thecapitol | open!

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Who| Carlos and YOU.
What| Carlos looks for a proper lab coat and tape recorder and also does some exploring. He has a lot of questions, and not just for direction to the marketplace.
Where| Tribute center and the streets of the Capitol. Wednesday he'll be looking for the Districts marketplace. Thursday he's just exploring.
When| Wednesday afternoon and all day Thursday of week 4.
Warnings/Notes| None for now, but on Thursday, he will be in a lab coat and talking to a little white box in his hand about the landmarks around him.

After being killed in the Arena, Carlos hadn't really wanted to go outside his assigned living space. It was a relief to be alive and animate, sure. Carlos wasn't taking that for granted. It was just that -- well, he'd never died before. Trying not to think about it wasn't working, thanks to a lifetime of aggressively critical thinking and a year of resolutely staring the horrifying in the face. He had practically trained himself to be unable to ignore the things that unsettled him the most.

How did they bring me back? he had wondered, staring down at his folded hands as he sat too-still on the bed they said was his. Did they collect my body and reanimate it? Or am I an identical copy, with memories that belong to someone else? How can I be sure that I am the same person who died in the museum? But that only led to more unanswerable questions and a heavy sense of existential dread, neither of which Carlos could quite shake.

So, when the sun came up the next morning, Carlos took a hot shower, dressed in the plainest clothes he could find and set off to explore the city. After all, a scientist should always be familiar with his surroundings and absolutely could not lose a full day to an existential crisis. The first order of business was to find himself a proper lab coat. That way, everyone would know he was a scientist. Then, he had to find a tape recorder. Even if pens and pencils weren't banned here, Carlos had honestly preferred making voice notes.

However, this city was both large and unfamiliar, and Carlos's purposeful strides soon turned to more hesitant steps as the Capitol's buildings began to tower over him. He recognized none of it, and would be asking for directions along his way for most of Wednesday.

Thursday was more relaxed: lab coat and voice recorder acquired, Carlos's goal for that day was to gain a working knowledge of the city layout. Expect to find him exploring both the broad avenues and smaller surface-streets, never really stopping to go into any of the buildings. Instead, he seems to prefer standing in front of them, talking to a small white box in his hand and acting as though this behavior is perfectly normal.

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Carlos would get to the civic questions in a moment. The more immediate question, he thought, the one that needed clearing up most, was the question of Cecil Palmer's duplicate identity. "Oh. No, I'm sorry, that was probably confusing." He gives a short half-laugh, and takes his glasses off to clean them on the front of his lab coat as he considers how best to clarify dimensional duplicates to this beautiful, civic-minded individual. "Let me see if I can explain it. Basically, there are two men named Cecil Palmer. One of them is from the Capitol. The other is from Night Vale. They are two versions of the same person, a phenomenon which I believe is due to the fact that we are not in the future, or on a distant planet that just happens to be similar to our own, but in a different universe entirely." Here he pauses to make sure that the Adonis with his halo of gold curls was following along so far, and to allow for questions.

Indeed, it was confusing, incredibly confusing, actually. Enjolras blinks back at Carlos, the disbelief evident on his face. It isn't accusatory, so much as it is befuddled, flummoxed. He doesn't think Carlos is attempting some sort of malicious or even intentional deception, but rather that the angelic scientist himself must surely be confused. Rational people, after all, did not imply the existence of duplicates. He opens his mouth and closes it again, not unlike a fish. The words escape him, his usual articulation and fluency of rhetoric failing under such assertions. It's non sequitur, the premises do not add up.

Still, he doesn't want to appear rude. At least no more so than he already has by approaching the man with the perfect dark hair and prying into his personal life. "I see," he says, though his tone undoubtedly betrays Enjolras' trepidation.

Okay, well, that just meant Carlos would have to begin at the beginning. "I see I have more explaining to do." He took a deep breath, and held up his hands. "Okay, we'll begin with the theory of parallel universes. Basically, the principle states that every time a significant choice is made, the universe bifurcates -- copies itself -- so that two worlds exist where there had previously been only one. Every thing that could possibly happen does happen, just not in the same place. For example, say I was faced with a choice: say I was in a laboratory, doing science, and I could combine chemicals A and B, or chemicals A and C. Unknown to me, chemicals A and B, when combined, cause an explosion of incredible magnitude. Chemicals A and C do not. Here, the universe splits. There is one reality, one Earth and solar system and cosmos, where I mix the safe chemicals, and I live to see another day. There is another, identical to the first in all other respects, where I die in a fiery explosion of Erlenmeyer flasks and science. Ordinarily, the people in either reality don't know that the other exists -- they can't perceive each other."

Carlos paused again, to check and see if Enjolras was following this time. Carlos's eyes were alight -- explaining multiverse theory was always exciting, especially when it was to a handsome stranger, even if that stranger was cripplingly unversed in science fiction.

Edited 2014-03-06 06:00 (UTC)

The electric street lamps that lined the roads of the Capitol were science fiction enough for Enjolras. He listened politely, of course, nodding along when it made sense, based on the beautiful man's phrasing, but very little of it was sinking in. It seemed almost Cartesian, the distrust one would have to develop under this world view, this theory, and he couldn't imagine a place or time in which something like that would be practical.

"So then you knew him. And you know him now." He repeated again, feeling very much like a daft child. "Very well, I-- I am sorry to have pried."

And he was, genuinely. The existential horror he felt that there might be two Cecil Palmers in the world (universe, existence) aside, he hadn't wanted to embarrass Carlos or otherwise overly involve himself with his personal life. Still. The idea, if he was understanding any of it correctly, any of it at all, was terrifying.

But, there was still something. Still an element (or several) which he did not understand. "If the chemicals exploded then you are dead. Does this mean that the man you truly know is dead so that his double here can live?"

"Oh, no, that was just a hypothetical example," replied Carlos, waving a perfect hand dismissively. "The choices aren't always fatal. It could be as simple as deciding which house to buy. After you make the decision, you live in one house in one universe, and another version of you lives in the other. Little differences like that. But those little differences add up, and as time goes on more and more universes are created, the multiverse expands exponentially. So sometimes, if enough divergent choices are made, you end up with civilizations and societies that are completely different from one another despite developing in the same geographical location. It's like this -- somewhere along the line, a series of choices must have been made that eventually led to the fall of the Roman Empire. According to the multiverse theory, there exists a universe where those choices were made differently, and the Roman Empire never fell, and Europe was ruled from Italy for thousands of years. That's the kind of place we're in."

At the very least, Carlos wanted to express that to Enjolras: the beautiful man had a beautiful right to know that there existed a scientific explanation for the existence of the Capitol, as well as all of the other worlds the tributes came from.

"Counter-factuals have never been a particular strong suit of mine." He replied, dismissive only because he still didn't quite get what, exactly Carlos was trying to explain. It made sense, perhaps in an abstract sort of way. The idea that simple alternate decisions could lead up to a significant change was not, in itself, insignificant. Rather it was a classic heap argument, an explosive cry for the intrinsic meaning of the insignificant and that was, on a certain level, quite appealing. The issue then became that, hypothetically, each alternating choice would have its own universe and thus never actually form a heap together with the rest of them. No singular universe could then effect change as Carlos, with his beautiful hair and gentle, lilting voice was describing.

"But I suppose that something as simple as the jacket I choose to wear on a particular day could not have such meaning. Nor could my breakfast, or the people I, as an individual, converse with."

"That's right," Carlos said. "Only significant choices create new universes. So unless your jacket turns out to be much more important than you think it is, it won't be responsible for a bifurcation."

He really wasn't sure if he was getting through to Enjolras -- although the man was stunning, Carlos had begun to suspect that Enjolras might not have the frame of reference necessary to understand the theory. Perhaps the place Enjolras had come from was responsible for that.

"...do you mind if I ask where you're from?"

He didn't exactly balk, but the abrupt turn in the conversation did catch him off guard. Enjolras blinked, mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish.

"I am from France. Paris, most recently, the south prior to that." Carlos was correct in the broad strokes of his suspicion but it was a question of when, rather than where.

"Do you suppose that we have your duplicates in Paris as well?" The question came with a certain incredulity barely restrained behind large blue eyes and beneath long golden lashes. Surely the handsome scientist with his intelligent intonations could not be suggesting something so preposterous as all that.

"Oh no, that's not it at all," said Carlos, shaking his head with a bit of a laugh. "If Cecil and I do exist in your world, which it's entirely possible we don't, we'd most likely be in the southwestern United States." Carlos was a little gratified to learn that his hypothesis about this unearthly-beautiful stranger had been correct. He was also regretting, just a little, not studying abroad in France. He'd never put much stock in the attractive-and-romantic-Frenchman stereotype, but if this man's countrymen were anything like him, well.

"Oh," he replied, a little disappointed, even despite his disbelief, that he still wasn't apparently getting it. Ignorance wasn't a natural thing to Enjolras and he didn't like feeling as though he was missing out on part of the equation. He continued to blink up politely at Carlos all the same, but he couldn't help a vague sense of irritation from eating at him.

"I am sorry, monsieur. My background is not in the sciences and I suppose that it must show. Perhaps one day you will have need of the humanities, and then I may be a better conversation partner for you. Until then, I suppose, your duplicates will continue to mystify me."

Carlos supposed it was time to cut his losses. There was a frame of reference Enjolras lacked, an inability to process counter-factuals and hypotheticals, that Carlos supposed was getting in the way of comprehension. But that was okay. Not everyone was cut out to be a scientist.

He took a breath, and let it out. "It's okay," he said. "We all have our strengths, and I have to admit I don't know the first thing about the humanities. Science has always been easier for me to understand than people," he added ruefully.

"I feel similarly about systems of government. Nations, their laws and politics have always held my interests far more than personal matters." Enjolras nodded appreciatively, blond curls bouncing in gratitude for Carlos's understanding. Their fields of study may have differed, but the troubles that came along with a laser sharp focus were ones with which he could sympathize. Simply put, Enjolras knew that feel.

"People are fickle, and unpredictable on an individual level. In groups, as in a body politic, they are disturbingly consistent. My best friend was a doctor and assured me the same could be said of them medicinally, but I suppose again that I simply never had a mind for the sciences to know what he meant."

"I think I understand," said Carlos thoughtfully, a distant look in his dark eyes. "We're all made of the same elements, aren't we? Carbon, calcium, nitrogen, water, all coming together to form muscle, and bone, and tissue...even the mechanical processes behind thought, which is a highly individualized phenomenon, look almost identical when you examine them on a cellular level. That's scientific fact."

But that was a tangent, and didn't have a whole lot to do with -- what had they been talking about?

"I'm sorry," he said, "listen to me, going off about science and all before I even know your name. I assume you know mine, Cecil must have been spreading it around by now, but I'd like to get yours, if you don't mind."

"Carlos," he said quietly, a soft confirmation of the beautiful scientist's suspicion. If he hadn't heard it from Cecil, though, Enjolras figures he'd have learned it from the Arena broadcasts anyway. There is only so long one can avoid them, after all.

"My name is Enjolras, I am a mentor for District 5." There was a specificity to the use of for and not from. While they might not have aligned completely in interests, Enjolras still found the man intelligent. Perhaps he would even be quick enough to pick up on the subtleties of the vocabulary.

A nod, confirming that the name that had been spoken in Enjolras's clear, ringing voice had been correct, and acknowledging Enjolras's District association.

"District 5, that's..." Carlos paused, brows furrowed, to think back over the list of districts and their industries. Then, he remembered, and his eyes flicked back up to meet Enjolras's radiant blue ones. "--that's power, right? They supply electricity to Panem?"

"Yes. Nuclear power, from what I understand." He blinked up at Carlos, all golden lashes and large blue eyes. "I could not tell you what nuclear power, however, only that that is what my District is known for."

Admitting the deficiency didn't sit well with him, and he moved his gaze away, not wanting to deal with Carlos' scrutiny. "Nuclear, solar, and electrical. Electricity, I have heard of, and solar power, I can extrapolate well enough from its etymology. Everything I have heard about nuclear energy I find to be quite frightening. Promethean, one might say."

"It is dangerous," admitted Carlos, sliding his hands into his pants-pockets and once again feeling the absence of his lab coat, "but not the most dangerous form of energy out there. It's usually fine, as long as it's regulated and inspected."

He paused, looking the gorgeous man over again. "You'd never heard of nuclear or solar power?" A light appeared in Carlos's dark eyes, the light of dawning understanding. "What, um -- what year was it, when you were in Paris? What was your last confirmed date?"

Edited 2014-03-28 16:18 (UTC)

Enjolras looked away, suddenly made uncomfortable by both the scrutiny of Carlos' endless brown eyes, and by the unpleasant flood of memories that came rushing back to him. It wasn't as bad as it first had been when he's arrived in Panem. He no longer smelled sulfur on the wind any time he thought the barricade, or heard musket fire and breaking glass in the distance. Rather, it was all faded now, for better or for worse.

"It was the 6th of June, 1832." He answered finally over the lump in his throat. The dispassionate words settled between them, the date the only tangible thing left of Enjolras' failed attempt at a new world. "It was March when I arrived here, but I have yet to learn the year."

"Oh, that explains it," said Carlos, with the cheer of a man who has solved a small puzzle. "I'm not sure the year number would mean much to us anyway -- after all, this may not be the same Earth we came from, or we may be so far in the future that they've stopped using A.D. to count the years."

He picks up on Enjolras's discomfort, seeing the long, lowered lashes and eyes hidden behind artfully tangled golden curls, but Carlos decides not to ask -- whatever happened wasn't Carlos's business, and he didn't know Enjolras well enough to be comfortable prying into what was clearly a personal matter.

"That is the conclusion I have arrived at as well. The people here seem confused when I tell them the system of numbering we were using and ask how it matches up. I am glad to know that you at least understood it, even if I am still some figment of the distant past to you." As soon as they appeared, the memories faded, and with each moment, Enjolras' pulse steadied and he felt less and less like guild and overwhelming sadness much consume him. It was a funny thing, really. He didn't regret his actions in the slightest, only how they'd ended up and how fantastically things had gone wrong for him and his friends.

He offered a tentative smile, something polite and reserved, but lacking the amusement customary to the expression. The handsome scientist had done nothing wrong. There was no reason to give him the impression that he had, even unintentionally. "My... One of the Tributes in my District says that we are in the 21st Century. Or at least that that is her best guess. I do not know the technology well enough to offer an opinion one way or the other, but it seems like a good enough supposition to me. I suppose it does not truly matter as long as we are stuck here."

"It's certainly possible," said Carlos to the beautiful, beautiful, beautiful Frenchman. "Assuming that technology has advanced at a more or less constant rate, the twenty-first century is a reasonable guess. However, it's dangerous to extrapolate too much from that data, since there might have been a war, or a dark age, or a period without progress. For all we know, we could be more than a thousand years into the future, and the Capitol scavenged its technology from a long-dead civilization."

He took a breath, eyes faraway, deep in thought. "For better or for worse, the only reference point in time we have right now is the District rebellion and the beginning of the Hunger Games, seventy-five years ago."

That presented an entirely new dilemma to him. Enjolras had been operating under the assumption that progress had been made steadily since the time in which he would have been living, but that was a flawed premise. The gorgeous scientist with his perfect hair and dark eyes could easily have been correct. Humanity could have stagnated, it could have destroyed and rebuilt itself, Panem and its Capitol could have risen in a century or in a millennium. There was simply no way to know.

He sighed heavily, tearing his eyes from Carlos' perfect face to study the architecture of a nearby building. It was not all so terribly foreign or futuristic, but then were the ruins of Rome so terribly unfamiliar? "Monsieur, I am afraid that what you say only calls more questions to my mind. I wish that there were some way to answer them."

"Actually, there might be a way," said Carlos, brightening up with a brilliant smile. "In my time, we had a way to tell the age of certain organic substances based on the deterioration of isotopes. If I could find a relic, a -- a book that was made before they stopped measuring time in A.D., a preserved document, anything like that -- I could find out just how far into the future we are. The only problem is," he added, face falling, "getting my hands on something like that would be tricky. If anything like that exists, it'll be valuable, and its owner probably won't want me examining it."

Isotopes trips him up, but, theoretically, Enjolras could understand, more or less, what Carlos was getting at. There was a scientific method to determining the age of objects found on archaeological excavations, of course, but that usually had more to do with understanding the histories of the cultures and societies they, more than likely, came from. He tilted his head in a soft acquiescence, blond curls cascading this way and that as he turned back again to Carlos' dark eyes and full, lush lashes. "If such a document exists at all. If one of your hypotheticals is correct and there has been some cataclysmic event, it would stand to reason that it is possible that all such artifacts have been destroyed."

His forehead furrowed, golden brows knitting together in a pensive expression. "And, I suppose that though my curiosity is quite great, there are other more pressing issues to which we should attend."

Carlos tilts his beautiful head to the side, looking at Enjolras with mild curiosity. "You mean the Capitol's plans for us," he guesses. The Arenas, the upcoming Crowning, and whatever else was in store. And, hopefully, our eventual escape from this place.

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