That's cute. [Richie flashes a grin. Big shot reporter with a little passel of acolytes, bespectacled eager beavers. It's a saccharine picture. Too bad the Storm had swept it off the mantle, like so much of their trophies and sentimental souvenirs.] If you get the jump in bright and early I'll bet you'll find a new fanclub in no time. There's not much competition for journalism, at least from what I've seen.
[The slack-jawed surprise is there, but it passes quick enough. She's on to grinding gears in a split second. Which is good, she was taking the news and implications more gracefully than a few people had. Himself included. Pardon him if the idea of Earths adjacent was a rude shock, but that kind of shit didn't fly outside of those shoddy science fiction paperbacks and anthology comics.
Except, of course, it clearly did.
The woman gives him a good yoink out of his own musings to pose a new question. Richie squints at her, uncertain.]
Which one?
[His choice is between Fritz Lang and Superman. One's a seminal flick comprised of black and white and all the art nouveau eye feasting a guy could ask for, and the other's an American institution rendered in drifting dots and inked letters. Christopher Reeves had taken up the mantle lately, putting the tragedy of his predecessor in the back of the public's minds.
But as good a time both had been in the theatre, he can't help wondering why this is the first thing she asks. Some media repeated across the worlds, that much was certain. Matt Murdock knew about Pink Floyd, and Alan Foster had recognized his Bugs Bunny impression. Talked him over his shock of finding some nutjob dressed up as the fucking Joker in a stasis pod, puzzle that one out for us, please.
His mouth twists, thumb tapping on the coffee mug handle.]
Some things repeat across the different editions of Earth, if that's what you're wondering. Most things do in fact, but I'm assuming there's slight changes in each. Outside of you making it to the new millenium and me getting shunted out before we got to party like it's 1999, that is.
no subject
[The slack-jawed surprise is there, but it passes quick enough. She's on to grinding gears in a split second. Which is good, she was taking the news and implications more gracefully than a few people had. Himself included. Pardon him if the idea of Earths adjacent was a rude shock, but that kind of shit didn't fly outside of those shoddy science fiction paperbacks and anthology comics.
Except, of course, it clearly did.
The woman gives him a good yoink out of his own musings to pose a new question. Richie squints at her, uncertain.]
Which one?
[His choice is between Fritz Lang and Superman. One's a seminal flick comprised of black and white and all the art nouveau eye feasting a guy could ask for, and the other's an American institution rendered in drifting dots and inked letters. Christopher Reeves had taken up the mantle lately, putting the tragedy of his predecessor in the back of the public's minds.
But as good a time both had been in the theatre, he can't help wondering why this is the first thing she asks. Some media repeated across the worlds, that much was certain. Matt Murdock knew about Pink Floyd, and Alan Foster had recognized his Bugs Bunny impression. Talked him over his shock of finding some nutjob dressed up as the fucking Joker in a stasis pod, puzzle that one out for us, please.
His mouth twists, thumb tapping on the coffee mug handle.]
Some things repeat across the different editions of Earth, if that's what you're wondering. Most things do in fact, but I'm assuming there's slight changes in each. Outside of you making it to the new millenium and me getting shunted out before we got to party like it's 1999, that is.