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What does comfort mean to you?
Jun. 2nd, 2006 11:36 amIn the days when the humans went through yet another uprising on Mars, thereby illustrating to the rest of the galaxy why their quaint claim about the perfection of "democracy" was somewhat hollow, I found our Mr. Garibaldi sitting in the Zocalo, staring at the full glass in front of him with all the enthusiasm one musters for one's own demise. I took it from him and sniffed, and immediately realized the problem.
"Water?" I asked. "Fascinating. I never touch the stuff myself."
"Is there something I can do for you, Ambassador?" he asked, sounding weary and hopeless. Now, this clearly would not do. Given that Commander Sinclair was nowhere to be seen, and there was a utter lack of criminal activity in the immediate area, I decided I had to provide the necessary distraction myself.
"Yes," I replied. "Attend." And I told him the story of my first encounter with my first wife. At any rate, I told him the version I considered fit for public consumption, which ended with her kissing me on the head and telling me "whatever it is, it cannot be that bad."
"Mr. Garibaldi," I concluded. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad, hm?"
He looked at me, and at last the aura of gloom and doom began to dispense when the corners of his mouth twitched. Which was most fortunate. Mr. Garibaldi would not make a good Minbari, and they rather hold a patent on the mood.
"If you kiss me, I'll break your arm," he warned me, and I smiled back at him.
"We're not that close, Mr. Garibaldi."
He asked me about the girl who had kissed a young Centauri in a sulk once, and as it would have been rather counterproductive to tell him how I had betrayed her and left her when my family demanded it, I spun him the tale he would expect, of a henpecked youth and a harridan, and he laughed. By the time I left - as it turned out later, to meet the even more gloomy projection of the Keeper of the Great Machine on Epsilon Three in the next corridor - he was his old self again. Well, except for the fact he had not noticed I had left him the obligation to pay for my drink, which shows you that Mr. Garibaldi in distress was a risk to station security, yes?
Still, it is rather a relief I did not have to marry him in order to cheer him up.
"Water?" I asked. "Fascinating. I never touch the stuff myself."
"Is there something I can do for you, Ambassador?" he asked, sounding weary and hopeless. Now, this clearly would not do. Given that Commander Sinclair was nowhere to be seen, and there was a utter lack of criminal activity in the immediate area, I decided I had to provide the necessary distraction myself.
"Yes," I replied. "Attend." And I told him the story of my first encounter with my first wife. At any rate, I told him the version I considered fit for public consumption, which ended with her kissing me on the head and telling me "whatever it is, it cannot be that bad."
"Mr. Garibaldi," I concluded. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad, hm?"
He looked at me, and at last the aura of gloom and doom began to dispense when the corners of his mouth twitched. Which was most fortunate. Mr. Garibaldi would not make a good Minbari, and they rather hold a patent on the mood.
"If you kiss me, I'll break your arm," he warned me, and I smiled back at him.
"We're not that close, Mr. Garibaldi."
He asked me about the girl who had kissed a young Centauri in a sulk once, and as it would have been rather counterproductive to tell him how I had betrayed her and left her when my family demanded it, I spun him the tale he would expect, of a henpecked youth and a harridan, and he laughed. By the time I left - as it turned out later, to meet the even more gloomy projection of the Keeper of the Great Machine on Epsilon Three in the next corridor - he was his old self again. Well, except for the fact he had not noticed I had left him the obligation to pay for my drink, which shows you that Mr. Garibaldi in distress was a risk to station security, yes?
Still, it is rather a relief I did not have to marry him in order to cheer him up.
