1stwitness | (no subject)

"By learning to use those weapons against them in turn?" He shakes his head. "That way lies no good."

"No, I said no such thing. But it does pay to understand their strategies, and know what they have in their arsenal."

"Know your enemy. Isn't that what Sun Tzu said in the Art of War?"

"He did", Ichabod agrees, "although I doubt he was speaking of dark magic. That sort of thing has a tendency to corrupt."

"I would suspect you're right. But apparently, the librarians here don't agree."

She eyes the small reading area, and gestures to a clear path around the outer edge.

"We can get through there."

"And hope the chains hold", he says with dark humour. "I would assume they will, but..."

He'll be staying as far as possible from the books as they pass through.

"Oh, don't be such a pansy," she teases.

"Come on. I think there's a holographic section up ahead." She waits for him, and keeps her body between his and the books.

He notices, and appreciates it even it makes him feel guilty.

"...holographic?"

"Uh, right. It's a technology from my future. Coherent light, portraying actual recordings of people speaking or acting. Here."

She skims the shelves and pulls down a disc. "Hold it like this." She takes his hand and places it flat in his palm.

"Activate holo-recording."

A three-dimensional figure made of light appears on the disc, about six inches high. It's clearly not human, with long hair and beard, dark features with deep brow ridges, and a martial demeanor about him. The recitation has a certain lilt to it, as the figure holds forth, passionately, the voice low and gravelled.

"I've been told Shakespeare is better in the 'original Klingon', but I'm not sure I agree."

"...I assume that's a joke, but one I'm afraid is lost on me." He's staring at the figure. "That is a ... Klingon?"

"Yes," she grins at him.

"It's a quote from a film. And they," she indicates the figure expounding in his palm, "are from another planet. They appropriated the Bard, and claimed him as one of their own literary greats. It's really quite ridiculous."

"Well, it's a compliment to him, I suppose, that they esteemed him so highly as to want to claim him... if they were not fictional creations."

"Don't be so sure you know what's fictional and what's not, at least not here under this roof."

She turns back, skimming over the shelves again.

"You'd think the name Ichabod Crane would be unique, but -- in my world, I know of at least one other. He was a jittery, superstitious school master who was chased by the ghost of the Headless Horseman, who was most certainly someone playing a prank on him. And his mad pursuit happened more than a hundred years ago."

"You said they were from a film", he points out. "Which medium I have been introduced to, and as you have never mentioned before that extraterrestrials exist in your world..."

He's not sure what to make of the latter part, making a faintly disdainful face at the description.

"Oh they're fictional, all right. In my world."

She quirks an eyebrow at him, taking a few steps further down the aisle, silently urging him to join her.

"Are you trying to tell me that fictional characters - or what I would consider so - are among the patrons of Milliways?"

He follows, intrigued.

She shrugs, and gives him her best innocent look.

"Well? You never know with this place, do you?"

"It certainly does love to surprise us", he agrees wryly.

"That's one way to put it."

She may be thinking back to the fact that her significant other has two different incarnations running around, and only one of them really knows who she is.

She walks in silence for a bit, one hand reaching out occasionally to touch the shelf.

He falls into the mostly comfortable silence as well, trailing her footsteps.

"Has all been well with you, of late?"

"What?" She sounds surprised that he'd ask. "Oh, yes. I suppose."

She glances back to him, an apologetic smile on her face.

"I try not to think about it, but it catches me at odd moments."

"So it does", he returns, mirroring the smile with a touch of sadness. "I do know how that can go, indeed."

She just returns that look for a quiet moment.

"You're still in the midst of your troubles. Makes me feel like a bit of a fool for even talking about mine."

"Yours are no less because mine exist", he says firmly. "I would listen, if you feel a need or desire to talk."

"Yes, but mine are all dealt with for the most part. Aside from the obvious 'coming to terms with the fact that I really am dead'. It's just going to take time..."

Her voice trails off.

"And he's not really willing to discuss it. He's a man's man, and talking about these things just isn't his cup of tea, so to speak."

"I see. And he is the one with whom it would be most important to you to discuss it."