trans_9 | Peace of mind? Yeah, right. [Open, and probably R for language.]

Entry tags:

Peace of mind? Yeah, right. [Open, and probably R for language.]

In the past few days, Dean has: been manhandled by a bunch of animated vines, been called an incestuous homosexual, nearly gotten into a fight with Blondie, nearly gotten into a fight with a giant blue horse, watched his brother try to fix his brain, gotten beaten up by a girl, and had to listen to the same Blondie and a giant wolf argue. It has not been a good week.

So Dean is wandering the ship, drinking straight from a bottle of booze, trying to unwind. By the time he reaches the sensoriums, he's feeling a bit better, so he sits down in the middle of one of them, ignoring the open door, and lets Stacy take over.

What unfolds around him is, in fact, Bobby's house. The car junkyard is off to the side of where he's sitting, and Bobby's messy house is behind him, and he's sitting on the lawn, feeling the sun shine down on him. It's nice.

So to anyone wandering by? You'll see Dean, on the grass of the lawn, soaking up the sun and occasionally sipping from his bottle.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Deer," and Geoff's been thinking about this a lot, "were never meant to fight back. And centaurs were never meant to be blue. I'm still not certain that it's not a demon. Though I don't know what a superhero is, either."

And yet he can use contractions. The worlds are full of odd wonders indeed.

"To be honest, I'm not too big on the idea of centaurs existing in the first place," mostly because Dean has a policy of not believing something unless he sees it with his own eyes first, "and how the hell do you not know what a superhero is?"

Dean looks almost incredulous. "Dude, you're on a flying meatball that's full of them."

Geoff blinks incredulously at him, well and truly confused. Superheroes? He's been surrounded by them all this time? Has he been addressing them wrong? What station is superhero? What is the proper form of address? And most importantly, "Am I? What do they look like?"

Dean's incredulous look stays firmly in place. "Okay, you've got a lot to learn, man. Lesson one, superheroes. Batman, Superman, Spider Man. Those are the three main ones. I think Superman and Spider Man are here on this ship."

Pause. "... Superheroes look like regular people, but they usually have costumes they wear when they fight evil. Like, y'know the kid with the blue armor suit that was at the meeting? Pretty sure he's a superhero."

Chaucer listens attentively, nodding away as he takes the information in. "So the superheroes are like regular heroes, then?"

"And the prince is one of them?" Jaime was obviously too young to be a normal knight, after all. There were only so many other options.

"Well, kinda. But superheroes have powers. Like, Spider Man can shoot webs from his wrists and can jump around really high and climb walls. Like a spider. And Superman has heat vision and super strength and things like that." Dean explains.

"... The prince?"

"Webs from the wrist? Heat vision? And they have not been burnt at the stake?" Geoff finds this hard to believe.

"The boy in blue armor. He seems rather too young to be anything, but he answers questions like he was born with the right to. Plus, armor with such intricate enameling could only be afforded by either the most successful of knights or royalty. And only royalty would be vain enough to actually purchase it."

Again, Dean's laughing. "Heh, it's a pretty different world in the future. We don't burn people at the stake."

Right, right, makes more sense. Dean doesn't know Jaime at all, so he can't really answer without sounding like an idiot.

"See, this is the Grand Canyon of all cultural gaps. I'm pretty sure the kid's from around my time, so I think I've got this right. People have a lot more money, in my time. Suits like that aren't made just for royalty, and actually, we don't have much royalty at all. So it's a lot different."

Dean stops to think for a moment. "What do you mean, 'answers questions like he was born with the right to'?"

"Fascinating," Geoff murmurs, "no more burnings and a lack of royalty. Then who rules? What new punishments have they created?"

Tilting his head, Geoff regards the other man, "He is young, most would consider him almost too young to know anything. Yet he speaks with such authority. He expects to be listened to. Only the foolish or powerful teach their children to speak up before their elders thus."

"The rest of us have to earn the right to our words; they believe they were born with it."

"Different people rule in different places. The place I live's got a president. And uh. Jail is the punishment for a lot of people, but sometimes there's the death penalty."

Dean half-grins. He's a bit confused, but he'll try to explain. "Like I said, it's a different world. Kids are a lot more outspoken in my time."

"This, I assume," Chaucer reasons, "would explain why there are so many children here, pretending to be adults."

"But prison and death, those are punishments that haven't changed. Maybe other things are similar as well."

Dean shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. Not my business."

"Yeah, pretty much. List off some other stuff you've got and I'll tell you if I've got 'em too."

That takes some considering. Things he has, things he doesn't, what's important enough to mention, what isn't?

"Never mind stuff we have," he decides. "Tell me," he begins, and he licks his lips in nervous thought, leaning slightly closer to squint at Dean; the answer to this is almost ridiculously important to him. "Tell me, what language are your books written in?"

"Where I'm from, English, mostly. Maybe some Spanish or French." Dean answers, stretching slightly. He notices the squinting, but doesn't say anything for now, just marks it off as an eccentric trait. Or something.

"English? Really?" The squinting just gets worse as Geoff's face splits into a wide, wide grin. It's as if Dean's given him five or six Christmases all at once.

"Truly? English?"

Chaucer will die happy now, no matter what happens.

"Yeah, English. For real." Dean repeats, chuckling at Geoff's expression. "Is it really that important?"

"Important? Of course it is!" he cries. This is, to say the least, a pet subject of Geoffrey's. "In my day, no one writes in English! It's all in French or Latin; simply ridiculous. They say that our home tongue is not poetic enough, that it is an unworthy vessel for anything of true artistic or intellectual merit."

He shakes his head. "They're wrong, of course. Which is why I write in English. Why should those who can read but do not have a second or third language be forced away from the joys of literature? But I've never been certain it would catch on."

"Huh, guess that makes sense. All the books I know are written in English, except for a few really old ones in Latin. But the stuff the public reads is in English." Dean rolls his eyes.

"Not poetic enough. Bunch of elitist assholes. Good job, dude, bet you started a trend."

"That's wonderful! Truly wonderful." He shakes his head again, his somewhat idiotic grin calming down a bit. "My patrons deserve no small amount of credit," he muses aloud. "Were it not for John's request, the Book of the Duchess would never have even existed. And Will! There was a lucky bit of publicity for all of us by the end of that, I think."

Is he smug? Yes, yes, he's definitely smug. He might gloat later, in private, will certainly write home about it; but first he must figure out how it's to be accomplished.

"Book of the Duchess?" Dean asks. He doesn't read all that much, doesn't really have time to. But he does really enjoy a good story, even likes telling them on occasion.

"M'lord patron suggested I write something for his late and much-beloved wife, God rest her," Geoff explains, looking at his hands.

He blinks, looking back up at Dean. "And so I did. It's allegorical, of course, but I think it still has its merits."

"Guess I've got some reading to do whenever I get back home, huh?" Dean says, flashing Chaucer a grin. "Sam'll look at me like I'm nuts."

So Dean can read. Chaucer's quickly gathering that most of the people here can, but it's not something he's taking for granted.

"I hear there's a library sort of place here," he offers helpfully, "they may have it."

"And this Canterbury Tales everyone accuses me of writing as well," Geoff adds thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should give it a read."

"There is?" Dean asks, looking surprised. He hadn't really explored enough, apparently. Most of his time is spent in the Med Bay, anyway.

"I don't have time back home, but I guess I gotta have something to do here, huh?" Dean shrugs. "You know where that library place is?"

"I'm unsure, I've only heard vaguely of it. But it must be somewhere nearby."

He looks around a little. "I'm sure m'lady Stacy could say where, if we were to ask."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Peace of mind? Yeah, right. [Open, and probably R for language.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject