For the Glory of the Republic

How am I doing with Londo? Is there something about him that's off or needing more attention? This is the place to let me know, please.

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The explosions must be stopped. My boots, they are ruined. I do not know what it was that exploded, but now they are scuffed to the point where polishing, it will do nothing. Is there nothing that can stop these things?

[About fifteen minutes later he writes again.]

Barbed wire. It is not good for coats, no. I think I am starting to get angry. Is there a seamstress here who can fix a coat, or is this also lost?

[Another ten minutes pass.]

Shooting. They are shooting! The bullets are not killing but why would they even shoot me? I am bruised and this is utterly indecent! All I wanted was food! Food! Everyone must eat, even aliens, no? Maybe not the droids. Do droids eat? Maybe little metal things, scraps around the lower place, hm? I will get dinner, and I will not die trying because that is the most ridiculous way to go and I refuse to die in a ridiculous fashion. [A short pause.] Again. Stupid Apostle. Stupid whatever god he prayed to. Stupid Tree, stupid bullets, stupid bomb!

[It’s ten minutes later that he writes the final bit.]

I give up. The dirt, it has my food. I will go, and I will starve, on my little couch in my little house.

This gold monstrosity, this, it is not a cape.

It is a death trap.

Six times I have tripped! SIX! And my work, it is over the bridges! I begin to think the Sphere wishes for me to fall to my death because of a cape! Who even wears a cape, hm? A cape, it has no use. It has no function. Except to get under my feet.

I suppose I should be glad my house, it was still here, when I got out of the infernal case. And I suppose I should be glad that I have no pets, because they would have starved.

But mostly, I am glad that I was not missed. This, it means that when you all leave, because you will, or you all are stuck in sand, which you will, or when you are killed, I do not have to miss you, hm? A great burden, that takes off. Yes.

So. Not that anyone cares, nor do I expect them to, but I am no longer stuck. Housekeeping, do be sure to clean up the sand, yes? I would like to have my little house tidy.

Perhaps I should be thankful for the infernal flying thing that continually pesters me. Perhaps. Without it, I do not know if I would have stumbled through the... strangeness in the wilderness. I would not have entered, if it was not divebombing my head, like a thrice-damned homing frisbee!

But now, I am in. I have gone through. I will have you all know that on the food, I call dots. Dits. I call whatever it is that makes it mine, because it is mine. This, through the strange-looking spots, it is the station where I work. It is not my planet, but it is... almost a home, yes?

Some help I will need carrying this. If there are any who would not mind, I will pay.

Londo of House Mollari. That is who I am. I do not know if it is a thing to be celebrated, finding this out. The knowledge that came with it, it is heavy. What does one think, and do, when they are not sure they wish to know more about who they are, but cannot abide being utterly ignorant?

I am an ambassador, and I am a very bad friend, and I do not think I like myself all that much.

Oh yes. Of course. First, my head is flooded with dreams that are not my own, and now, now I cannot even get out of the elevator. I am stuck. But of course, no one will help, because no one can, not when the elevator is rude like this, no.

I hardly know if it is good or bad that I am not trapped alone. There is a fiery-headed man, a striped-hair boy, and a brown-haired girl. They are likely human. Their hair is not in crests.

( Dream the first, of space and invisibility )

The Wilderness, it is not ruins any more, no. Instead, it is a club. It is a club with much to see, and even more to drink.

And so, I propose a crawl. A barcrawl, in the Wilderness. That is what it is called, no? You crawl at the end because you are so drunk you cannot walk? Do not tell me that the one phrase that makes sense I have wrong.

No matter. I think that I am clear in what I am suggesting. Drinking. A great deal of it. Who would like to join?

Make a wish. For three days, this paper, I have stared at it. What possible wish that one would write would come true? It is that damnable question all over again. What do you want? Maybe, maybe, there is more that is wanted than one can say! Did whomever asked that question ever thing about that?

This paper, it is a mockery. Make a wish. Pah. Wishes are futile anyway. This, it is not worth the paper it is written on.


[[ooc: I moved this back since I'd failed to do it when I planned, but couldn't let him miss this.]]