[ Me neither. They understand each other, then, to some extent at least. And it's worthy of respect that, despite Steve's home being such a horrorshow, he was still so motivated to get back to it to help his friends.
Jesus. If they'd succeeded in getting away-- or if they'd never woken up in their beds-- or, hell, if they'd never been kidnapped here in the first place-- this would have never happened to Smith. If they'd never been kidnapped in the first place, Crichton wouldn't be cooling in the morgue. The fucking Captain-- there's plenty to cricitise about the ghosts, but it all comes back to the fucking Captain.
Arthur is allergic to sitting, and paces instead. Stalks, really. There's a tension in his body that's just on this side of violence. He knows the shape of the cabin well, well enough to move about more or less unguided by his cane, which he holds more like a truncheon.
A bitter laugh. ]
Kidnapped, kidnapped. We all keep saying kidnapped, but it's more like custom-built, isn't it? We none of us actually saw those blue remembered hills. I don't know if you credit that idea any more now than you did when Smith shared it -- christ, I don't know if I do, but I'm still losing sleep over it. Ha! We're no more kidnapped than toys are to the factory that made them. Yes, I think the Captain, [ and he pronounces the title like a curse, ] could kidnap any fucking thing he pleases.
But I don't think it's that. I have a-an... unusual friend here. [ muttered to himself: ] When do I not. [ Aaand out loud for the class again, without a hint of reverence or awe: ] A demigod of death, apparently. Have you met Bash?
no subject
Jesus. If they'd succeeded in getting away-- or if they'd never woken up in their beds-- or, hell, if they'd never been kidnapped here in the first place-- this would have never happened to Smith. If they'd never been kidnapped in the first place, Crichton wouldn't be cooling in the morgue. The fucking Captain-- there's plenty to cricitise about the ghosts, but it all comes back to the fucking Captain.
Arthur is allergic to sitting, and paces instead. Stalks, really. There's a tension in his body that's just on this side of violence. He knows the shape of the cabin well, well enough to move about more or less unguided by his cane, which he holds more like a truncheon.
A bitter laugh. ]
Kidnapped, kidnapped. We all keep saying kidnapped, but it's more like custom-built, isn't it? We none of us actually saw those blue remembered hills. I don't know if you credit that idea any more now than you did when Smith shared it -- christ, I don't know if I do, but I'm still losing sleep over it. Ha! We're no more kidnapped than toys are to the factory that made them. Yes, I think the Captain, [ and he pronounces the title like a curse, ] could kidnap any fucking thing he pleases.
But I don't think it's that. I have a-an... unusual friend here. [ muttered to himself: ] When do I not. [ Aaand out loud for the class again, without a hint of reverence or awe: ] A demigod of death, apparently. Have you met Bash?