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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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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