milliways_bar | (no subject)

Preston eyes Ray and Ludwig, "No. Dog. Don't."

Ludwig whines then begins chewing on his foot.

Preston eyes the tube, "What is it?"

"Oh- anti-inflammatory painkiller," Ray says. "Topical. I've been practicing with the training drone, and it got me square in the middle of my right hand." He holds up the offended member, which is distinctly swollen and red in places. "I'd normally go for alternating cold and heat, but it's not like it was a serious injury. At least I'm not right handed, or it'd be a little awkward."

Preston nods, then looks at Ray incredulous, "A lazer beam?"

He remembers beatings and bruises. Somehow without the feeling of compassion people forget when to stop when wacking each other with sticks, "You're dedicated."

A pause, "Have a seat?" He gestures to the empty chair

"Strictly speaking it wasn't really a laser," Ray demurs. "It's agitated gas that's been converted into a particle beam, so it's got some of the characteristics of a laser but doesn't travel nearly as fast. The homebrew drone I made from a toy helicopter did have a laser on it, but that was because we don't have blaster technology on Earth. I had to make do with what came to hand."

He shrugs. "It's part of the training. I knew what to expect going into this. Not that that makes it hurt any less, but it's something of an incentive to do better, even if I'll never be as good as the ones who've been practicing since they were old enough to walk."

He nods, and settles into the chair. "Thank you. I haven't seen you in a few days- how have things been?" That last is asked carefully; so many things could've happened..."

"Trying to decide...what to do." dapper mood damppened by Ray's question, "How to handle things. What to do in relation to my world's...difficulties or even if I want to attempt to do anything."

"Thinking about Mary."
The last part is said so quickly that Preston probably doesn't realize he said it. Or the happy sigh that accompanied it.

Ray nods. All right, that makes things a little simpler; he has a general idea of what the guy is going through. "It's a hell of a thing to have to decide," he says quietly. "An awful lot to be responsible for. I don't envy you having to make that choice..."

But this is Ray, and he has never entirely been able to keep out of possible trouble.

"...but if there's anything I can do or offer you to help you in that, whatever it might be... then I will. For whatever that's worth."

At the last part he smiles, and does not bother to try and hide it. He knows that feeling.

Preston catches the smile, embarassed, he stammers, "What? what?"

He doesn't know it's love. Of course.
"It's a choice I have to make." Preston says firmly, " To protect people-"

His children, Mary.

"...I just wish I had more of a basis to make these kind of judgements." He grimaces, "I have been trying to contact the resistence but..."

"Sorry. The last time I looked like that without knowing it, Dr. Venkman had caught me thinking about Romana. She's... very important to me."

That's a simple enough place to start.

"And, yeah, you do... because if there's one thing I've been smacked over the head with again and again in my travels, it's that once a choice presents itself to you, you have to make it. Even if you turn aside from the possible alternatives and refuse to change anything one way or another, it's still choosing." He shrugs. "Sorry. I'm getting preachy and I don't mean to be."

He thinks for a bit. "I can't offer you as much of a basis as you probably need," he says, "but I can offer you something that may be of assistance."

"I can give you history. The books haven't been burned yet, where I come from..."

"Father rewrote history." Preston says, "Because he thought that it would be far too painful for us to look to the rest of the nations that we share the world with. Because they betrayed us according to him..."

He looks to Ray, "I'd like to read history."

Ray sighs. "There's a saying in my time. You would have lost it. 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.' Maybe the other nations did betray you guys- I honestly don't know- but you need to know how people have gone wrong before so you don't do it again. And how people have gone right, so you can learn by their example."

He gives a small smile. "I can arrange that. I can bring some of the books here, or- at some point if you ever wanted to- I could take you to one of the libraries on my world. Or one of the bookstores, for that matter." A certain scene from the movie flashes through his mind. "Libraries are good, though. It's amazing how much difference a competent librarian can make in finding the book you need to read."

Go to your world? The look that Preston is affixing Ray with would be one of surprise, and confusion somewhat.

"...What is a library? exactly..." He looks at Ray apologetically, "...they were book repositories I know but aren't the managed by your archival staff?" He's confused, "Why would anyone want to visit them when you can ask for a copy to be delivered to you?"

Yeah, Ray about expected that.

"A library is a publicly maintained book repository, paid for largely by taxes on the local population but also by donations from interested individuals. They loan out books- some deliver, some don't. They offer other books that never leave the premises, for people to do research in and copy from. Most of them also have other services- computer terminals, monthly publications- musical recordings..." He smiles a little. "It's probably more convenient to order a copy and have it at home, but the big attraction of a library is that you can choose any book that catches your attention, spend some time reading it, then give it back- you don't have to commit to keeping the book. Plus, like I said, you can pick the book yourself. You learn all kinds of things that way, from finding stuff you hadn't been specifically looking for."

"They've got staff, but the essential idea of a library is a place for people to make choices for themselves about what they want to read."

choices.

"Never mind that the only copies of any books that we have are father's writings." He says, bitterly, "I wouldn't know where to begin."

Ray smiles. "That," he says, "is why I would be coming with you. You didn't honestly think I would abandon you on a trip like that, did you? I told you. I've been a stranger in a strange land more times than I care to remember. I wouldn't inflict that on anyone. I'm here to help, John."

Two seconds later, his brain catches up with his mouth and he realizes that he's probably been rude or something. A blind man could read his 'oh no, please don't tell me I said something stupid' body language.

Preston smiles, deciding to say nothing, "You sound like Partridge."

A muscle twitches in his jaw but the smile never leaves his face, "In fact, there's alot about you that reminds me of him. Willing to do whatever it takes, loyal to duty..."

He stares at the green tea suddenly, "I wish you could have known him." Feel free to tell him how introspective and emo he's being.

Ray exhales like a child whose mother overlooked a smashed lamp in the corner.

"Thank you," he says; he's seen the movie often enough to have picked up on all the important bits of that.

And then, because he has (as has been noted so many, many times before) the self-preservation instints of an eggplant, his memory flickers right back to Advanced Placement English. They made him memorize things there, you see...

"I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death..."

... and his brain returns from its temporary coffee break and starts screaming OMGWTFNKVD??? at him.

"Um," he says, very slowly and carefully. "Did I say that out loud?"

Preston's impressed, "What is that?" He cocks his head at Ray, curious, "It's...so accurate."
Beautiful would be more of a word.

He's starting to be a little envious of these people who can pull such words from their memory.

Ray exhales. Okay. Preston doesn't know that one; he's probably safe...

"We had to learn that in high school," he says. "It was in my literature textbook when I was, uh... fourteen years old. It's called "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death", by William Butler Yeats; he wrote it in 1919, after the First World War ended. Kiltartan is an old, old name for the country of Ireland."