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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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You're on a spaceship, I think you've heard a lot about the future already. But yeah, on all counts--yeah. There's two Great Wars, nothing particularly great about 'em, there's a-- what is it, like a three hour love story about the sinking ship, everyone goes t' see it even though, hey, spoilers, they all still die in the end of it. And there's more chick flicks and love stories than you know what t' do with.

[Solemnly, he heaves a sigh.]

The future, mate, is a grim dark place. But there's decent movies that get made and there's takeaway and there's some cinemas that serve beer, so it's worth it t' keep going for those alone. [He's about 97% kidding.] But, uh, Los Angeles. Right. Never made it over that way. What's the year?

Three hours. They're making films as long as three hours. [ Roy makes a soft sound, a bubbling thing at the base of his throat that's almost like a laugh. Then he shakes his head. ]

1915.

[He could tell Roy about the extended edition of The Lord of the Rings, but someone actually from The Lord of the Rings might overhear and that's, y'know, dangerous. Anyways, he's too busy grinning a bit nostalgically over that date (not that anyone can see it).]

1915. Ah, man-- see, that's a good time for it, movies are just gettin' started, everything's honest--no real Hollywood shit yet.

[ The grin makes him blink, and he cocks his head. ]

You sound like you remember it. [ Pause. ] But you don't talk like one of those Elves whose faces don't match their supposed ages.

[ He almost asks Mitchell to switch on the video- but nah, he's not curious enough for that. ]

Edited 2013-07-28 02:34 (UTC)

[Nostalgia gets the better of him sometimes--he's a good liar, he's got no choice but to be a good liar--only then he gets started on movies and things, and he forgets a little. Too used to talking to his friends, who get it.]

Ah-- yeah, no, definitely... not an elf. [What a weird thing to have to state.] I just studied films. Loads of film courses--mostly early-era stuff, y'know. 1915 and onwards.

People study films? Like they study books? [ He barks a laugh, and there's some actual humour in it. ] Now I think you're lying.

Yeah? Ask around. There's going to be some that have done film studies themselves. People'll study anything, it's practically a way of life for some of 'em.

Anyway, they start makin' movies by the hundreds. Gives you a lot more t' study.

[ There's a question that has been on the tip of his tongue for some time now, and Roy finally lets himself ask it: ]

Do you still have those guys who do stupid things for pay?

They're called stuntmen, in my time.

Uh, yeah? There's actors that'll do 'em, they go around bragging about it, but you can't expect Brad Pitt t' light himself on fire, can you.

[Not that... Roy will know who Brad Pitt is.]

Er, why?

Curiosity. [ He makes an expansive shrug. ] It's surprising. Why would anyone need stuntmen when the movies are about love instead of grand adventures?

[ Ignoring 'Brad Pitt'. He has a feeling that the man is someone like Sinclair, and though Roy knows that men like Sinclair has and will always exist, it's not nice to be reminded of it. ]

Ah, well, they put them together. Love and grand adventures. It's not a proper film unless you've got like four plotlines going.

And that's just blockbusters, there's all types--romances, romantic comedies, action, action-adventure, science fiction, cartoons, horror, thriller... shit gets complicated. They do hundreds of movies, every year.

You've said that already. [ Snorts. ] I can't imagine people going to the pictures. But maybe they made them better. Gave people voices, maybe.

[ Shrugs. ]

Voices are about the least of what they do now. Voices, explosions, monsters, pointy ears, old versions of young characters--it'd blow your mind. You ought t' get to the library, they've got loads of 'em.

You're in movies, then?

No. [ Not anymore. ] But I live in Los Angeles, and you brought up movies first.

[ He shrugs, as if to say- "I was just curious."

(Which is false. He is never 'just' curious.) ]

So just into movies. Whole city's got t' be crazy with movies around your time, I guess it's no surprise.

[A pause, as he considers something. It's a question prompted by curiosity more than any real concern--]

Do you do all right? Being here, I mean, in the future.

It looks different. There are more things, new things, but... [ Roy chuckles, softly. ]

There are things that will never change. [ Pause. His eyes flicker towards the blank screen. ]

Why?

Just-- wondering, I guess, what this place'd look like t' someone--

[Well, someone from Mitchell's original time, someone fresh out of that world. He hasn't got a concept of it--growing old with the years and the decades, one after another, being alive (or some semblance of it) as the world changed. He's always liked that part of it, when he was together enough to appreciate it.]

--to someone from your time. It's mental even to me, and I've at least seen films about this kind of shit. [A beat, and he adds, thoughtfully:] The world used t' be... small.

Funny, I would say the world is even smaller now. [ He almost feels comfortable, talking about this. It's a strange feeling, and he almost stops himself- but why should he? Why shouldn't he continue?

He shrugs. ]

We're in space. I've seen space. So it's smaller. [ Unsaid is this: That there's nowhere Roy can imagine himself going and seeing no one there; nowhere he can imagine is empty and all for his own.

It's a heavy thought. ]

Smaller? What, this ship? Ah, yeah, no--it's not small here. It's not just space. It's space, and the future, and-- like a billion other worlds, all shoved in to one ship--but that doesn't make it small. Jesus, the ship itself is bigger than some countries--relatively small countries, yeah, but still--countries.

I mean, I've seen the bloody Atlantic, that doesn't make it small. If that's the way you're measuring, you're going t' land yourself in trouble.

[ Very simply: ]

There are boundaries. Endings, already drawn and mapped out. [ Already seen. ] So it's small that way.

[ A pause, and he chuckles. ]

Maybe it's because in my time, I can look up at the skies and think, Here there be monsters, and not know for sure.

[ It has been such a long time since Roy has dreamed; since he thought of dreaming; since he wanted to.

The conversation is a strange thing. ]

[Monsters. That sobers him a moment, strips away some of his amusement. There's monsters everywhere. There's endings everywhere, there's destinies and boundaries, and space or earth, present or past, none of that changes it. You think you know the world, and then you don't.

He's silent, for a second.]

There's monsters. [There, he means there, at home, there's monsters, even in Los Angeles, even in films, even among everyday people. But he swallows, he doesn't say that.] Yeah. Maybe that's it.

That's it. [ Flat repetition. ] That's all you have to say, after blabbing on so much?

Yeah, well. That's all there is t' say about it, so yeah, guess that's it.

[It comes out a little defensively, especially after his quiet tone a second before--and before he can stop himself, he's gone on--]

There's monsters everywhere. Future, past--here. Doesn't matter. They're everywhere. And they can make it a small world.

You sound like you have some personal experience about that.. [ Idly.

Honestly, Roy doesn't care enough about most things to be shocked by them. (Movies are an exception. Children, too. Some things he cares about, no matter how hard he tries not to.) ]

I guess. Yeah.

[He huffs a laugh, a little bitter.]

And you sound like you don't care. There's nothing under your bed that scares you?

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