So a
vague notice went up a couple days ago about attacks in the hallways and warning of mind control.
Captain Ryan’s not a big fan of mind control, despite never having been subjected to it himself. Still, that someone is running around causing trouble, yet again, and Security can’t seem to stop it, yet again, has put him in a rather grumpy mood.
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He glanced over and then asked, "How can you stare at it for so long? I always feel half sick after two minutes."
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"Fireworks," he says simply. If he thinks of them as fireworks, it never seems as much a problem.
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"Then don't watch it for so long." Simple!
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"I don't treat like a telly, either."
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"Right, right, of course," he fidgeted with his hands out in front of him from where he was sitting at a table. There was a stack of books next to him, and a cooling mug of tea.
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He looks the fellow over, noting the glasses. Curious, that. "You've been coming here a while," he says neutrally.
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George nodded, "A few months now. First time the door went away though." Hence the fidget nature and restlessness.
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If George is getting scent, there's a tinge of bitterness to that, but old. It's something Ryan's well used to by now, and not nearly so bad since his mate has access to a library of worlds.
"It'll come back, unless you're dead. Or if it really doesn't like you."
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There was a faint whiff of one, but he only paid the slightest attention to it.
"Heard it could be weeks or months though. That happen often around here?"
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If you were hoping for comfort, we're afraid that's not going to happen.
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Sometimes George seems like the last person you'd ever consider to be a wolf. Because he is.
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"Yes, I'm serious." He's eyeing the other a bit warily, now.
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"I don't make the rules," he says flatly. "And it's not as though you can't visit other worlds."
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