(no subject)
”Maybe you’re approaching this from the wrong perspective.” Lyman murmured, brushing one hand over Atton’s bedposts. Atton scowled down at his workdesk, waving a hand behind him dismissively.
“Go away. I don’t talk to visions, new policy. I’m trying to work, here.”
”Of course you are. Have you considered the messages?”
“Flawed metaphors.” Atton snapped. “You’re just confusing matters.”
“You’re confusing matters. It’s your subconscious that all of this is being filtered through.”
Atton delicately set the device down, shoved his chair back, and swung the nearby blackboard around. A spotlight came down on him, casting the rest of the room in darkness.
“Let’s recap.”
Something tickled at his ear. Quiet orchestral music.
“The engine of a tram. The heart of a machine - In the purely literal sense that it pumps out energy, right?” Atton scribbled across the board. “Kate doesn’t have heart problems, she’s not going to be spontaneously collapsing from heart disease anytime soon, so either somebody here is an idiot or my visions are tending along the sappiest fairytale lines possible.”
Lyman opened his mouth to say something. Atton cut him off.
Viciously, “Spotlight’s on me, kriff off. Let’s assume ...” Scribbling, “... that it’s sappy fairytale. The heart is some kind of representation for everything good and strong about somebody, rather than a piece of muscle. Something’s winding there. So, we have something long enough to wind, presumably alive enough to do so on its own, which leads neatly onto ... snakes.”
The music struck a long, quivering chord. Atton set one foot up on the chair. Slowly, quietly, “Snakes. I don’t know. Clan symbol, maybe. Poison - poison. Something corrupting. Maybe she really is suffering from heart disease after all.”
Lyman looked bemused at him, adjusting his glasses. Atton frowned at him, sweeping over, the spotlight shuddering along with him, and snatching the glasses off.
“Glasses. Masks. Things that conceal people’s eyes, and faces.”
”Subterfuge.”
“Shut up, subconscious. Something’s being hidden. Something important, ‘cause I can read people’s expressions like a book, a lot of the time. Mandalore, too, significant or just because of his mask?”
Lyman raised an eyebrow, quietly, striding out into the audience’s chairs. Atton shook his head at him, swung back to the blackboard to resume scribbling.
“War. Metal, cold, hard. Reinvention - Flawed reinvention, because he’s still the same person under that mask. Disguise. Loyalty.”
”Some are correct, maybe. Some are not.” Lyman. remarked, mildly, settling down in a seat at the back.
“Guppy. Guppy - He’s not masked. He’s not exactly a master liar, he’s never tried to reinvent himself.”
”Consider profession, perhaps. It’s a defining factor.”
“Maybe. Doctor, then. That still doesn’t fit. Clinical? Experiments? Disease - The heart disease theory becomes more likely by the moment. He was suggesting electroshock therapy, so corruption.”
”It’s possible.”
“It isn’t. It’s a weak argument, admit it.”
”Let’s not forget the reality here, this is all just happening in your head. I can’t exactly disagree with you.”
Another sharp rise in the music. Atton ran a hand through his hair.
“Let’s forget people. Brain surgery - Something needs to be corrected.”
”In the brain?”
“Or in the eyes. I wouldn’t trust Mandalore with my medical needs. Glass eyes. Is there a computer here?”
”They’re regular features of a lot of theatres.” Mildly.
“But probably not this one. Okay. Glass, windows, stained glass, because eyes are coloured. Earth churches. Kate and Will are both religious.”
”I think we’re getting into desperation territory here. You’re finding connotations that you didn’t intend - Would you honestly think of Earth churches to factor into your visions?”
Atton grumbled.
“Fine. Windows, then. Windows to the soul?”
”It’s very cheesy.”
“We passed cheesy when we started talking about hearts.”
”Ah, I see. Like how we passed insane when you started imagining a theatre, with a blackboard and ... Is that opera music?”
“In a crescendo. Don’t worry, its only significance is how frustrated I’m getting with you. Something’s wrong with Kate’s windows?”
”Double-glazing?”
“I’ll do without the sarcasm, thanks. This doesn’t make any sense, let’s move on. A nerf driving a tram. Let’s move on again. A crash - Pretty clear, there. Disaster, mass death, so on, so forth. Somebody banging at the doors.”
”Something needs to get out?”
“Something needs to get in. Without seeing who they were it’s impossible to say why.”
The music stopped. Abruptly. Lyman peered about, vaguely surprised.
“This makes no sense.”
Another spotlight came down, illuminating Kate on the other side of the stage. Atton hadn’t seen her before.
Kate turned, slowly, murmured something in a dialect that Atton couldn’t understand.
”Ban eil mi ‘tuigsaina.” Lyman muttered in response.
Kate’s spotlight faded out. Another came down, nearby, on a blank space.
With a dull creak, the theatre broke apart, leaving Atton back in his room, standing by his workdesk.
”Well.” Lyman remarked as he faded away. ”I thought that was super-helpful.”
“Go away. I don’t talk to visions, new policy. I’m trying to work, here.”
”Of course you are. Have you considered the messages?”
“Flawed metaphors.” Atton snapped. “You’re just confusing matters.”
“You’re confusing matters. It’s your subconscious that all of this is being filtered through.”
Atton delicately set the device down, shoved his chair back, and swung the nearby blackboard around. A spotlight came down on him, casting the rest of the room in darkness.
“Let’s recap.”
Something tickled at his ear. Quiet orchestral music.
“The engine of a tram. The heart of a machine - In the purely literal sense that it pumps out energy, right?” Atton scribbled across the board. “Kate doesn’t have heart problems, she’s not going to be spontaneously collapsing from heart disease anytime soon, so either somebody here is an idiot or my visions are tending along the sappiest fairytale lines possible.”
Lyman opened his mouth to say something. Atton cut him off.
Viciously, “Spotlight’s on me, kriff off. Let’s assume ...” Scribbling, “... that it’s sappy fairytale. The heart is some kind of representation for everything good and strong about somebody, rather than a piece of muscle. Something’s winding there. So, we have something long enough to wind, presumably alive enough to do so on its own, which leads neatly onto ... snakes.”
The music struck a long, quivering chord. Atton set one foot up on the chair. Slowly, quietly, “Snakes. I don’t know. Clan symbol, maybe. Poison - poison. Something corrupting. Maybe she really is suffering from heart disease after all.”
Lyman looked bemused at him, adjusting his glasses. Atton frowned at him, sweeping over, the spotlight shuddering along with him, and snatching the glasses off.
“Glasses. Masks. Things that conceal people’s eyes, and faces.”
”Subterfuge.”
“Shut up, subconscious. Something’s being hidden. Something important, ‘cause I can read people’s expressions like a book, a lot of the time. Mandalore, too, significant or just because of his mask?”
Lyman raised an eyebrow, quietly, striding out into the audience’s chairs. Atton shook his head at him, swung back to the blackboard to resume scribbling.
“War. Metal, cold, hard. Reinvention - Flawed reinvention, because he’s still the same person under that mask. Disguise. Loyalty.”
”Some are correct, maybe. Some are not.” Lyman. remarked, mildly, settling down in a seat at the back.
“Guppy. Guppy - He’s not masked. He’s not exactly a master liar, he’s never tried to reinvent himself.”
”Consider profession, perhaps. It’s a defining factor.”
“Maybe. Doctor, then. That still doesn’t fit. Clinical? Experiments? Disease - The heart disease theory becomes more likely by the moment. He was suggesting electroshock therapy, so corruption.”
”It’s possible.”
“It isn’t. It’s a weak argument, admit it.”
”Let’s not forget the reality here, this is all just happening in your head. I can’t exactly disagree with you.”
Another sharp rise in the music. Atton ran a hand through his hair.
“Let’s forget people. Brain surgery - Something needs to be corrected.”
”In the brain?”
“Or in the eyes. I wouldn’t trust Mandalore with my medical needs. Glass eyes. Is there a computer here?”
”They’re regular features of a lot of theatres.” Mildly.
“But probably not this one. Okay. Glass, windows, stained glass, because eyes are coloured. Earth churches. Kate and Will are both religious.”
”I think we’re getting into desperation territory here. You’re finding connotations that you didn’t intend - Would you honestly think of Earth churches to factor into your visions?”
Atton grumbled.
“Fine. Windows, then. Windows to the soul?”
”It’s very cheesy.”
“We passed cheesy when we started talking about hearts.”
”Ah, I see. Like how we passed insane when you started imagining a theatre, with a blackboard and ... Is that opera music?”
“In a crescendo. Don’t worry, its only significance is how frustrated I’m getting with you. Something’s wrong with Kate’s windows?”
”Double-glazing?”
“I’ll do without the sarcasm, thanks. This doesn’t make any sense, let’s move on. A nerf driving a tram. Let’s move on again. A crash - Pretty clear, there. Disaster, mass death, so on, so forth. Somebody banging at the doors.”
”Something needs to get out?”
“Something needs to get in. Without seeing who they were it’s impossible to say why.”
The music stopped. Abruptly. Lyman peered about, vaguely surprised.
“This makes no sense.”
Another spotlight came down, illuminating Kate on the other side of the stage. Atton hadn’t seen her before.
Kate turned, slowly, murmured something in a dialect that Atton couldn’t understand.
”Ban eil mi ‘tuigsaina.” Lyman muttered in response.
Kate’s spotlight faded out. Another came down, nearby, on a blank space.
With a dull creak, the theatre broke apart, leaving Atton back in his room, standing by his workdesk.
”Well.” Lyman remarked as he faded away. ”I thought that was super-helpful.”