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a bumpy start! {glyphcomm + action}
You wake up to the sound of alarms and a distinct sensation of quaking, and you're quite obviously not where you're supposed to be. This room is strangely shaped, nothing you recognize, and you definitely don't remember how you got here. The room is bathed in soft red light, which might look pretty, except it's blinking in a way that you can probably guess signals danger.
There's a symbol on the back of your hand that you don't remember acquiring, either, but that's probably less important at the moment than the sound of the alarms shrieking and the prerecorded voice speaking over the intercom. It's one of those bland, agender voices, entirely too calm in tone for the message it's relaying:
WARNING
WARNING
IMPACT THREAT DETECTED
EVASIVE ACTION REQUIRED
There’s a loud crash and another violent shaking, as that impact threat collides with the ship’s hull. The warning message continues to repeat on a loop amidst the blaring of the alarm. All passengers should be conscious now, with the noise at such a high volume. Opening your cabin door reveals a nondescript hallway, with five cabin doors on each side for a total of ten on each floor; the doors to the empty cabins are unlocked and inside the cabins hold the same plain, basic furnishings as your own. Halfway into the hallway, there is a lift on one side and a set of stairs on the other.
There's a symbol on the back of your hand that you don't remember acquiring, either, but that's probably less important at the moment than the sound of the alarms shrieking and the prerecorded voice speaking over the intercom. It's one of those bland, agender voices, entirely too calm in tone for the message it's relaying:
WARNING
IMPACT THREAT DETECTED
EVASIVE ACTION REQUIRED
There’s a loud crash and another violent shaking, as that impact threat collides with the ship’s hull. The warning message continues to repeat on a loop amidst the blaring of the alarm. All passengers should be conscious now, with the noise at such a high volume. Opening your cabin door reveals a nondescript hallway, with five cabin doors on each side for a total of ten on each floor; the doors to the empty cabins are unlocked and inside the cabins hold the same plain, basic furnishings as your own. Halfway into the hallway, there is a lift on one side and a set of stairs on the other.
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"I would, actually," she admits as she keeps her senses open, tries to take in more of what's going on both in this ship and outside. But her senses are definitely not nearly as helpful as they usually would be.
"I definitely want to find out more of what's going on... after. this."
She looks over at him.
"Clara, by the way."
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"Emet-Selch."
By luck or by chance, Clara happens have one of the few things he's almost always willing to be distracted by - conversation. And conversation that isn't thinly-veiled jabs at his moral character, besides.
"Once we escape this fate? Yes, I agree. Both in regards to the ship and its apparent pilot."
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But there's curiosity at that name, as it has a certain... Kryptonian slant to it. She tries to switch languages, for all the good it does.
"Is this a language you know?"
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Whether it's name or title, he doesn't care to elucidate. It's something to call him, and that will do. That he's used it for centuries besides doesn't hurt either.
The language, on the other hand, has him raising an eyebrow.
"It's not something I've heard before, no. But I can understand it, if that's what you meant?"
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Then she looks at him.
"Did you understand all of that?"
It was a test, just not for him.
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Or at least, she is if she's trying to find something he doesn't understand. Not that he objects to the attempt, mind. But it's certainly not likely to get anywhere, either.
"Back home, there are those gifted with the ability to understand all languages, even those they wouldn't have heard before. And it would seem that still holds true here."
Which is to say, yes, he understood every word. True, he wouldn't have been able to say what language any of the ones she'd spoken had been. Much less necessarily be able to speak it himself. But understanding... that much he can certainly do.
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"Well, I was about to say that now I know something's translating our languages for us. But if you have that ability naturally..." She shrugs, "I guess I'll have to test with someone else."
A crooked smile is turned his way.
"That first language is one belonging to a lost people. Your name sounded like one of theirs."
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It is a comparatively personal question, given that they're little better than strangers at this point. Albeit strangers coming together to - presumably - save themselves from dying. But the curiosity is honestly meant, and he's hardly about to be offended if she should decide to not answer the question.
"And it would no doubt be a little more productive, yes. Although it may need to wait until we aren't in the middle of being very nearly shot down."
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"Scholar," she says, because it's the truth. Even if it isn't the whole of the truth. 'Both' would be closer to accurate, but she's not really up for admitting she's anything more than human right now. She doesn't have enough information or understand enough of what's going on around here. Once the cat's out of the bag, after all... there's no putting it back in.
"And I don't know. I've never had too much trouble with multitasking."
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Which is certainly not an insurmountable task, given the sheer number of conversations already in progress. Just one that will require a certain amount of effort, and a little questioning besides. But effort that could very well be worth the time spent on it, all the same.
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(Which he could of course, and might still do. But certainly not without at least one more comment.)
"Had I the inclination to ask, yes."
As it stands he'd be more interested in what rather than if, and that only if it proves to be the case that something is translating for them.
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Or will be, as soon as they can manage to find time that isn't while they're busy trying to avoid an unfortunate death.
"And in lieu of that, we might be down to such mundane things as our comparative places of origin."
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She frowns a little.
"Ever heard of a place called Metropolis?"
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Not that he's spent much time asking people, of course. But if he doesn't recognize the place that she happens to be from, it's certainly not unreasonable that she wouldn't recognize any of the places from his world.
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"I've never been to those worlds. Or those planets. Or those... universes?"
Can't be sure it's any of those, after all.
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Since not everyone on the star is aware of the existence of other worlds. Not enough so to care about what they call the star upon which they live, at any rate.
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"That is a very different thing, where I come from."
She doesn't want to go too heavily into it because, well, it's a little complicated in the way that incredibly simple but large things can be.
"If we're talking regions, I'm from the middle of my country, in the farmlands."
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He's not surprised, despite the curiosity in his voice. The world is one that could easily serve any of a number of uses, and though he does raise an eyebrow besides, it's as much idle curiosity as anything. The sort that doesn't really need answering.
"Garlemald was never much blessed with an abundance of farmland. It lies in the middle of a particularly mountainous portion of the continent, you see."
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As Superwoman, primarily but sometimes for the Planet.
"Guess the mountains makes sense with all the layers you're sporting. Gets cold up there, from what I've heard."
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Even if it does mean that layers - or other methods of retaining heat - are very much both necessary and the norm, when it comes to clothing. True, not all of them as opulent as his own clothes, but that's likely to be expected, or so he'd imagine.