m. f. luder (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bigfootfetish) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilia2023-04-01 09:36 pm
bigfootfetish) wrote in ximilia2023-04-01 09:36 pm
text. un: knicksfan1961
[ In 1999, usernames describing interests are king and web 2.0 has yet to be dreamt of. This looks like a place to keep a weblog, and Mulder's not opposed to the possibilities. ]
Since childhood, I've dreamt of space. Who among us didn't, raised as we were? We grew up in the shadow of JFK's promise to take America to the moon, watching Neil Armstrong's fateful steps on minuscule TV screens, sitting in sweltering living rooms and imagining we were the ones clambering out of Apollo 11. That it might have been faked by Stanley Kubrick is beyond the point; we were kids, and we believed.
I've taken a giant leap for a man, let alone mankind, waking up in what appears to be a space station and not a sound-stage built by the Walt Disney Company. I see no flaws as of yet, no flies in the ointment. And yet I confess that I'm suspicious.
My concerns are several, key among them the possibility that I'm actually dying in a cave somewhere under the surface of North Carolina. That this is a distraction from the real work I intend to do, lunatic hallucinations designed to keep me from escaping my fate - but if my mind doesn't deceive me, this could be the case I've waited for. There's no denying that the bargain I've (allegedly) made is a strange one, threatening the fabric of time and space. And yet it feels almost reasonable: if I can be stolen from a hospital bed to the furthest reaches of the universe, why can't I intercede in events that have already happened?
(Merely existing here, witnessing technology beyond any I've seen in my dealings with Cancer Man or his shadowy colleagues, already continues work I've chased for years. I want to know more.)
I'm keeping a careful eye out for anomalies in my perceptions, anything that might lend credence to my null-hypothesis (digestion by way of fungi). I'm also on the search for a functional television and VCR; among other things, I've arrived with a handful of videotapes, but I have no way of watching them.
Since childhood, I've dreamt of space. Who among us didn't, raised as we were? We grew up in the shadow of JFK's promise to take America to the moon, watching Neil Armstrong's fateful steps on minuscule TV screens, sitting in sweltering living rooms and imagining we were the ones clambering out of Apollo 11. That it might have been faked by Stanley Kubrick is beyond the point; we were kids, and we believed.
I've taken a giant leap for a man, let alone mankind, waking up in what appears to be a space station and not a sound-stage built by the Walt Disney Company. I see no flaws as of yet, no flies in the ointment. And yet I confess that I'm suspicious.
My concerns are several, key among them the possibility that I'm actually dying in a cave somewhere under the surface of North Carolina. That this is a distraction from the real work I intend to do, lunatic hallucinations designed to keep me from escaping my fate - but if my mind doesn't deceive me, this could be the case I've waited for. There's no denying that the bargain I've (allegedly) made is a strange one, threatening the fabric of time and space. And yet it feels almost reasonable: if I can be stolen from a hospital bed to the furthest reaches of the universe, why can't I intercede in events that have already happened?
(Merely existing here, witnessing technology beyond any I've seen in my dealings with Cancer Man or his shadowy colleagues, already continues work I've chased for years. I want to know more.)
I'm keeping a careful eye out for anomalies in my perceptions, anything that might lend credence to my null-hypothesis (digestion by way of fungi). I'm also on the search for a functional television and VCR; among other things, I've arrived with a handful of videotapes, but I have no way of watching them.
no subject
There are too many questions and these, she doesn't really want answers for. If he finds out she could show him she suspects he'll want to try it out. Not because he's got a death wish but because Mulder can't resist the lure of knowledge, even when he has a good idea of the cost.
It doesn't surprise her that he'd say yes, in his dream. She can even guess at what he'd want to change. ]
I'd think I was still in North Carolina being digested, except I know my imagination isn't up to all this. [ She waves vaguely at the room. ] I can't figure out a way to disprove it.
no subject
[ That fact, as much as the fact that he's still capable of his own separate consciousness, is proof enough to him that they're not living inside Scully's mind right now. Why would her subconscious conjure his cassette of Where the Boys Aren't for him? ]
What if we're really here, Scully? Is it worth it to drive yourself crazy trying to find an explanation that doesn't exist?
no subject
[ Better than a trashbag's worth of dead locusts and some extremely dangerous paper rubbings??
Her tone is reasonably light. The truth is-- she has been throwing herself against an intellectual wall, and it's exhausting, and it's a relief to just sit here with her closest friend, her favorite person, and look at it from his default angle. What if it doesn't matter that it's impossible-- what if it's real? ]
I think-- there has to be some explanation, though. Maybe not a simple one, but I'd still think the how and why is relevant. Wouldn't you?
no subject
[ What's that one about? Don't worry about it. More importantly: ]
Of course it's relevant. We've been abducted - I want to know how and why. [ And who did it, if not the beings that took Samantha. ] I want to keep looking for cracks in the façade, if all of this is is really just a façade. But if I'm not actually here, I'm incapacitated someplace: a cave, a hospital, wherever it is I am. I'm helpless until someone saves me from my own dying brain. If this is the product of my mind, I can't do anything about it. But if it's real, my actions make a difference.
So you can think what you like, Scully. I won't be hurt if you want to believe I'm a figment of your imagination, and you're really back in Africa. I have to choose the option that lets me get something done.
no subject
I don't think you're a figment of my imagination. At least, I don't want to. [ Though she isn't entirely sure he's real, either. Or what it means if he is. But having him here, whole and sane and healthy, is like a gift in itself. ]
So what are you going to do? Play along-- without knowing who we're really helping?
[ The tone is less judgmental than the words might imply. She's been wrestling with that question, is all. What are they getting done, here? ]
no subject
[ Gently, with some humor. If he isn't real to her, he isn't real to anyone. To himself, sure, but outside of his own head, it's Scully's opinion that matters. She makes the difference to everyone around them.
(And to him. Having her here makes him more grounded, so inherently that he hardly notices.) ]
I'm going to play along and try to find out who we're really helping. [ When you think about it, if you're an edgy man in your late thirties, that's what they do every single day. Work for the people, but also for the government, and hope the nameless men in the shadows aren't the ones who benefit most from their effort. ] Unless you can think of another way we can learn more, I think we're going to have to.
no subject
She lets her head tip onto his shoulder. ]
I don't have a better suggestion.
no subject
[ Nothing's hopeless with Scully's head resting against his shoulder. He tilts his toward her, cheek against her hair. ]
Looks like we're interstellar field agents now. Think that comes with a badge update? Because that's the one thing your subconscious forgot to pack for me.
no subject
They ground each other. That's a fact in any universe. ]
We'll have to find some crayons to make you a new one. For all the good it does.