David almost reconsidered walking into the room; he was tired and had a headache, and desperately did not want to hear any more about going home, or trying to figure out how to go home, or whether or not he thought going home was even possible.
But Bob's face was doing strange things. And he didn't feel comfortable just walking out on that.
"Okay," he said, sinking down onto the couch. "Is the sandwich bad, or is there something else going on?"
"Hmm?" Bob asks, glancing down at his sandwich and then over at David with a puzzled expression, lips tugged into a frown. After a moment he shakes his head and then looks at the screen again, nodding toward it. "I'm just watching a movie," he explains. "It's about William Shakespeare."
And that's all he offers for now, waiting a moment to see if David could follow him.
"I... see that," he said, glancing at the screen. "Saw that when it came out. It wasn't that good, but it wasn't bad enough to make you make a face like that." Which wasn't entirely fair; Bob's face hadn't really suggested that he was at all disgusted by what he saw. He had been looking--and still looked--more slightly nonplussed than anything else.
Bob's lips tug into a frown again and he sneaks a glance at David as he tries to work out just how he can word this without the conversation ending with David yelling at him.
After hesitating for awhile, he finally sucks in a quiet breath and then nods at the screen. "I've met him," he says, his voice sure even as he feels entirely unnerved. "Not Joseph Fiennes, but him. William Shakespeare. That one."
David raised a slightly interested eyebrow. "Really?" He considered this, and Bob for a moment. Weird, sure, especially to then find the film here, but it was also true that...
"Well, we also met Clarice Starling," he said, and shrugged. "Jodie Foster. Her identical twin. Whatever. The rules are different here, Bob, you know that."
"I think there's more to it than that, David," he says, still shaking his head, his voice going a little quieter. "At first, I thought maybe they only believed they're those fictional people, but now I think they really are them. But, William Shakespeare isn't really William Shakespeare, but a fictionalized version of him. I have a theory, David, that if another historically real person shows up -- someone like James Joyce or Lester Pearson or or Adolf Hitler -- I believe they'll be fictionalized versions of those people."
But Bob's face was doing strange things. And he didn't feel comfortable just walking out on that.
"Okay," he said, sinking down onto the couch. "Is the sandwich bad, or is there something else going on?"
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And that's all he offers for now, waiting a moment to see if David could follow him.
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After hesitating for awhile, he finally sucks in a quiet breath and then nods at the screen. "I've met him," he says, his voice sure even as he feels entirely unnerved. "Not Joseph Fiennes, but him. William Shakespeare. That one."
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"Well, we also met Clarice Starling," he said, and shrugged. "Jodie Foster. Her identical twin. Whatever. The rules are different here, Bob, you know that."
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