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Time in three acts (Ficlet)
Mar. 21st, 2007 04:55 pmIt was a realisation that hit him in a bar on one of the Centauri colonies: his youth was gone, so was what was usually called a man's prime, and though he wasn't old yet, he soon would be. He had not become the one to return power to House Mollari, as his father had hoped he would, he had not become the hero he thought he'd be when dreaming with his friend Urza, and he had not become a happy writer of poetry and history living with the woman he loved, either, which had been, all too briefly, a vision of himself he had maintained for the very short time his first marriage had lasted.
Going by the age his death dream showed him, most his time was already spent. Wasted.
Londo ordered another bottle, and started an argument with the next likely candidate he could find.
***
During his first year on Babylon 5, he spent most of his time in the casino, the Dark Star or in the Zocalo. Perhaps because of all the various species around, it didn't feel as routine as it had on Centauri Prime; for the most part, he actually enjoyed himself, as he had in his younger days, and teaching young Lennier to gamble or listening to Mr. Garibaldi's stories about Mars was certainly more constructive than his so called diplomatic duties in front of the council, where he had to deliver concession after humiliating concession to the Narn.
Later, looking back, he decided he was happy then, but of course he was not aware of it at the time.
***
It was odd to realize he had not done this since his early 20s. Waiting for someone to come, knowing in his hearts he would wait in vain.
"Ambassador..." the barkeep began, making another attempt. Last year, he would have told Londo in no uncertain terms that Londo should leave now, that the bar would be closing soon. He would have brought up things like outstanding bills and station security. Station security. There was a joke. Not now, though. No, now the barkeep didn't dare more than the hint of a suggestion. There was respect and fear in his eyes. Which was, of course, what Londo had wanted. Wasn't it?
"I am not leaving," Londo said. "I am waiting for my good friend, Mr. Garibaldi."
The barkeep said nothing.
"He will come," Londo said, daring the barkeep to argue, and point out the glaringly obvious. Londo had been waiting for hours now, and even the petitioners who hoped to advance their suit by showing patience in his company had left to practice their sycophant pleas another day.
There was nothing stopping him from leaving, of course. He could return to his comfortable quarters, where there were sure to be some new messages from Centauri Prime if he needed something to fill the hours due to the inability to sleep. He was no longer a joke now, after all; no, Londo Mollari was one of the rising starts in the Centaurum. Never enough time to do all the work he had to do now, finally.
He remained where he was.
Going by the age his death dream showed him, most his time was already spent. Wasted.
Londo ordered another bottle, and started an argument with the next likely candidate he could find.
***
During his first year on Babylon 5, he spent most of his time in the casino, the Dark Star or in the Zocalo. Perhaps because of all the various species around, it didn't feel as routine as it had on Centauri Prime; for the most part, he actually enjoyed himself, as he had in his younger days, and teaching young Lennier to gamble or listening to Mr. Garibaldi's stories about Mars was certainly more constructive than his so called diplomatic duties in front of the council, where he had to deliver concession after humiliating concession to the Narn.
Later, looking back, he decided he was happy then, but of course he was not aware of it at the time.
***
It was odd to realize he had not done this since his early 20s. Waiting for someone to come, knowing in his hearts he would wait in vain.
"Ambassador..." the barkeep began, making another attempt. Last year, he would have told Londo in no uncertain terms that Londo should leave now, that the bar would be closing soon. He would have brought up things like outstanding bills and station security. Station security. There was a joke. Not now, though. No, now the barkeep didn't dare more than the hint of a suggestion. There was respect and fear in his eyes. Which was, of course, what Londo had wanted. Wasn't it?
"I am not leaving," Londo said. "I am waiting for my good friend, Mr. Garibaldi."
The barkeep said nothing.
"He will come," Londo said, daring the barkeep to argue, and point out the glaringly obvious. Londo had been waiting for hours now, and even the petitioners who hoped to advance their suit by showing patience in his company had left to practice their sycophant pleas another day.
There was nothing stopping him from leaving, of course. He could return to his comfortable quarters, where there were sure to be some new messages from Centauri Prime if he needed something to fill the hours due to the inability to sleep. He was no longer a joke now, after all; no, Londo Mollari was one of the rising starts in the Centaurum. Never enough time to do all the work he had to do now, finally.
He remained where he was.
