poly_chromatic | ( v o i c e )

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the infernal devices - tessa gray

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I must admit that the flow of visitors may be a little overwhelming, but— if there is someone from the Institute here, if only for a day or two, I should like to make my own presence known, rather than spend all day in the library.

I only ask that— [ she pauses, clearly hesitant, before her voice comes again, stronger now and quite firm ] that whoever should wish to talk to me will not be too forward.

[ it doesn't quite express what she wishes to say (please, take care not to offend my 18th century sensibilities) but it comes close enough while still remaining polite ]

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It is a library, Pavel. It can be anything, or nothing at all, depending on you.

[ she would perhaps think him less courteous for it were he from her time. As is, however, she will merely flush a little. She will not mind, however. ]

I was referring to its physical properties, but yes, you are right.

[This is downright gentlemanly and prudish for the twenty-third century. Tess should meet Kirk. ...Actually, she shouldn't. Ever.]

Outside of the changing rooms, its physical properties are not that remarkable. But it is a library.

[ Glowing again, and most of it is because talking about the library, about books, that is something she loves. A little of it may be due to the company.

Tessa should never meet Kirk, ever. ]

This will be strange to you, but I have never seen a library with books. Databases, yes, but never collections of books.

[It's nice to see Tessa happy. She seems very kind and shouldn't have to be upset about her homeworld at all times.]

Oh, truly? [ A beat. ] All the better, then, that we are going to see it.

[ She's only upset about it when she thinks of it. ]

Truly! There are libraries--there is a large one in Moscow--but books are not often handled, not by anyone who is not a scholar or fond of antiques.

[She won't have time to think now.]

Have you read Pushkin or Gogol?

I suppose in your world, everything that is normal for me would be an antique. It is a little strange to think of it.

[ She isn't. She's smiling and thinking about books instead. ]

I haven't. Are they very good?

Everything in this world is very old, too. The motor vehicles are interesting.

[He does an extremely exaggerated double-take as if amazed that anyone could have gone through life without encountering Pushkin or Gogol.]

You haven't! They are the greatest Russian authors! They--ai, Turgenev, he is also good--their short stories are beautiful.

Everything in this world is very advanced, for me.

[ And Tessa giggles. ]

I enjoy short stories. Surely the library here has their works, I will read them.

[That's more like it!]

I hope you will like them, but do not read Dostoevsky. He is depressing.

[ You're charming her with talk of books. How can she not smile? ]

I'm certain I will. You seem like a person of good taste. [ a beat. ] What does he write about?

[That's weird. The girls at home didn't go for it.]

My tastes are not so refined as yours, surely. ...Dostoevsky? He writes about what they all write about: life. Some of them, though, see life darkly.

[ Perhaps, Mr Chekov, she is not like the girls at home. ]

Some write about life as it could be, or the life of only certain people. I like those stories, though they are not refined at all, truly. But I've always liked imagining perhaps I were one of the heroines in those books.

[This isn't a bad thing.]

That's not such a bad thing to imagine, though it may not work with Pushkin or Turgenev. Oh, I forgot one other! Chekhov--I forgot him. It feels self-serving, recommending his works, but his writing is thoughtful.

[ Good. ]

Chekhov. Are you related to him?

If I am, I did not inherit his writing abilities.

Do you write, Tessa?

Oh, no. [ Shaking her head. ]

I have written many letters that I never sent, letters that were more for myself than anyone, truthfully, but nothing beyond that.

That is something. I think you would write very well.

Do you? I am not so certain, but I think perhaps I should like to try.

I do! Those who speak well often write well.

[ Blushing a little, again. ] But I would not know what to write about. There are so many possibilities.

The things you imagine--being a heroine. You could write about those.

I could try, perhaps. [ Considering. She never thought of writing, other than for herself, other than the letters that kept her sane. ]

You would lose nothing by trying.

[lightly] I tried to pilot a simulated aircraft once. I crashed very quickly, but I did not lose anything. Ah--except for a bet with a friend. Nothing except for that.

You are certainly right in that.

[ smiling, her hand tightening a little on his arm ] What sort of bet was it?

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(action) (HOW IS HE SO FREAKING ADORABLE)

(action) (HOW ARE THEY SO FREAKING ADORABLE TOGETHER)

(action) (MAGIC? POWER OF YOUTH? IT TRANSCENDS TIME)