poly_chromatic | (no subject)

Entry tags:

star trek xi - pavel chekov

(no subject)

I have been lucky escaping curses this month. The curse where people were trying to eat other people--

[He trails off as a more distant voice becomes far louder. The tone, however, clearly indicates whining.]

Peter, please, I am recording.

[Peter's indistinct complaints fade to an irate murmur.]

That was a curse I did not care for. But in better news, I have found Peter. Howl, Sophie, Tessa? I am bringing him to the house; it seemed cruel to leave him on his own. He may not agree, but he's not good at taking care of himself.

[There's a protest from Peter. Chekov shushes him.]

Also, Tessa? We need to talk, I think.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No, in the 21st century. At least for him.

[ How to tell a man that your father is as old as dirt... ]

Worried whether your soul might disconnect itself from your body upon reassembling? [ He laughs. ] When it becomes your career, it's useless. Questioning life to a degree isn't.

[Putting two and two together...] Your father needs you to translate for him?

[And a scoff. Fff, souls.]

I am not worried about souls, I am worried about the molecules assembling improperly and creating a me that is not me. But I will agree. There is no sense in making a career of a field that never finds answers.

[ooc: As someone with a B.A. in philosophy, I am deeply hurt. Only not really.]

Never mind, Chekov.

[ Except that souls do exist in his world- an anchor for the physical body. ]

But what is me other than a ever-malleable conception of self? What is self? Or are we talking about disarranged molecules that might render you a blithering idiot instead of a genius astrophysicist? Etc, etc.

[ ooc: As someone who was briefly a Philosophy major, I am making fun of myself. xD ]

I do not want to enter a transporter and, on the other end, find myself a blithering idiot, or with significant molecules left behind, or with what comprises my insides on my outside. Defining the self, being concerned with whether or not what assembles on a transporter pad is me even though it is made of different particles than I was previously--I am not so worried about that.

[He might not have his priorities in order.]

If I think that I am me, if I am able to continue working as I would, and if there are no mental aberrations, then I am unconcerned.

[ooc: You get more awesome all the time.]

Then that's more a problem of biology than philosophy, isn't it? If we're dealing with intangible conditionals, such as questions of I and the soul...

[ That may be true. ]

You're a good soldier, aren't you.

[ ooc: sdlfjasd No. ;; ]

I rarely have time for the intangible.

[Chekov isn't sure if being a good soldier is a good thing in this context or a bad thing.]

Yes.

If only we were all so lucky.

[ Continue wondering, Chekov. Amory plans to be inscrutable as ever. ]

I see.

[See? Vulcan. And now Chekov's reviewing their conversation and trying to determine what he said wrong, or if he said anything wrong, or--

Well. Best talk to Amory as he would talk to Mr. Spock.]

I do not understand.

[ Chekov is just misreading Amory's social strangeness; he had a peculiar upbringing that left him socially stunted in distinct ways. ]

You don't over-think. Your given task is always the first thought on your mind. You're good at following orders.

[ It's hard to tell whether that's a compliment... ]

[It certainly doesn't feel like a compliment.]

Amory, do you think that I am stupid?

[Amory's vagueness results in bluntness. That's fair, right?]

No, I think you're exceptionally bright.

And rarely do I say that about anyone.

[Chekov knows that he's brilliant, but hearing that people he respects think so as well is among the best of compliments he can possibly receive.]

I won't tell anyone that you said so.

...Would you tell me how you think?

What do you mean?

I am lucky because I'm not bothered by intangible things when I think. If you envy that, you must think in a way that is different from mine; I would like to know how that is.

[ In the driest, most flippant tone. ]

I am a magical student of astrophysics. My very existence undermines the rules of our profession, for no logical reason than it simply is the case. Hence, quandaries.

[Sympathetically, although the words aren't all that sympathetic.]

That would be problematic. A Vulcan would go mad in your position.

Luckily, I'm not a Vulcan.

And now you see.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only