clark chuckles, all country-boy geniality. Big cities and magic castles could never take that away.

"You guys put up with a lot, and are willing to accept all sorts of strange and unusual new realities. But, as always, everyone was a newcomer once."

[pacificate]

There's something alien to him.

"Our willingness is debatable," he smirks. He ventures a step closer to the dogs, bending down on one knee and reaching out to brush his hand over one canine head. "What are their names?"

[supes]

"True," Clark smiles. He lets Shelby greet Adrian, but he holds Krypto back by the collar. Krypto's a good dog, but he isn't always great with strangers.

"The retriever is Shelby. The white one is Krypto."