ataraxion | ғɪʀsᴛ - ᴛᴇxᴛ - ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ

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ғɪʀsᴛ - ᴛᴇxᴛ - ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ

So I'm actually going to do this. I don't know why, it's stupid, except I had this ex-boyfriend who used to talk about the things his psychologist spouted, like 'conscious dreaming' or something equally bollocky. How he had to learn to 'control his nightmares'. There's some bullshit about lightswitches that I wasn't really paying that much attention to, I can't stand those people. So I am consciously engaging with this obvious delusional break, which is the grandest idea I've ever had, I'm certain. I just keep thinking, what would he make of this? The psychologist. Here I am. I've sent myself to space. In space I have provided myself with a cigarette, but not a fucking lighter, so what does that mean? What does it mean that I'm asking this question to, I don't know, my subconscious as represented by the internet, which is just spectacular. I've gone down the rabbit hole through my own navel. This is sad and pathetic and why didn't my subconscious just give me a bottle of vodka, I ask you. Me. You don't need a lighter with vodka unless you've got a very particular sort of party in mind. I suppose I'm still asking me, because there isn't any you, that would be absurd.

( Ilde pulls the trigger on this post just to prove to herself that this isn't real (she is so nakedly, painfully afraid), because if this was real (is it worse if this is real, or if she really is completely mad?), she would never-- )

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Indeed so. But I meant in the sense of derailing my particular line of conversation.

[Though he's not exactly offended. He's just used to arguing semantics; it's second nature if your career path has always been firmly vested in law.]

I have no doubt that someone here possesses one. Or has found some rudimentary way to light a cigarette. Unfortunately I'm little help on that front.

I know. ( in a burst of inspiration: ) :) I'll have to soldier on. I'm Ilde.

Edited (h t m l ) 2014-02-11 23:01 (UTC)

[Oh, well. Okay then. And Yuri's not one for emotes, so she merely gets an:] I see.

Though it's remiss of me to even suggest it, I must mention that I've heard there is a bar located on the ship. Such a location may calm one's nerves, as it seems to be the universal trend.

My name is Yuri Petrov. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Bars usually have matchbooks, too. Hm. That's almost my godmother's surname. Mine is Featherstonehaugh, but you say it 'Fanshaw' because my father is British and his people are mad.

My thoughts exactly. Assuming bars in space follow the same rules as the ones on Earth.

"Almost"? [Regarding her godmother's surname, that is. As for the rest, his tone would be a little wry if this were not text.] Mad is a strong word. Prone to embellishing is perhaps a better turn of phrase.

We can but hope. Petrovskaya. Well, her maiden name was Petrovskaya Fitzroy, it's Beauchamp, now. Her mother's Russian. We could call them 'charmingly eccentric'. Daddy does.

I have no doubt you'll find company if nothing else. It cannot hurt to become familiar with the layout of the ship. [He's not very fond of bars, but if he knew of a place that had a nice hot cup of tea he'd be there in a heartbeat.]

My family tree -- as you can probably infer for yourself -- has Russian roots. And "charming eccentric" is a much more agreeable term.

I guess not.

( as hesitant as she is to start wandering about by herself. )

Do you speak the language? She taught me, when I was small, and I expanded my vocabulary a bit more than she planned so early listening to her on the phone. Charming eccentrics it is. Some of them even are.

I cannot.

[A small delay before he sends an addendum:] Or rather, I know very little; only what I've gleaned from passing studies. My mother and father were more fluent than I, but I never picked up much from either of them.

That's a shame. I think it's a wonderful language.

( less great as a country. still. )

I agree; you have my envy on the matter. Perhaps I will learn more one day. When I am no longer trapped on a space-faring vessel.

So that's something to look forward to.

If I were to find the time, yes. Ironically, I have all the time in the world now.

What do you do? Did you do.

I served as a judge in the city of Sternbild. Do you know of it?

No. I'm from Florence, but I live in London, temporarily. Where's Sternbild?

[He's a little surprised at first. Who hasn't heard of Sternbild? And then he realizes that he's on a ship with people from multiple worlds, multiple universes.]

If you've not heard of Sternbild, then you're not from my specific universe, and its location will mean little to you. It's a megalopolis, notable for its heroes.

( ... okay. right. right. this is-- yeah, okay. Ilde re-calibrates a little, mentally. this must be some of that stuff she's supposed to get used to. )

I don't think we have any of those, where I'm from.

[It's actually very normal where Yuri is from, so normal that he does not consider the oddness of it when mentioned to a stranger.]

None at all? What of individuals with unusual and varying abilities?

Not unless we're talking about the ability to watch Jeremy Kyle without losing all faith in humanity.

( for the record, she's wrong. )

[Oh man. Who, now.]

...I assume you're being facetious?

Daytime television at its lowest. "Has My Mother Had A Baby With My Husband" and "I'm A Binge Drinker And A Drug Dealer, But I'll Be A Great Dad!" were two of the ones I saw when I was home ill, once.

[Oh. Daytime TV. Can you hear the frown in his next text?]

No one should have to suffer through such programming when already feeling ill.

My uncle's housekeeper changed the channel to Countdown, eventually. (That one gives teams math and word puzzles and thirty seconds to do their best.)

That is infinitely preferable.

May I ask what it is you did before you arrived here?

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