trans_9 | The Funeral

Everyone's had a chance to recover somewhat, to stop reeling or at least try. Now that people are at least somewhat closer to being on balance again, it's time to say goodbye.

There is a message throughout the ship, one tinged with sadness:

||Attention, crew. Those who wish to attend the funeral services for the crew-mates that died during the conflict should report to Obs Deck immediately. Services will begin in approximately a thirty Earth standard minutes.||

The floor of the Obs Deck shifts to allow lifts to come up through it. Tubes connect from the space there to the hatches that suddenly appear between the windows, giving something of an impression that the closed caskets are missiles about to be shot through a missile tube. The funeral pods themselves have clear round domes in them--some of the people that died more peacefully are visible, looking as if they're sleeping. Most, however, were killed in a way that would make them appear less than presentable, so in their funeral pods only the vaguest outlines of humanoid forms can be made out. Some have entirely closed pods or were vaporized and thus, only have a funeral pod there to represent them.

The ship lurches lightly as it comes to a stop to a random universe, but where it's stopped at is beautiful to behold. They are in the middle of a nebula, surrounded by red and blue plasma. Several new stars burn brightly, here, and they are stopped near one, just short of being sucked in by its gravitational pull. It's a red dwarf, small and faint and new, but its light is welcoming. Here, where the very fires of creation burn, and stars are born is the last place the dead will be sent.

[ooc: Instruction thingies]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From his position on the fringes of the crowd, Billy watches the final pod rocket into the fiery star. B5. The courageous soul he had never gotten to know as a friend---only as a coworker, and one of the best there was.

Brainy's eulogy had ripped through his fragile composure like a knife twisting through his ribcage. The other was absolutely right---B5 was a hero because he'd been more than the sum of his parts, reached beyond arbitrary limits. And maybe, somehow, they could all do that too. But not right now, not when sorrow hadn't yet released him from its grasp. The guilt had subsided, with plenty of assistance from the crew's advice, but nothing could dampen the pain of loss except release.

The more his facial muscles twist to keep the tears at bay, the more difficult it becomes to breathe. Eventually he chokes on the air, involuntarily releasing a soft sob. Then another. Soon, much to his later embarrassment, Billy is crying, holding his long-since useless glasses loosely in one hand and hiding his eyes with the other.

After Jamie has finished playing, he deflates the bagpipes and tucks them under one arm - then moves near the fringes of the crowd to watch B5's pod as it takes its final journey. He didn't really get to know B5 as well as some of the others, but he had found, from their brief interaction, that he actually liked the cyborg. And he regrets that now, he will not have the chance to get to know him better.

At that soft sob, Jamie glances over, his expression sympathetic. His hand reaches out to rest on Billy's shoulder, if the other man doesn't mind the gesture. Even if that's rejected, he'll offer as much comfort as he can - but for the moment, he keeps silent to properly allow Billy his grief.

Billy was quite comfortable being left to mourn alone, and the tiny portion of his brain not consumed by grief demands that he move himself somewhere private. He was loath to invite more of the bullying that had plagued his childhood and young teen years, but he'd already hopelessly lost the battle here.

When a hand comes into contact with his shoulder, his head turns automatically, expecting and hoping to see Adam. He can't see very well without his glasses, and it takes him a moment to recognize Jamie. Embarrassed that his new acquaintance has seen him in this state, he lowers his head but makes no move to dislodge the hand.

"I'm sorry." Cue Billy scrubbing at his eyes uselessly, attempting to squeeze out a coherent sentence around his tight throat. "Your playing was wonderful."

"Dinna be sorry. There's no shame in tears when ye shed them for someone ye cared about." Jamie lets his hand fall back to his side, then. "And thank ye."

The bagpipes shift a little, and he automatically moves them into a slightly better position. "I know ye would likely rather be alone, so I'll no bother ye longer. It's just...ye looked like ye could use a friend."

Almost involuntarily, Billy grasps Jamie's arm before he can leave. "No, you're not bothering me. You can stay." Deep down, he knows that Jamie's absolutely correct about the need for a friend. He removes his hand and wipes at his eyes again.

Finally, the grief slows enough that he can replace his glasses on his face. It's good to be able to see again. Billy feels he should say something, but..."I'm at a loss for words," he admits.

While Jamie wants to help, he's still not entirely sure what else he can do - the hand on the shoulder was pretty much about as far in advance as he had thought things through. But he does stay, not saying anything else while Billy collects himself. Finally, when the other man does speak, he nods.

"I understand." He's at a bit of a loss, himself. Finally, though, he has the glimmerings of an idea. "Ye worked with him, aye? I only met him the once. Ye could...tell me about him, if ye like?" He's referring to B5, and although he doesn't use his name, he does turn and glance out the window for a moment before looking back at Billy.

Billy might not say it in so many words, but he is immensely grateful for the support. He follows Jamie's gaze out the window and understands what's being asked and offered.

"Brainy told you far more about his nature than I could---in all honesty, I don't know him much better than you do. We never knew each other well---my interactions with them primarily involved Brainy, though B5 interjected several times. When we happened to work simultaneously in the laboratories, he was always excessively helpful. His exceptional skill and sound advice was critical to many of our successes."

If B5 wasn't that important emotionally, then why had he cried? That was the question now. "I...mourn for the loss of someone who would have likely become a friend," he realizes as the words emerge. A lost chance that can never be reclaimed.

"Aye," Jamie drops his gaze, seemingly engrossed now in the study of the chanter attached to the pipes. But really, he's trying to find the words that he wants to say.

"I would have liked to get to know him better. I've...had some bad experiences with cyborgs, but he was different. I dinna know if we would have become friends, though." But Jamie would have liked to try.

"It'll not be the same, without him here, I think."

The Funeral

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