milliways_bar | (no subject)

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John Preston inna bar. Mulling over the state of affairs in his world with a cup of tea, petting Ludwig. Ludwig, for his part, is sitting idly by watching people.

Someone might wanna tell him to eat something.

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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."

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