(Untitled)

[equivocal_means]

Characters: Alfred Bester (equivocal_means), OPEN
When: April 05-11
Where: Bester's mind. Since he's a telepath, he should be used to the idea.
Rating: PG - PG-13ish?
Summary: A perfectly normal journey in the mind of a perfectly safe and entirely stable individual.

Comments

Friday

[proudambassador]

The logo was the first thing he saw, and Londo raised an eyebrow. So this was what Mr. Bester dreamed about? "How utterly boring," he said. The white, the plainness... there was no elegance to this simplicity. There wasn't even efficiency to it, from what he could tell. It was a waste. A waste of space, a waste of white, a waste of dreams.

He began walking down the hallway, stopping to snort as he watched a video presentation. "Oh, yes, this is the place everyone should send their children, hm? Only Earthers could do such a thing to their own people. Why do we listen to them, again?" He had no idea. And in the end, it didn't really matter. What mattered was his own people. Londo continued onward, hoping for something of interest. A dancing girl would be nice, alcohol would be nicer.

Friday

[equivocal_means]

Another visitor. Not that people rummaging in his head was exactly foreign to him, but generally they were invited, occasionally they were trying to kill him, but always they were telepaths.

Whatever powers this world had, or gave people, he wanted to know how it worked. Giving mundanes the ability to go into someone else's mind? It wasn't something they'd ever been able to do, not reliably, not to any useful extent.

"Ambassador," Bester spoke up behind him, "if you wanted a tour, you should've asked."

Friday

[proudambassador]

Londo chuckled, turning. What was it Garibaldi had said about Bester managing to get behind people at the worst possible moment? At least he had not been doing anything he was ashamed of. "Mr. Bester, if I wanted a tour, it would not be of your mind. I would like to see the inner workings of someone who has more curves then you, hm? But, if you are offering, since I am here, tour guide away, my good man, tour guide away."

He clasped his hands behind his back, watching, amused. He was here, there wasn't anything he could do about it. "If there is someplace to get a drink on this tour, I would like to stop there soon."

Friday

[equivocal_means]

Bester smiled at the Centauri's response. "You should feel more grateful. People outside the Corps usually don't get to see the inside of it."

He gestured politely with one hand for Londo to follow, before starting down another one of the hallways. "As for drinks, I think that can be arranged. After all, if it's my mind, I should know where I keep things."

Friday

[proudambassador]

Londo's amusement grew. He did not much mind the telepath, he was finding. "Ah, but do they want to see the inside of it, that is the question, hm? I do not think many would include it in their travel plans. It is not that sort of a place. However, it is clean. And I like clean. There are no bugs when someplace is clean."

Without hesitation Londo followed. "Do you mean to say that you enjoy drinks? You may want to proceed with caution. I believe I am starting to doubt that you are quite the headache others on the station declared you to be, and then I might actually have to call you a friend, and I do not believe Mr. Garibaldi would like that very much. He would shoot at least one of us, I am quite sure."

Friday

[equivocal_means]

"Oh, I'm sure some would be curious, but they probably expect something far worse, and would have to leave disappointed. Curiosity can be a very morbid thing."

He seemed to know where he was going, even though there were no directions or labels of any sort, only the words in slightly differing patterns. "I enjoy a lot of things - despite rumors, we're not entirely cheerless people, Ambassador. Drinking is not left out." His tone grew a touch more amused. "And it's probably for the best that Mr. Garibaldi isn't here to find aggravation. I'd hate to be responsible for someone getting shot."

Friday

[proudambassador]

"Far worse than white everywhere, with no style, no elegance? It is a particularly human travesty, the way you decorate your buildings. Earth is not a planet I will revisit for the sights, no." Londo nodded. "Many like to find cruelty and signs that those they do not agree with are below them, and thus they can look down on them without guilt. It is the way of things, the way of Captain Sheridan, the way of Commander Ivanova. Mister Garibaldi, he shows promise. He judges, yes. But he accepts that his judgment is not always correct."

Londo didn't doubt that Bester knew where he was going. Londo was getting used to the dream thing, and Bester had to know his own mind. He hoped. "So you do have hearts after all? You do not simply exist to show up and make Captain Sheridan have an aneurysm?" Laughing, Londo nodded. "Yes, but I think if Mr. Garibaldi could find no aggravation, he would become aggravated because of it, hm? To him, the world is aggravation."

Friday

[equivocal_means]

"There's a certain style to function, isn't there? And it's hard to justify decorations to those who oversee the budget." He laughed shortly. "Oh, I don't think the command staff has many illusions of looking down on us. Looking up is the problem - they can't acknowledge their own inferiority. Mundanes never do."

He stopped at a door same as all the others, opening it into a conference room, then waited for Londo to proceed him. "We do many things that have absolutely nothing to do with Sheridan, or Babylon 5, much as it might offend them to realize that. But I think you're right about Mr. Garibaldi," he nodded seriously. "He should work on that. Too much stress isn't good for you."

Friday

[proudambassador]

Londo was forced to agree. "It can be difficult, getting those who hold the purse strings to part with funds in order to make a place more livable, but I believe it to be a worthy pursuit. One cannot be at home if the place they are in does not make them feel at home, hm?" There was that word again, mundanes. It was not a word he liked, and he knew it referred to all who weren't telepaths. "I do not have any hold over you, in your mind especially, but that word does not inspire feelings of happiness in me, no. I am not a telepath, but neither am I mundane, as far as I am concerned."

Nodding to Bester, Londo went into the room. "There are many things that do not directly involve Babylon 5, but somehow Captain Sheridan is always making it personal." He spread his hands magnanimously. "But if he worked on it, he would not be the good Mr. Garibaldi that we all know and love, now would he? The day Mr. Garibaldi is happy is the day I evacuate every Centauri off the station and advise others to save their own people as well."

Friday

[equivocal_means]

Following after, he closed the door behind himself. "Ah, but sometimes the basics do feel like home." Walking over to a cabinet, he removed two glasses and a bottle from it, setting them on a handy tray - minds were convenient like that. "I have no intention of causing you unhappiness," he responded without looking to him. "I refer mostly to humans. The Centauri aren't a priority with us, and I'd bet the feeling is mutual."

Getting the tray over to the table took some degree of balance, but he managed it. "There's a whole universe that does not involve Babylon 5. Sheridan and the others - well, I suppose I can't blame them for wanting to stay where they feel they still have control." He shook his head, almost ruefully. "But I think you're right about Mr. Garibaldi. Whatever would make him happy is probably too terrible to even consider."

Friday

[proudambassador]

"Silks and finery, that makes a place feel like home to a Centauri," Londo said with a smile. "And a comfortable bed. That is most important. And, in this city, most difficult to find. A mattress, I have found. A frame for it, no." Londo nodded. "We have telepaths, we are not concerned with ones from your world. It is much the same with any other potentially dangerous occupation, hm? We have our snipers, our assassins, and the like, we do not need to import them."

"It has become a sort of home," Londo mused. "And I suppose we shall simply have to enjoy Mr. Garibaldi's aggravation since there is no other way to take it, yes?" He eyed the bottle happily. "So what is it that you have stored here in your mind? Are you fond of a particular vintage or type, Mr. Bester?"