outside_omens | (no subject)

Entry tags:

famine,
pollution

(no subject)

Date: 8 August 1999
Status: Private - Pollution and Famine
Setting: Somewhere between London and Tadfield
Summary: Pollution's on the road in search of something to do.

After a few days, Pollution figured it was time to get back on the move. He could do that, of course - travel whenever he liked. When you live in alleyways and the back rooms of bars, only noticed when you want to be, you can pretty much move on at your own leisure. The thing was, he loved London. It was a wonderful city. Unfortunately, it was just too much like living at work and what he needed was a break.

So, there he was, just outside of a town he couldn't remember the name of, watching the cars go by and contemplating whether he wanted to continue hitching or walk back into town and spring for a new (well...used...generally very used) motorcycle. He could easily afford it. He'd hitched his way around America and made a pretty cheap job of travelling India and China before that, so the money he'd collected off of the odd night of bartending (when he wanted a legitimate claim to his cot in those back rooms) and the occassional kind stranger (it's amazing to find people who really do still feel sorry for the "homeless") had never really been spent on anything else.

Leaning back against a tree, he continued his internal debate during a lull in passing traffic.

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The truth was, you simply couldn't leave the humans alone anymore. You left a city for a few years, then came back and things were entirely different. Progress was moving at an amazing rate; it made returning to old haunts a little disorienting.

Famine liked cities; he liked the potential. He worked best in environments with lots of people. But he hadn't been very far outside of London for the three or four years he had been back in England, let alone before that. And he liked knowing his surroundings...besides, he hadn't had cause to ride his motorcycle for stretches longer than a few blocks in far too long. He'd missed it.

He wasn't planning on doing anything other than riding, getting to know the area again, but upon seeing the familiar figure in white, he stopped the bike by the side of the road. Raising an eyebrow curiously, he studied the young man for a few minutes before speaking dryly.

"Need a ride?"

Pollution blinked. Where most people lost in their thoughts would have jumped at the unexpected voice, particularly when it happened to be one he knew, he simply glanced up and...blinked. Then he smiled vaguely and shoved off from the tree a bit with a slight shrug.

"Possibly. If you're offering."

One thing about hitchhiking - you never expected to come across a familiar face. When you happened to, though, and the face was a relatively friendly one, you never turned them down.

Famine grinned. It was faint, not particularly pronounced, but it was a grin nonetheless. He studied Pollution for a few more seconds, eyebrow still raised - it had been a while since they'd spoken, or seen each other, he realized - then inclined his head towards his bike in a beckoning gesture.

"Hop on. Where are you going?"

"Anywhere that isn't London."

The corner of Pollution's smile twitched upwards slightly into something more of a grin as he stepped forward, eyes flicking absently over both the motocycle and the man on it. It struck him at that that the last time he'd seen Famine in more than passing had also been the last time he'd been on his own bike. Not that it mattered, of course. It was simply an odd fact. It made him rather miss it, though.

One hand brushing his hair back, the other resting lightly on Famine's shoulder, Pollution swung his leg over the seat and settled into the riding position he'd gotten far more used to over the past few years.

Famine chuckled quietly, grinning again. "Not picky, are you?" He waited for Pollution to sit, then turned to rev the engine, pulling the motorcycle out into the street again.

He drove in silence for a few minutes, distantly observing the unfamiliar sensation of not being the only person on his bike; he hadn't had a passenger for quite some time. Pestilence had hopped a ride a few times back in the day, and War had sometimes ridden along during their tours of third-world countries, although she had always preferred her own bike. But as far as he could recollect, this was the first time he'd had Pollution as a passenger.

Keeping his eyes on the road, Famine spoke, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the engine. "I didn't know you were back here...wasn't expecting you for a while. What happened to your bike?"

Pollution leaned forward slightly, gripping instinctively at Famine's hips as they pulled back onto the road. It always felt good to be on a bike again, and he grinned broadly as he ducked his head to keep the wind out of his eyes.

"I sold it when I left for Mumbai. It was pretty much spare parts by that point anyway." He shrugged slightly, though obviously no one was watching, and glanced absently at the passing scenery. "I went through my usual world tour - Amsterdam, Mumbai, Beijing, Tokyo, the cities of America. They're doing my job for me, though, so I figured I might as well just come home."

Famine shifted absently, unconsciously moving a bit further back in the seat, attempting to reorient himself to the sensation of not being alone on his bike. He nodded as Pollution talked, grinning faintly although the other Horseman wouldn't see it. "Right. Humans getting resourceful? ...or not, as the case may be," he added dryly, running a red light that no one seemed to notice.

"It's good to see you back, though," he continued, slowing down as he steered the bike away from the main roads. "War's here as well, I think, so..." He shrugged slightly, not willing to linger long on the subject of War; he wouldn't be able to avoid her for very long in the city. "You're getting a new bike soon, aren't you?"

With a slight laugh that got lost in the sound of the engine, Pollution moved one hand to brush back through his hair, ignoring the mention of War as it was made in a way that set itself up to be overlooked. He'd likely run into her in time if she was here. It was inevitable, really.

"I was actually debating whether or not I should just walk back to town and buy one when you pulled up," he replied. "I'll get one soon enough, though. I'd go mad otherwise. I don't mind staying in one place for a while but I can't stand being stuck somewhere."

"Right." Famine nodded, understanding the feeling. He often stayed in one place for a few years, but none of them could stand the feeling of being stranded. It was in their natures to be mobile. Famine himself couldn't imagine not relying on his motorcycle for transportation; it had gotten stolen a year or two ago, but he had tracked down the thief quickly and made sure that wouldn't happen again.

"If you need a ride anywhere before then, let me know," Famine added. "Or any sort of favour. I'll do what I can. It's good to be in the same place again."

Pollution grinned slightly. "I'll keep the offer in mind. Thank you."

He sighed into the wind after that, though, with the barest hint of a frown. "It's a bit strange being in the same place again, really. Considering the last time..." It hadn't really struck him at first but knowing that three of them, and doubtlessly all four, were in the area and completely capable of running into one another on a regular basis honestly was a bit disconcerting.

He'd caught glimpses of everyone in the years since that whole botched Apocalypse, maybe said a few words or gone out for "dinner," but he suddenly realised that he'd actually been making something of a subconscious effort never to settle for long near where he knew Famine or War were spending their time. DEATH, of course, was impossible to avoid if he truly wanted to find you but, otherwise, Pollution had been making it a point to stay relatively on his own - just like he always had before being promoted to the position of Horseman.

"Mmm," Famine replied thughtfully, nodding slightly. "I know what you mean." And he did, to an extent. At his basest nature, Famine was someone who worked best with large groups of people; inducing hunger in one person, after all, was hardly something to be proud of. Still, he'd always known Pollution was more solitary than any of them - with the possible exception of DEATH - and he could respect whatever it was in his nature that led him to avoid himself or War, even if he couldn't entirely understand it himself.

It had been strange, in a way, back when Pollution had replaced cheerful, sociable Pestilence. Famine hadn't minded, of course - he missed Pestilence on occasion, but Pollution had become...well, he wasn't sure what to call it, an acquaintance? a friend? - but he was sometimes struck by just how similar and different the characters of the two white Horsemen were.

After a few more minutes of travel in silence, Famine spoke again, a faint grin on his face. "How far away are you willing to go?" They hadn't been traveling very long, but it had occured to him that if Pollution was trying to stay on his own, his appearance likely wasn't entirely welcome.

Honestly, Pollution wasn't certain now why he always kept his distance. He'd wondered the same thing the last time they'd all been together, too. The closest thing he'd found to an answer was that it was easiest to be invisible when you were alone. He could do unpredictable and devestating amounts of damage simply by convincing one person to overlook something that, at the time, was almost nothing at all. One person was easy to convince. The more minds involved, the harder it got to make them see your way without them remembering your face, if not your name, when the mushroom cloud appeared.

He chewed at the inside of his lip for a moment, weighing the question and debating his answer. The entire thought process took about as long as executing a simple command on a calculator. "As far as you are. Seeing as I have no idea where I was headed in the first place and this is better than at least a dozen alternative rides, I'm not about to be picky."

Famine nodded, feeling slightly relieved for reasons he couldn't quite pin down; he attributed it to not wanting to discomfit the white Horseman. "All right." He paused, then added, "In that case, I hope you won't mind just riding for a while. I didn't have a particular destination in mind when I left London, so...I'll let you know when I think of one." He grinned again, more pronouncedly this time; the prospect of being able to ride more was a welcoming one, and he didn't mind the company.

He went quiet then, for no particular reason other than he couldn't think of anything else to ask. He was usually quite good at small talk - an essential in the business world - but his colleagues tended to inspire silence. He didn't usually enjoy talking to War, and DEATH was more than slightly intimidating; with Pollution, it was almost as if the silence were contagious. So he stayed quiet until he or Pollution could think of another topic to bring up.

"Sounds perfect." The two words got lost in the engine and the wind but Pollution didn't really care. They didn't have to be heard.

It was strange, though, the way that the conversation gave way to the bike and the road. Usually he wouldn't have minded but, for some reason, it almost felt awkward now. And the part that made the least sense about it was the fact that the reason that kept surfacing in his mind was that it was just too...comfortable.

Frowning at that, Pollution attempted to shake the oddity off and brushed his hair back from his face again. That was his one and only problem with motorcycles - they didn't work well with long hair. It was a practiced move for him, one he'd performed countless times while hitchhiking his way through the past however many years. He leaned forward so that his forehead pressed lightly against Famine's back, tightened his knees around the bike and used both hands to pull his hair back into a loose ponytail with a twist-tie he'd produced from the air.

After a moment, he sat up again, his hands returning to Famine's hips, and asked over the engine, "So how's business?"

Famine felt himself tense slightly at the touch of Pollution's forehead to his back; he tightened his grip on the handlebars of the motorcycle and focused his eyes firmly on the road until he could feel Pollution sit up. He relaxed again as the other Horseman's hands returned to his hips, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Unsure of why he'd tensed, hoping Pollution hadn't noticed, and not wanting to dwell on it, Famine seized upon the proffered conversation topic with some relief. "It's going well...always call for it in the city." He paused, then added, "I've gotten used to America, though. Completely different culture - completely different angle. It's taken me a while to get reoriented. Business is always better over there - or maybe it's just easier. Still, plenty of opportunity over here...especially in the city, like I said." He paused again, conscious of how much he'd spoken; part of it was the topic of his job, which he always enjoyed discussing, and part of it was the person to whom he was speaking. He'd always found it easy to talk to Pollution, and the atmosphere at the moment seemed unusually comfortable.

"And you?" Famine asked after a few seconds. "I've seen your work in the city, of course...seems there aren’t many places you haven't been." He allowed a faint note of admiration into his voice, as well as another slight grin.

Pollution noticed the tensing, yes, but he chose to ignore it as an act of his imagination. There wasn't any reason for it, after all. Why waste thought on it?

He listened to Famine talk and couldn't help but smile. Work, in this company, was a topic that he knew could never really run dry. It didn't hurt, of course, that Pollution found it oddly interesting, too. He couldn't really concentrate on talking shop with War, no matter how often their jobs overlapped, or really even stand to get started on the topic with DEATH. For some reason, though, Famine was different.

He laughed slightly. "Very few places I haven't been, at least. Humans are just so caught up in progress that they can't see the consequences until it's too late. They make it too easy on me, really. I mostly keep moving these days just so I don't get lazy. I keep thinking that eventually I'll actually have to work."

"A terrible thought, I'm sure," Famine replied dryly with a quiet laugh. "I was just thinking the same thing, though - about humans and their progress." He raised a hand to gesture at the surrounding area; the motorcycle's motion gave no indication that the driver had switched to driving one-handed. "I wasn't here for, what, five, six years? And already it's an entirely different country. You leave them alone for a year and they change everything." He grinned dryly, returning it his hand to the handlebars of the bike.

"Makes me almost miss the old days," he added absently. "Of course, the media's good for me, and the third-world countries aren't seeing improvement, but...there's something impersonal about the work at this level." Famine broke off with another quiet laugh, raising his hand from the handlebars again to quickly run through his hair. "I probably sound crazy, don't I," he murmured, grinning crookedly. It was a little disconcerting; within half an hour of seeing Pollution for the first time in nearly a decade, he'd said more than he usually said to War since the failed Apocalypse. He wasn't sure what it was about Pollution that made Famine's words come easily, but he found himself grateful for it...he was more pleased than he'd ever admit to have someone with whom to talk.

Pollution smiled at that, not his usual, vague smile or even a grin, but an actual smile. It was the sort of expression that signaled the fact that he'd all but let his guard down - utterly genuine but somewhat sad. And he didn't actually realise it was there, himself.

"Everyone always sounds crazy," he stated simply. "It just depends on who's listening." He chewed at the inside of his lip thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. "I used to really enjoy my job. Not just because that's what I was created to do but because it was actually, to some extent, fun. It begged for creativity. Now...the creative part is attempting to remain necessary."

Famine let out another quiet laugh at that; it was a point, and the kind of point he wouldn't really expect from anyone but Pollution. Then his expression grew thoughtful again as he nodded slowly. "I know what you mean." He glanced at the road ahead, darting his gaze briefly from side to side. "It's...progress, really. Leave humans alone long enough, they'll carve whatever suits them best out of the world around them. Can be fun to watch." He paused again, briefly, to gather his thoughts; Famine rarely spoke without thinking, without finding the best possible way to express himself.

"It's a bit strange, after living so long among humans…to see how quickly things have been changing in the past century. Almost more than they have been in the previous few. It's our job to keep up, to be constantly changing to suit the temperaments and advances of the humans around us, isn't it? I can't help feeling that, in all the progress, there's...an art, almost, to the job that's been all but lost." He broke off, shaking his head, and chuckled softly, a slightly rueful grin on his face. "Now I know I've been spending too much time with the poets," he murmured. The presence of starving artists was, after all, no coincidence. It was the part of his job Famine enjoyed most; in every era of the world, there would be idealists working to make their living from art, music, poetry. Still, their age was all but over. It was almost sad, in way; although Famine could view it as simply business he was losing, he knew it was slightly more than that.

That brought another smile, though a slightly sad one. Things were, indeed, changing very fast. The Poets? Well, they were just part of it.

"It used to be our job to cause the advances." Staring of into the scenery, Pollution's eyes grew rather distant, his mind lost on that thought for a moment before he brought himself back to reality with a shake of his head. "They used to have to keep up with us. Now they're leaving us behind. Well...some of us, anyway."

In truth, when he thought about it, perhaps it was just the two of them. DEATH was inescapable, no matter how long you managed to avoid him. War had always just ridden on the waves of anger that the world would never be rid of. But Pollution had been forced to find particular niches to work his way into because, otherwise, there was no point in keeping him around if the humans were doing everything. He had an odd feeling that Famine's work in the diet industry could be seen in much the same light. You had to find your place and fight to stay there at all costs or else the humans would do it all for you, whether they realised they were doing it or not.

It took a moment for Pollution to realise that he'd been thinking out loud. If he'd been one to be embarassed, he figured he probably would have been. As it was, he was just surprised by himself. He wasn't sure he'd ever spoke so much in the history of his existence.

Famine was thinking the same thing. Pollution was probably the only one with whom he could have had this conversation; War would laugh, more than likely, and DEATH didn't precisely lend himself to bonding. Pestilence he could talk to, he supposed, but he hadn't seen the retired Horseman in a long time. Since Famine hardly spent much time discussing his thoughts with humans, this was the first actual conversation he had had for a few years. It was somewhat ironic; he usually hid his emotions beneath dry, intelligent remarks and the hint of a smile, but the instant he saw another like him, he was immediately giving voice to the things that had been on his mind for years. Even though he preferred to stay reserved and detached for the most part, it was good to have someone with whom he could be honest, who would understand.

"We were created to be their downfall, and we've reached the point where we have to keep up with them, cater to what they need...or don't, rather," he added dryly. He shook his head slightly and sighed, watching the road before speaking again. "It's part of the job, though it's never been necessary to an extent such as this before. You stay on top of things, you change to fit human society, or you fall behind. It happened to Pestilence. It could, theoretically, happen to any of us again."

The thought of retiring far from appealed to Famine. He did enjoy the job - there was a craft to it, an art. Still, at the root of it, he couldn't imagine himself doing anything else because he had been created that way. His life was based on the job, and it was something like never having a day off. It was better than being trapped doing something he hated, he supposed. But with humans doing part of the work for him, his own existence was necessary but the root of his work a bit superfluous, and it made for restlessness.

"We were created to be their downfall," Pollution repeated, barely loud enough to be heard, "but, essentially, they're proving to be ours." He smirked a bit at that. "It might be amusing if it weren't so irritatingly depressing."

He leaned back with the wind and closed his eyes. It was almost a realief, really, being able to let go and speak freely. Perhaps that was the one true drawback to always being off on your own. When you're alone, you're alone. That's the simple long and short of it. Pollution had made a lot of "friends" in the past, of course. Even working alone, you have to deal with people. He would never see any of them again, though, and that was generally fine by him. At least his co-workers he could trust to still be there, even with the world's changes.

He blinked a bit startled, though, when it dawned on me that, thinking on it, Famine was the closest thing he had to a lasting friend.

"Pestilence didn't have to retire," he noted after a moment, looking away again.

Famine chuckled quietly. "Agreed," he murmured, watching the road without seeing it. He rarely had a chance to talk to Pollution, partially due to the latter's reclusiveness and his own reserved nature and partially due to the infrequent crossing of their paths. But he could always trust Pollution never to speak rashly, to make the sort of comment that seemed simple, but always summed up a point perfectly. Pollution spoke rarely, but Famine could always trust that when he did, it would be something worth hearing.

He frowned faintly at what Pollution said next, though. It had been a strange transition - more than sixty years ago, now - when Pestilence had retired. It was a first in their history; DEATH had watched impassively, War had regarded it with disdainful amusion, and Famine himself had regarded it as a step forward - a modernization, something that had to be done for them to keep their hold on the world. He supposed he would miss Pestilence - a few milennia of working with someone tended to make their absence rather noticeable - but it wasn't as if the retired Horseman wasn't keeping himself busy. In addition, the presence of Pollution was...well, a welcome one. It had taken some time to get used to, but Famine was somewhat surprised to note that now, he couldn't imagine reverting to the original four.

"He didn't," he finally replied, simply. "He chose to. He felt it was his time." Famine paused, then added, "Do you regret replacing him?"

Pollution laughed slightly at the question but he didn't turn his eyes back from the blur of passing scenery. "It isn't in my nature to regret."

And it wasn't. Regret wasn't a natural emotion for any of them. Whether or not to regret something was an ethical question. One thing about your entire existence being focused on the destruction of mankind - their concepts of ethics and morality were something necessarily kept beyond the scope of your reality.

After a pause, he shrugged. "I don't regret but I wonder sometimes why I exist at all. At the base of it, I'm no more than Pestilence on a material level rather than a physiological one. He destroys from the inside out and I do the same from the outside in. I'm about as original as a reflection." He furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "I wouldn't have said that so many years ago - I wouldn't even have thought it, really - but the last thing I really and truly had any hand in was nuclear weaponry and War rather plucked that industry right out of my hands. Now I'm just back to London fog and holy rivers until the next bloody Hiroshima."

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