(no subject)
Perhaps God owes us an explanation...
He'd weathered the cheerful mockery of the bookcase on more than one occasion since his arrival. On this day, feeling particularly brave, he waltzed up to the shelves with his most commanding of swaggers, said a little prayer and pulled a volume at random from the shelves.
"Book of Pythia," he murmured, taking a moment to have a little private chuckle, cracking open the spine and thumbing forcefully through the tissue-thin pages. "How very appropriate."
There he was, feet planted firmly on a planet everyone seemed dead set on calling Earth, when he knew with utmost conviction that Earth was out there somewhere, destroyed beyond habitability by nuclear holocaust. Here, the world went on. People went about their lives, scurrying around like little ants in their precious island utopia while he, Gaius Baltar, was the only one who seemed to be open to the idea that they were all well and truly frakked.
Alone in his hut in New Atlantis, a genius such as himself had nothing to do but sit around with his own thoughts. They were exhausting, even absent the statuesque angel constantly whispering in his ear. Without her, he was all alone in that head of his. It was boring, and more devastatingly, it was lonely. He felt not unlike he had those first months after the attacks... Standing apart from the rest of humanity and watching himself slowly go mad.
Snapping the book shut, filled with the kind of paranoia he hadn't felt in months, Gaius straightened his collar, looked out over the room and the people who very likely hadn't even noticed he was there, and shouted, "What are all of you staring at!"
[[The mad doctor's having one of his infamous breakdowns in the middle of the rec room. It's a minor one. He'll be just fine once he has someone to listen to other than himself. ST/LT always welcome and this is open to anyone.]]
He'd weathered the cheerful mockery of the bookcase on more than one occasion since his arrival. On this day, feeling particularly brave, he waltzed up to the shelves with his most commanding of swaggers, said a little prayer and pulled a volume at random from the shelves.
"Book of Pythia," he murmured, taking a moment to have a little private chuckle, cracking open the spine and thumbing forcefully through the tissue-thin pages. "How very appropriate."
There he was, feet planted firmly on a planet everyone seemed dead set on calling Earth, when he knew with utmost conviction that Earth was out there somewhere, destroyed beyond habitability by nuclear holocaust. Here, the world went on. People went about their lives, scurrying around like little ants in their precious island utopia while he, Gaius Baltar, was the only one who seemed to be open to the idea that they were all well and truly frakked.
Alone in his hut in New Atlantis, a genius such as himself had nothing to do but sit around with his own thoughts. They were exhausting, even absent the statuesque angel constantly whispering in his ear. Without her, he was all alone in that head of his. It was boring, and more devastatingly, it was lonely. He felt not unlike he had those first months after the attacks... Standing apart from the rest of humanity and watching himself slowly go mad.
Snapping the book shut, filled with the kind of paranoia he hadn't felt in months, Gaius straightened his collar, looked out over the room and the people who very likely hadn't even noticed he was there, and shouted, "What are all of you staring at!"
[[The mad doctor's having one of his infamous breakdowns in the middle of the rec room. It's a minor one. He'll be just fine once he has someone to listen to other than himself. ST/LT always welcome and this is open to anyone.]]