[For all that he's a comparatively newer arrival, Emet-Selch has been... only mostly reclusive. People who pass by the apartment he shares with Elidibus may well have noticed him going in and out, and those working in either Technology or Research may have seen a tall man with pale hair and sunglasses - introduced as either "Emet-Selch" or "Solus Galvus" - about the place.
For those who have not, he looks no less tall, here, and is still determinedly wearing a pair of sunglasses, though he is also bundled up very thoroughly against the cold (to the best of his ability) and looks faintly displeased about the winter chill besides.]
{IIa: food and mingling}
[Emet-Selch has never much been one to complain about food. True, he certainly has his preferences, but he knows well enough that an occasion like this is hardly going to be catering to everyone's taste, and that it is not fancy is nothing he minds. After all, he has spent more time not involved in anything that would lend itself to fancier affairs, and even had he not he is hardly blind to the fact that this is meant to be a largely informal gathering.
That said, even after he has managed to claim a plateful of food he seems far more inclined to simply settle into to just spend some time watching people rather than actually bothering to mingle, but he does make no few trips to the chocolate fruit - and seems to largely favor fruit when he does so.]
{IIb: Grave Path}
[For all that Emet-Selch cannot, currently, even so much as tell if there is an aetherial sea present on this world, he cannot entirely help but feel like he ought to know at least something of the general funerary systems of this world. Even if they should be not dissimilar to those of his own, and while he might not have any responsibility for the dead of this world... he is still Emet-Selch, and that duty has ever been a hard one to truly shake.
Plus he's curious, and between one thing and another he does eventually drift his way over to the gravestones. Nor does he seem particularly amused at the disturbances he finds there.]
I would assume this to be not typical of this sort of place?
{III: Campball}
[Sports are not, typically, the sort of thing Emet-Selch tends to indulge in. But after some nudging on behalf of his colleague (who has chosen to remain on the sidelines) he has indeed taken to the field. Admittedly, he's done his best to find himself in a position where he has to do as little running as possible, but regardless of where he should find himself he should find himself, he gives his absolute best to situation.
(The potential reward of a tailored outfit may, in fact, have been the deciding factor, though he is unlikely to say as much.)
In light of the fact that the activity is a little more involved than most others, however, he has chosen to remove his sunglasses. Which means that anyone who happens to get close enough to him will in fact be able to notice that his eyes are not only a distinctly unusual color but also seem to be glowing faintly.]
{V: Fashion!}
[Once his impromptu foray into sports has concluded, Emet-Selch instead turns to his favored pastime - people-watching. Or rather, settling in to observe the fashion show, his sunglasses once again back in place. That it also serves as a sort of information gathering definitely doesn't hurt, even if it's little more than a general sense for the people present and the sorts of things they might otherwise get up to with what they have and what has been offered for communal use.
There are even some few nods from his end, enough to suggest that he approves of at least some of the outfits that are being shown off.]
[ Hickey isn't a jock, per se. But he's gotten used to games of football with the men on the ice, while Terror was frozen in, before everything went to shit. And since this is proper football, not the bastardization that Americans call football, he's found that he's halfway decent at campball.
His teammates on the other hand... ]
Oi! [ he yells at Emet-Selch, not bothering to hide the annoyance on his face. ] The rules of the sport aren't stand around and look at the sky! If you're not sweating by the end of this, you're doing it wrong.
[ Does Hickey care about sports? No. Does he want to win? Yes. ]
[It's not the first time someone has been less than pleased with Emet-Selch. It will almost certainly not be the last, and he makes absolutely no attempt at hiding his own irritation in return.]
You will forgive me for assuming some positions might require less running.
[Still, he... at least doesn't sound like he's unwilling to do more running. Or into putting his height to good use, should that happen to be useful to the team as a whole.]
So I have heard. Yet I knew naught of this sport in particular until it was explained.
[Which is not to say that there weren't sports, back on his world. But there had certainly not been anything quite like this, or not in the same way to the best of his knowledge.]
[He is absolutely going to be pedantic about it, too. To say nothing of the fact that he's stubborn enough to not back down.]
Nor would I expect any one person to know the whole of what sports were played across the width and breadth of the inhabited portions of the star on which they resided.
If it is popular in the regions one is familiar with, and it is not. Or should I expect you to be familiar with all the details of chocobo racing? Or the rules of Triple Triad, perhaps.
That is hardly the point. That the forces that are drawing us here are biased to those worlds to which this particular sport is common is utterly irrelevant. Not when you yourself have acknowledged that not all worlds will have this in common.
Nor do I mean to apologize for being from one in which it is not.
Learn to adapt, [ Hickey says, without any hesitation. ] Because otherwise? You'll spend your entire time here talking about churroballs or what the hell ever.
[ Chocobos, my man. ]
And learning how to adapt is learning how to play football.
If you presume I have any interest in continuing to do so beyond this attempt, I do not.
[For now, for this one attempt, he will do his best. But it's certainly not something he's going to do regularly.]
I should likewise caution against assuming that I need to be told to adapt. Recently arrived though I may be, you will find that I am quite familiar with the concept.
[Now there's two of them. Given Lahabrea's penchant for body-hopping, it might well be three and he'd be none the wiser until the blade or bullet or whatever hits his spine. Delightful.
Still, Urianger cannot, he supposes, avoid Emet-Selch forever. If nothing else, he would no doubt quickly run out of excuses to be elsewhere on the days that tall figure finds himself in Research. And his encounters with Elidibus have been... cordial enough (and render trying to remain undetected moot; given Elidibus' choice of cover name, he does not doubt that they would share intelligence). Logically, he understands that they were all working to the same goal - the salvation of their star, and the continuance of life upon it - just from vastly different starting points, and it is to logic that he has always stubbornly clung.
Inclined as they both are to people-watch, there is no doubt a point - perhaps during the blanket race or some such nonsense? - where both stand at the edge of proceedings, and the elezen can offer the ancient a slight nod and a carefully neutral greeting]
[It could be, certainly. Admittedly, Emet-Selch is not aware of Lahabrea's presence, but given that he is currently without his best way to identify his fellow Unsundered it certainly wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility for Lahabrea to simply choose to not announce his presence. But in absence of any direct confirmation, Emet-Selch has largely continued under the assumption that he and Elidibus are the only two currently present.
(The fact that he has not much had time - or not as much as he might prefer - to worry about the potential presence of others has helped on that front.)
Still, he is very much aware of Urianger's presence, for all that this is the first time they have actually met in person. Something for which he cannot entirely blame the other man. He knows full well that he had not precisely made much of an effort to be more than passingly friendly for the vast majority of the time they had cause to interact, after all, and though he has set those goals aside he can hardly say that he hadn't very much been willing to destroy the First (among others) in the service of his goals.
There is, admittedly, no immediate reason to destroy this world, but given what Emet-Selch has heard thus far it may not need his help anyway. But that, too, is for later. Instead, he simply offers a brief nod in return.]
They are suitable enough. Though I cannot claim that all are something I intend to participate in.
[Case in point, the blanket race that he is very pointedly not involving himself in.]
[See? This is fine. They're just two colleagues awkwardly mixing at at a work social.]
A pity; I had hoped to return to Etheirys with the tale of Emperor Solus' grand victory at... whatsoever this might be.
[He gestures vaguely in the direction of the blanket-wrapped Shenanigans. Nevermind that even if they return then, as far as he knows, he won't be telling anyone anything]
[Of the two of them, Urianger is at least far more likely to be capable of telling people about whatever has occurred. If only on account of the comparative shortage of people to have meaningful conversation with in the depths of the aetherial sea. But that, at least, is neither here nor there at the moment.]
Solus though I may be here [if only on technicality] I am no Emperor.
[And he's not super interested in the logistics of trying to be, just at the moment. If only because he knows well enough that it is no easy task, and will likely only be all the more so given he knows so little about the world they have found themselves inhabiting.]
Though even if I were I would have found reason to abstain from ... this.
[... yeah, about that. As far as Urianger knows, their mutual affinity for Creative Truth Telling is not the only thing the three Etheirys Ex-Pats have in common; of events after they met with the Ea in Ultima Thule (and, mercifully, of the Ascian's involvement in them) he is entirely ignorant
Still, good to know Emet-Selch hasn't immediately set his eyes on... what would this be, empire number three? Not that Urianger remains a healthy degree of paranoid about what he and his colleague might actually be planning, obviously, which is part of why he continues the small talk - the other part being, as Elidibus has rightly pointed out, he needs to be able to trust himself to interact with the Paragons without immediately offering them a buffet of free Fear]
Quaint and bewildering festivities aside, thou art acclimating well enough, it seems?
[Truth be told, Emet-Selch doesn't blame Urianger for his paranoia. And for all that he is not immediately seeking to pull the strings such that he claims rulership of even a small portion of the world they have found themselves on, it is yet a possibility. A dim possibility, given his recent retirement from the mortal sphere, but a possibility nonetheless, should there prove to be reason enough to do so.
For now, however, he is content simply to talk - a fact that is at least helped somewhat by the fact that he has never minded Urianger's presence as much as some of the other Scions, at least.]
This is hardly the first time I have needed to acclimatize myself to an unfamiliar society. Nor is it too dissimilar to some I have seen, over the millennia.
[Which is to say, yes, he is. Even if he's not particularly thrilled at finding himself bereft of the magic he has long since grown accustomed to wielding.]
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apocalypsehowcomm2023-02-24 10:08 am
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For those who have not, he looks no less tall, here, and is still determinedly wearing a pair of sunglasses, though he is also bundled up very thoroughly against the cold (to the best of his ability) and looks faintly displeased about the winter chill besides.]
{IIa: food and mingling}
[Emet-Selch has never much been one to complain about food. True, he certainly has his preferences, but he knows well enough that an occasion like this is hardly going to be catering to everyone's taste, and that it is not fancy is nothing he minds. After all, he has spent more time not involved in anything that would lend itself to fancier affairs, and even had he not he is hardly blind to the fact that this is meant to be a largely informal gathering.
That said, even after he has managed to claim a plateful of food he seems far more inclined to simply settle into to just spend some time watching people rather than actually bothering to mingle, but he does make no few trips to the chocolate fruit - and seems to largely favor fruit when he does so.]
{IIb: Grave Path}
[For all that Emet-Selch cannot, currently, even so much as tell if there is an aetherial sea present on this world, he cannot entirely help but feel like he ought to know at least something of the general funerary systems of this world. Even if they should be not dissimilar to those of his own, and while he might not have any responsibility for the dead of this world... he is still Emet-Selch, and that duty has ever been a hard one to truly shake.
Plus he's curious, and between one thing and another he does eventually drift his way over to the gravestones. Nor does he seem particularly amused at the disturbances he finds there.]
I would assume this to be not typical of this sort of place?
{III: Campball}
[Sports are not, typically, the sort of thing Emet-Selch tends to indulge in. But after some nudging on behalf of his colleague (who has chosen to remain on the sidelines) he has indeed taken to the field. Admittedly, he's done his best to find himself in a position where he has to do as little running as possible, but regardless of where he should find himself he should find himself, he gives his absolute best to situation.
(The potential reward of a tailored outfit may, in fact, have been the deciding factor, though he is unlikely to say as much.)
In light of the fact that the activity is a little more involved than most others, however, he has chosen to remove his sunglasses. Which means that anyone who happens to get close enough to him will in fact be able to notice that his eyes are not only a distinctly unusual color but also seem to be glowing faintly.]
{V: Fashion!}
[Once his impromptu foray into sports has concluded, Emet-Selch instead turns to his favored pastime - people-watching. Or rather, settling in to observe the fashion show, his sunglasses once again back in place. That it also serves as a sort of information gathering definitely doesn't hurt, even if it's little more than a general sense for the people present and the sorts of things they might otherwise get up to with what they have and what has been offered for communal use.
There are even some few nods from his end, enough to suggest that he approves of at least some of the outfits that are being shown off.]
iii, campball
His teammates on the other hand... ]
Oi! [ he yells at Emet-Selch, not bothering to hide the annoyance on his face. ] The rules of the sport aren't stand around and look at the sky! If you're not sweating by the end of this, you're doing it wrong.
[ Does Hickey care about sports? No. Does he want to win? Yes. ]
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You will forgive me for assuming some positions might require less running.
[Still, he... at least doesn't sound like he's unwilling to do more running. Or into putting his height to good use, should that happen to be useful to the team as a whole.]
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[Which is not to say that there weren't sports, back on his world. But there had certainly not been anything quite like this, or not in the same way to the best of his knowledge.]
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Bullshit you didn't know about this sport. It's football! Half the bloody universes out there have something like football!
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[He is absolutely going to be pedantic about it, too. To say nothing of the fact that he's stubborn enough to not back down.]
Nor would I expect any one person to know the whole of what sports were played across the width and breadth of the inhabited portions of the star on which they resided.
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Nor do I mean to apologize for being from one in which it is not.
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[ Chocobos, my man. ]
And learning how to adapt is learning how to play football.
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[For now, for this one attempt, he will do his best. But it's certainly not something he's going to do regularly.]
I should likewise caution against assuming that I need to be told to adapt. Recently arrived though I may be, you will find that I am quite familiar with the concept.
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[...Also he was tempted by the prize on offer, though he's not about to say that much.]
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[ Who suggests that sport is beneficial?! ]
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You may ask him yourself, once matters here conclude.
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[It takes two to argue!]
iia - mingling
Still, Urianger cannot, he supposes, avoid Emet-Selch forever. If nothing else, he would no doubt quickly run out of excuses to be elsewhere on the days that tall figure finds himself in Research. And his encounters with Elidibus have been... cordial enough (and render trying to remain undetected moot; given Elidibus' choice of cover name, he does not doubt that they would share intelligence). Logically, he understands that they were all working to the same goal - the salvation of their star, and the continuance of life upon it - just from vastly different starting points, and it is to logic that he has always stubbornly clung.
Inclined as they both are to people-watch, there is no doubt a point - perhaps during the blanket race or some such nonsense? - where both stand at the edge of proceedings, and the elezen can offer the ancient a slight nod and a carefully neutral greeting]
"Are the festivities to thy liking?"
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(The fact that he has not much had time - or not as much as he might prefer - to worry about the potential presence of others has helped on that front.)
Still, he is very much aware of Urianger's presence, for all that this is the first time they have actually met in person. Something for which he cannot entirely blame the other man. He knows full well that he had not precisely made much of an effort to be more than passingly friendly for the vast majority of the time they had cause to interact, after all, and though he has set those goals aside he can hardly say that he hadn't very much been willing to destroy the First (among others) in the service of his goals.
There is, admittedly, no immediate reason to destroy this world, but given what Emet-Selch has heard thus far it may not need his help anyway. But that, too, is for later. Instead, he simply offers a brief nod in return.]
They are suitable enough. Though I cannot claim that all are something I intend to participate in.
[Case in point, the blanket race that he is very pointedly not involving himself in.]
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A pity; I had hoped to return to Etheirys with the tale of Emperor Solus' grand victory at... whatsoever this might be.
[He gestures vaguely in the direction of the blanket-wrapped Shenanigans. Nevermind that even if they return then, as far as he knows, he won't be telling anyone anything]
Though I cannot fault thee for abstaining.
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Solus though I may be here [if only on technicality] I am no Emperor.
[And he's not super interested in the logistics of trying to be, just at the moment. If only because he knows well enough that it is no easy task, and will likely only be all the more so given he knows so little about the world they have found themselves inhabiting.]
Though even if I were I would have found reason to abstain from ... this.
[Whatever it's meant to be.]
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Still, good to know Emet-Selch hasn't immediately set his eyes on... what would this be, empire number three? Not that Urianger remains a healthy degree of paranoid about what he and his colleague might actually be planning, obviously, which is part of why he continues the small talk - the other part being, as Elidibus has rightly pointed out, he needs to be able to trust himself to interact with the Paragons without immediately offering them a buffet of free Fear]
Quaint and bewildering festivities aside, thou art acclimating well enough, it seems?
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For now, however, he is content simply to talk - a fact that is at least helped somewhat by the fact that he has never minded Urianger's presence as much as some of the other Scions, at least.]
This is hardly the first time I have needed to acclimatize myself to an unfamiliar society. Nor is it too dissimilar to some I have seen, over the millennia.
[Which is to say, yes, he is. Even if he's not particularly thrilled at finding himself bereft of the magic he has long since grown accustomed to wielding.]