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[ When the feed switches on, Roy is sitting, as always, in his bed in the medbay. His tablet is seated on the table in front of him, and Roy has his arms folded neatly on his lap. ]

You know, I think life on a spaceship in space should be the least thing from boring. [ He pauses, and chuckles, a bitter sound. ] But then again, there's never anything to do for a guy who can't walk. It's a good thing I'm so good at entertaining myself.

[ He cracks a smile. It's an ugly expression. ]

I've been reading. Useful things, these tablets, the way they store so many books so you don't have to bug anyone else to try to bring you some while you're stuck in bed. [ Dramatic pause. ]

There's this book I read about a young man named Werther. He falls in love with a girl named Lotte, and she has the most beautiful black eyes. [ His smile softens at the edges. ] He's passionately, deeply in love with her, and he would have married her, but from their very first meeting she tells him that she's already engaged to another man, named Albert.

Werther tries, oh he tries, to be a good friend to both of them. But he loves Lotte too much, so eventually he has to go away to somewhere else. But he can't stay away for long, so he goes back to Lotte and Albert and realises they have gone and gotten themselves married. [ At this point of his narration, Roy laughs, and he turns away from the camera, looking off to the distance. ] Lotte tells Werther that she can't see him much anymore, because she's married now, you see.

"Life's blossoms are only appearances. So many pass and leave not a trace, so few of their fruits set, so few of those ripen." Or so Werther says. There's nowhere left for him to go. He can't have her; he can't kill Albert so he can have her; he can't stop loving her either. There's only one thing he can do. So Werther shoots himself in the head. [ He looks back to the camera, looks beyond it, and takes a glass of water and sips at it. ]

It's the best possible thing that could've happened to him. [ Is Roy talking about Werther anymore? He doesn't even know himself. ] If he didn't shoot himself, he'll be constantly reminded of what he can't have, everything he has lost. You see, there's nothing quite so painful than to have to keep breathing when every breath turns out to be... [ he makes a gesture in the air ] hollow.

[ A pause, and he smiles again. Changes the subject. ]

On the subject of books, I'm looking for a poem by a man named Keats. Something about a nightingale? Does anyone know it? [ He tilts his head, and gives another hollow smile. ] It won't stop bugging me.

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I'm not one for doing much of anything. [ Huge shrug. ] Comes as a consequence of my back, you know.

You can still do things.

[Somehow, saying I manage seems heartless. Bran has robotic legs, and Summer. Roy does not.]

Do they not have wheeled chairs, where you are from?

Yeah, I do. [ He turns away, staring into space again. ] I even have one here. Sort of.

[ His eyes flicker towards Bran's for a moment before he looks down. ]

Fancy that.

[Bran nods, carefully. He knows bitterness well, for someone as young as him (though of course he does not think of himself as young; he is nearly a man grown). He knows what it is to wear it as a cloak and a shield, and he knows what it is to be pitied, and to feel the shame of that. People look at cripples differently. He would not want his help to seem like pity.]

Where is it kept?

Why do you want to know?

[ The question would be casual if not for how fast it had come onto Roy's lips. ]

[He shrugs, dropping his gaze.]

If you don't know where it is, then it could be found. If you know-- then it could be brought to you.

I know where it is. [ Somewhere in the medbay, that much is clear. ] But I don't want it.

[ A soft, mirthless laugh, and he shrugs. ]

I would offer it to you, but I don't think you'd need it.

[He did, before. He remembers the shame of the wheeled chair, but how grateful he was not to be carried everywhere, like some doll or useless child. The chair helped. His robotic legs are better.]

But there is much to see on this ship.

Not from what I've heard of it.

[ That's not strictly true. Roy is just being stubborn now, clinging onto his hopelessness because it's easier than actually doing something about it. ]

You've only heard. But you haven't seen.

[He looks down, out of the video, down at Summer. The direwolf's great head is resting in his lap, and Bran buries his fingers in Summer's fur, just at his neck.]

There are the gardens. That's what I would show you first, if you would come.

You're not the first that wants me to get out of medbay to see the rest of the ship.

[ A little idly, but still with a hint of disbelief, as if he doesn't quite understand why anyone would do something like that. What they would get from it. ]

There's a boy I talked to who said he could jump up to the tall trees in one leap. I'd like to see that.

[ And now he looks almost surprised at his own words. ]

[If he presses any more, it really will seem like pity, or as if he has some design on Roy Walker--but Bran perks a little at those last words.]

Which boy? I would see that, too. I don't know of anyone that can jump so high, not unless they were truly flying and not jumping at all. [Again, he hesitates, biting at his lip.] If I knew who he was, I would ask him to show me how he jumped. And you could come, too, since you wish to see.

The best stories are the ones you hear of, not the ones you get to see. [ Roy smiles a little, bittersweet, and he turns away. ] Too much knowledge spoils a tale, Bran. You know that.

[ He has excuses aplenty. ]

Not always. I have heard stories from many people who have lived them. They know more of the story, so they can tell it better.

[He bunches his fingers in Summer's fur again, unseen.]

And you said that you wanted to see.

Did I?

[ A pause, as if he suddenly realised that he's being an asshole. (Which he did.) ]

I'm bad company anyway.

[Bran nods a little at that--maybe. There are people who are poor company--though he isn't certain that he would cast Roy Walker as one of them, not yet.]

If you want to see the trees, and the garden--then you should see them.

[ Very, very softly: ]

I don't think I should, Bran.

[ He tries to smile. ]

[Immediately:]

Why not?

[ Because it will give me hope. Because it'll make me want to see it again and again, until I know the place. Because-

He shakes his head again, but he keeps his eyes on Bran this time. ]

It just isn't. [ He pauses. ] Please.

[ Roy has no more pride left. Why should he not beg a boy? ]

[Please.

Bran ducks his head. He cannot make Roy Walker want to go to the gardens. He might bring the gardens to him, he might change his mind in small ways. But he cannot force him. He is a man grown--someone Bran would want to count as a friend, maybe, someone he would want to help--but people cannot be forced.

Summer raises his great head--his ears show in the video a little--and Bran buries his fingers in the direwolf's fur again, taking hold with a breath.]

If I came and told you of the gardens instead, would you listen?

[ Roy wants to shout; wants to tell Bran to stop trying, to stop pitying him, to stop bothering him and bothering with him, because he's clearly not worth the effort. But the words are stuck in his throat, and he flings himself back onto the bed, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes as he rubs hard enough to see stars.

(Do you see the stars now?

Yes.

He yanks himself from that road.) ]

Yeah. [ A shaky smile. ] That... That'd be nice.

[He looks up at Roy, meeting his eyes through this tiny device--the little picture of him, and he could be very far away or very very close, and he would still look the same. If that's a comfort or if it is not, Bran is not certain. But he holds tightly to Summer, and he nods, carefully--the way you might nod at something frightened, something you were unsure of.]

Then I will come and visit soon. [A little pause, and quieter still, he adds:] Thank you.

[ Roy sees the nod and he hates himself even more, because he recognises fear better than most, and what is in Bran's eyes is fear. He bites his lip, letting out an exhale - not heavy enough to be a sigh. ]

Don't thank me. [ This might have come out more brusquely than he meant, so he tries to explain, to chase away the fear in Bran's eyes in his own clumsy way. ] There's nothing to thank me for.

[Quickly, Bran shakes his head, his fingers knotting tighter in Summer's fur. The direwolf does little more than flick his ears, but he does not twitch away; he bears that grip uncomplainingly. It gives Bran a measure of strength, so he can look back at Roy Walker once more.]

Then I will not thank you. But I will be glad of your company.

[It is no lie, or empty flattery. He means what he says, small thing that it is.]

[ Small thing it might be, but with each small thing comes with a chain of its own, and a thousand tiny things end up as a thousand chains. Roy's eyes lidded heavily. ]

I'm usually bad company and even more terrible conversation.

[ But he doesn't tell Bran: you shouldn't. He's not sure why not. ]

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video- also we can handwave or go to action whatever you prefer!!

video; handwave? new jump = tag flood ;_;