i_speak_softly | Fifty-First Theory [Written/Voice/Action]

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Fifty-First Theory [Written/Voice/Action]

[This morning, instead of going for his usual run, Don settles himself at his desk in the back room. The door is open and a pencil is poked thoughtfully between his teeth. When he begins to write, it isn't filtered, but courtesy of a translation-shield, anyone trying to read the entry will see something that looks more like a Danish cryptogram than anything intelligible. It's a code Don uses for his private notes: only his brothers or an extraordinarily gifted linguist would have a hope of being able to figure it out.]

BGTVULWG - Wvlz hltwqszu bluul kgf bj svg hblfl. Bj ilkqtblf bqs q lu zu lb pvwblu WJDLUQ, gs bj zpflh bqzzal tgulf bqs zlwh, lkulf vu bj nvhbl iglu nl f q lu vg gs lt vwh.

[A little later in the morning, Don leaves the following message.]

Filtered to everyone he can think of that he would consider a friend || Unhackable

All my friends here in Luceti... would you say a few words about yourself? For my notes.

[Much later, in the evening, Don goes out for his run. Now that Shredder is gone, he's allowed to go out after dark again. He knows he doesn't have long before the nights get too cold for this, so he's going to enjoy it while he can.]

((OOC: On Ami's suggestion, Don is working on the in-game equivalent of a timeline and a CR chart.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[Even more quietly than before:] ... If... if that did happen, I... I would t-try my hardest. To... to be accomodating.

...

[But would it be the same? Would that Don even love him like this one does? He knows that multiversions can be drastically different in many minor ways... and that could easily happen here.]

... if... if the s-same happens to me... then I kn-know you would.

[He settles himself at the desk again, retrieving the journal and opening it in front of him. Before closing the drawer, he shovels some other things into it, clearing off the corner of the desk.]

Come sit.

[And Robert does so, parking himself neatly next to the turtle and settling himself at the now-somewhat-cleared corner.]

[Don chews on his pencil thoughtfully, then begins to write after 'ROBERT'.]

-nr. Ny ov gdvospbol t qwi. Xof jon nol szno v yiystfl, ioh btj nol oh eqsheo.

[... Well, on the one hand it might be a violation of privacy to ask, but on the other hand, Robert is so damn curious...]

...

May... I ask what that says?

[Don doesn't mind. He would probably tell most people what he had written about them, as long as he could do so privately. To that end, he makes very sure the journal isn't transmitting anything before he says softly:]

This is Robert. You're in love with him. I know it sounds impossible, but please give it a chance.

[And Robert has to smile softly at that. It does sound statistically unlikely, doesn't it? And yet Robert was lucky.]

... That seems... fitting, yes.

[Don turns the transmission back on, making sure Robert sees what he's doing, and answers some other replies.]

Where's yours?

My journal? [Always in one of the omnipresent lab coat's pockets. Robert fishes it out a moment later, holding it to his chest.]

... Did you want me to record something for you, perhaps...?

Something for yourself?

Ah - well, yes, it would be for myself. But about you.

... I keep letters for everyone, as well. [He says this in a way that suggests he's rewritten them dozens of times.] In... in the event something happens...

... I do hope they never have to be used, though.

[Don bites his lip and turns away. He knows he probably should, but... he never has. What could he possibly write that would make anyone feel any better?]

[Robert doesn't have anything in mind when he writes. He just writes, to pour out all those things that he may never actually say but need to get to them somehow. All the things that he hoped he would have adequate descriptors for at some point.

Still, everybody deals with it differently. Don doesn't need to write, as much as Robert would treasure it. He still treasures that one note...]

The only problem is condensing my feelings for you sufficiently...

[Don turns his journal to this, Mike's comic still on the back of it.]

You're not going to write another one of these?

Edited 2011-10-07 11:32 (UTC)

I could... but I suspect it would take several journal pages to write. [He smiles weakly at that, tracing a finger over the edge of Mike's comic, one of the few reminders of the turtle's presence in Luceti.]

... it may be what I settle on, though. A few sentences would not even be nearly enough to describe you...

[Don fishes in the desk-mess for a pen and offers it to Robert, then turns to a clean page of his journal and begins to laboriously write more of his code.]

[Taking the pen and turning to the journal himself, Robert peers down at the blank pages, trying to think of what he should write about his lover.

Words come to mind. Intelligent, wonderful, accepting, dedicated... but they aren't enough. This one might need math to best model...

... Yeah, he's scribbling out an elaborate mathematical equation now, in Terran math. In pen.]

[Don mumbles to himself and fidgets with things on the desk as he fills the page with notes. He's not particularly paying attention to what Robert is doing, aside from the fact that he's still sitting there.]

[Softly, more to himself than anything:] Don, you are certainly difficult to... model for.

... This is a rather inadequate model, as well. But I think it is the closest I can get.

[... It's a complex tangle of mathematical concepts, illustrating things like change of attraction over time, intensity of desire for and Don's qualities, like his intelligence... it looks like a mess.]

[Don reads the equation, immediately understanding what it shows.]

You didn't finish it.

[He adds another sequence of symbols, and the equation becomes a closed loop, a balanced system.]

There.

[...

This is exactly why Robert loves Don.]

... And now it is beautiful.

I would say nearly perfect.

Call it a working theory.

[Don pats Robert's knee and turns back to his notes.]

[In response, Robert peers curiously over at Don's notes.]

... Are you recording information about other people right now? Or... is it something else entirely?

[Don sighs, rubs the ridge between his eyes, and resettles his wings in an irritated gesture.]

Um... Things about people I know.

I do not wish to pry... [He trails off, awkwardly resettling himself in his chair at that. Irritating Don is not what he meant to do, not that he can entirely tell that he did it.]

... I just hope it is a successful endeavour.

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