What are you waiting for?
Feb. 3rd, 2007 04:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
londo_mollariThat vile torture of men, otherwise known as Dr. Stephen Franklin, inflicted the dreary decorations and drearier atmosphere of his medlab on me again. Now, you might argue that it is a little price to pay for his healing services. After all, there are worse offenses to one's sense of aesthetics. (Just visit the council chamber on a daily basis.) But you know, I asked the good doctor several times why it is not possible to pay, as the human expression goes, house calls. My suite is not exactly the Royal Palace, but it is certainly as pleasantly looking as it is possible to arrange within this steel box we call a space station. Besides, while my enemies will undoubtedly accuse me of everything from warmongering to kicking their pets, they cannot accuse me of thrift, or lacking hospitality. If Dr. Franklin were to arrive at my quarters, he would be wined and dined as befits a guest of the great Centauri Republic, yes?
More to the point, I would be waiting in comfort and not in the sight of everybody and their Pakh'ma'ra. Everbody would be happier, including the other visitors and inhabitants of this medlab, who seem to object to me yelling for Dr. Franklin at irregular intervals. Well, rather than complain, they should join in my tactical effort to convince the good doctor that housecalls are the way of the future, but do they follow this logical course? No, they do not.
"Dr. FRANKLIN!"
Some fool of a Drazi has just asked why I am sitting here. Now, if I were in the habit to divulge secrets without a reasonable incentive or bribery, I would hardly be a politician. Bah.
"DR. FRANKLIN!"
If that Drazi were not such a dimwitted imbecile, he would not try to annoy me by asking whether someone managed to poison me again. To allow oneself to be poisoned once is a misfortune; twice would speak of carelessness. Though I might feel reduced to improvise a heart attack and whisper as loudly as I can "I am poisoned" if this induces Dr. Franklin to finally stop doing whatever is distracting him from the task of ending my torment and to appear. No, the truth, which I shall confide only to you, my trusted journal, is this: last night, the Goddess Li saw it fit to punish me for my long neglect of her service. Here I was, at last in circumstances where I could thoroughly enjoy the charms of a most enthralling companion, having put the cares of office and destiny away for the moment, and then what happens?
Well. Let us just say that I need Dr. Franklin to tell me whether it is possible a man's... attributes... can suffer from depression in his old age or whether this is, as I suspect, the result of some carefully planned revenge by those techonmages whom I made the ever more regrettable mistake of addressing.
"DR. FRANKLIN!!!!!!!"
More to the point, I would be waiting in comfort and not in the sight of everybody and their Pakh'ma'ra. Everbody would be happier, including the other visitors and inhabitants of this medlab, who seem to object to me yelling for Dr. Franklin at irregular intervals. Well, rather than complain, they should join in my tactical effort to convince the good doctor that housecalls are the way of the future, but do they follow this logical course? No, they do not.
"Dr. FRANKLIN!"
Some fool of a Drazi has just asked why I am sitting here. Now, if I were in the habit to divulge secrets without a reasonable incentive or bribery, I would hardly be a politician. Bah.
"DR. FRANKLIN!"
If that Drazi were not such a dimwitted imbecile, he would not try to annoy me by asking whether someone managed to poison me again. To allow oneself to be poisoned once is a misfortune; twice would speak of carelessness. Though I might feel reduced to improvise a heart attack and whisper as loudly as I can "I am poisoned" if this induces Dr. Franklin to finally stop doing whatever is distracting him from the task of ending my torment and to appear. No, the truth, which I shall confide only to you, my trusted journal, is this: last night, the Goddess Li saw it fit to punish me for my long neglect of her service. Here I was, at last in circumstances where I could thoroughly enjoy the charms of a most enthralling companion, having put the cares of office and destiny away for the moment, and then what happens?
Well. Let us just say that I need Dr. Franklin to tell me whether it is possible a man's... attributes... can suffer from depression in his old age or whether this is, as I suspect, the result of some carefully planned revenge by those techonmages whom I made the ever more regrettable mistake of addressing.
"DR. FRANKLIN!!!!!!!"
