A.Journal

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Her last three words flutter across the inside of your mind, casting quick new shadows as they pass.

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He slides right back into his old skin.

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Unarmed, armed... high, disabled, maimed, dead -- there's nothing that could put Ramses off the job at this point.

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What they did to him is the reason why he can't speak.

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In his perennial lasciviousness, he's trying to throw a lifeline to his friend.

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Behind the jokes, there's a seriousness -- it's their one true pleasure in life.

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You can believe him or not, but the other pilots do, and they are eating their hearts out.

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Should probably start apologising right now.

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Just explain how sorry you are, find some common ground. She might even thank you for her recent career success.

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Together in-theatre again -- the sweet slosh of nostalgia in the flooded basement of your brain.

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The state of the Housing Campaign and the state of his life are one and the same.

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This is only a philosophical conversation for one of you.

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Not sarcasm. He's clearly proud of the depressing surroundings you find yourself in.

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Tempo was a consummate appreciator of the finer things in life. Reno's treating this incarnation according to the rules of the man he already knew.

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Silent treatment.

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He'd give anything to hear Tempo call him a cunt just one more time.

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No. You have HOLOCENE.

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Is it also wearing... a tiny dressing gown?

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Preparing to ram his plane of reality into yours.

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Each sentence reads as if it was rehearsed for an already-nodding audience.

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The clinical care of the descriptions is what chills you, the obsessive attention to each crew member's nuances and weaknesses.

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Eyes meet across the cabin, the same terror and wonder reflected as metal screams around them.

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And girls who want boys to leave them alone.

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Embarrassment isn't the problem. A much darker feeling is trying to claw its way into her consciousness.

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Behind her concern, a note of admiration, and a small shred of hope.

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It's all that matters.

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Frantic but resigned, exhausted by herself.

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Differences of opinion in medical practice are just the tip of the iceberg here.

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Inside the darkness of her silhouette, for a moment, you think you can make out her small dark eyes and sad, young features.

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Is it a companion that he's looking for?

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Torn between horror and desire.

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Hard to tell what monkey emotions are, but those ear twitches seem relieved.

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Or you have fundamentally misjudged the depth and nature of your friend's malaise.

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The closest thing you've had to human touch in a long time.

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But at what cost? To become the high arbiter of Human Capital, you no doubt have to trade in some of your own.

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Unclear whether he's trying to convince himself of this or you.

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A wound he is unable to sew shut.

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A long while, by the sound of it.

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He'd give nearly anything for an excuse to do just that.

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You must understand that, he means, if you're going to understand what happens later.

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The doctor's heart is a snowglobe, a thin glass shell surrounding a moment of perfect pain. You feel it in your hands now.

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A weight appears to lift from his shoulders.

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If it's a fairy tale, it's one he's either grown very tired of or never wanted to hear in the first place.

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He briefly nurtured the hope that he'd simply misheard you. Now he must confront the reality that he's actually having a conversation with you.

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You know it well -- the sensation of being formally fucked.

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Psychic defenses engaged!

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Something in him stirs. Some germ of the real doctor behind the porcelain mask.

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Paired with self-loathing.

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Wondering how long it's been since you took your medication.