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A Day In The Life

Who: Irving Braxiatel and YOU!
When: All day
Where: All around the Barge
Warnings & Notes: None, probably. Multiple threads are welcome, and if you want it to be another place, just start your own thread or tell me. Prose-style or spam-style welcome. None of this probably has to be said any longer.

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Having a pet ensured that he got at least one meal every day so he could be sure she was properly fed. Generally, this one was his choice.

In the eternal quest for New Knowledge, he selected books by trying to find anything that wasn't in the Collection catalogue. Not so difficult here.

Sveta felt terrible. She had been up the night before, much too late, and stopped by the infirmary to work before most humans thought to be awake. It was too much trouble to sleep now. The darkness, which had never been a friend, was certainly less so now after what happened to Howie. And it was terribly difficult to sleep with eleven lamps blazing.

But the library usually presented a sanctuary for her. Not even the presence of a particularly overprotective and grumpy Dwarf deterred her.

But it seemed that this day wouldn't be too terrible. Spotting Braxiatel, she decided to be polite and walked over. "Good morning!" She could still pretend to be chipper.

Seeing Sveta, he smiled and set away the book he'd been flipping through. "Good morning, Sveta." His tone and expression were even smoother and more level than usual. It was his way of suffocating distress. "And how does the morning find you?"

"Oh, fine." It was her favorite and easiest lie. It was better than pouring her heart out to him. Or admitting a slight hangover, which she was more than a little ashamed of.

"I haven't talked to you in quite a while. I hope things have been good."

Everything will be alright. That was what she had said last night. Everything was always all right. Everybody was always fine. "This is a particularly luxurious prison ship," he replied. He could lie, but it was easier to let meaning slip away between the vague and the concrete, draining down the cracks until it was all dried up. "Did you manage to get any reading done?"

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SORRY FOR THE DELAY!

greatlightother.livejournal.com - 2011-02-16 23:56 (UTC) - Expand

Never apologise!

collector - 2011-02-17 01:15 (UTC) - Expand

Well, fine. I'm not sorry, then!

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As it rightly should be!

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There was something to be said for getting what little fresh air was immediately available. And it was a fact of universe that martinis tasted better on ship decks.

Rhade was still getting to know the Barge, and hadn't yet made it up to the deck to look around. The fact there was a deck was unnerving to say the very least, and he was tentative as he stepped out onto it. There was someone out there already, and they seemed safe enough, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to move with the utmost suspicion and care.

No overhead barriers that he could see, but this ship was entirely unlike the Andromeda. There must have been some sort of energy grid or that was being projected against a hidden barrier. Whatever it was, it held his attention for a bit before he actually decided to acknowledge Braxiatel.

"At least there's quite a view."

He glanced over at the man who had joined him, taking a moment to recall the name. Gaheris Rhade. A Nietzchean. Of the Majorum Pride and out of Morgause by Lot, if he recalled correctly. Evoking Arthurian and Biblical myths in one sentence was impressive.

He lifted his glass in greeting. "Questionable though the view may be. Still, it's as close to fresh air as wards can get without a keeper." It was not the most flattering way he'd used to refer to wardens. But then, he wasn't feeling especially favourable towards them today.

Of course a Nietzchean couldn't go without being proud that he was a Nietzchean, and in some part resenting that he was humbled as he was when placed in a position of inferiority. But Rhade was doing a damn good job of keeping his chin up about it, and doing everything in his power to put it to his advantage.

"There are parts where there's fresher air?" He strolled over to the railing, hands held behind his back to keep from rubbing where his boneblades should have been.

"The 'Admiral' certainly has a sense of humor in who he chooses to represent him. You are-?"

"Irving Braxiatel." He paired the standard greeting with one of his half-smiles, appropriately detached. "And yes. There's the Closed Ecological System by warden-access only. It's artificial, of course, but no less refreshing for it." Or perhaps he'd just gotten too used to false suns and false seasons, turning and returning on his command.

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I PROMISE HE'S NOT HITTING ON YOU BRAX.

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ARE YOU SURE? BRAX IS GETTING ALL THE GENTS LATELY...

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HIS MILKSHAKE BRIN- Oh I went and hurt myself with a mental image again.

truth_is_cold - 2011-02-15 18:34 (UTC) - Expand

And you keep spreading it to me!!

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I can't suffer alone!

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The door was open, and he was playing the choral works of Glasst quietly, but not so quietly that it didn't reach the corridor. He sat on the sofa, absently petting Chartreux as he flipped through the Folio the Doctor had gotten for him.

Choosing among the assorted things that could be done on a pool table, he had gone for making increasingly complex geometric shapes by carefully calculating angles of reflection.

While on one of his rounds skulking around the Barge, Holmes notices Mr. Braxiatel fiddling with the pool table. Intrigued, Holmes quietly lets himself in, watching for some moments before speaking. "Attempting to align the perfect shot?"

"Not an exceedingly difficult thing to accomplish in an actual game," he replies as he draws away from the table, letting his game draw itself to its natural close. He picks up the cue ball, remembering a joke about them and smiling to himself in the memory. "But putting some geometry into motion is a way to pass the idle time."

"Billiards, like chess, has an admirable elegance. Based on skill and precision rather than purest chance." Holmes walks into the room, observing the configuration Mr. Braxiatel has configured. "But then, I have little affection for card games."

With the tip of the cue, he scatters the configuration. "Card games aren't all chance." As Holmes steps in, Braxiatel looks to him. "Fancy a game?"

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He liked reading in the evening. And he was inclined to spend a bit more time in a more peaceful library than the future might allow for.

So Slater turned up to the library. Six hours late and well after Randall's shift was over. As prison libraries go, this only had the fact that he could avoid wardens in here as a comparison.

He wasn't much of a reader, frankly, but when you're stuck in prison, even a freakish space prison with not a bar in sight (though plenty of people getting themselves killed), you took it up.

So he was half-reading one and half-working on sorting. Upon seeing Brax, he eyed him to see if he's a threat, he knew he was an inmate, and apparently knew a lot about Aztec gods, but he likes hanging out in libraries too and Slater never saw him hit anybody.

He was also one of them Time Lords. Crimes against humility? Realising that staring at the bloke was going to attract attention, Slater moved on.

Braxiatel glanced up at the stranger. He wasn't sure he knew who it was. But he was looking at him, and so, out of politeness and years of training to not appear as much of a miserable recluse as he actually was, Braxiatel said, "Did you need something?"

He winced, he should have left it at a glance and moved on. "No, mate, don't worry about it," he replied, slipping a book back into its place.

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To the great annoyance of Bernice and others, he had often walked around all parts of the Collection at any time of day or night. No reason to change habits here. On his way to the deck, he amused himself by trying to guess the time-place of each inhabitant based on door alone.

It would be a bit annoying to Omega right now, as he was hoping to avoid people wandering about at this hour while he did his stargazing. He was quietly muttering with the Doctor as they worked through the calculations and theories that Five had left him in a little notepad.

He sighed after poking at a particularly complex knot in the calculations when he turned and saw Brax. He raised his hand in a little wave but didn't approach, inclined to give Brax his space, given that he doubted he was terribly inclined to talk to him.

But Braxiatel had a thing about depths and surfaces, and it's a faulty mirror that cracks under a little emotional stress. As pleasant and detached as he ever was, he walked over to Omega, half-smiling. "Good morning, Omega. I hope it finds you well?"

"Maths and stars, what else does an cosmic engineer need?" he replied with a shrug, flipping the pad shut. "And you?"

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