- 13 - A wafting east breeze breaks on the Fifth's dawn.

[toobravehearted]

[ The Doctor is on the landing of the first floor today, forearms leaning on the stone wall that overlooks onto the lobby below. In his hands he has a Chinese text, the pages yellowed and ancient, the glue for its binding brittle and giving off a vague scent of age whenever a page is carefully turned. He was reading the text earlier; now, he's just looking down into Cair Paradisa, pensive and allowing his mind to wander, thinking of people that come and go, round and round. Life is a wheel and Paradisa is not much different. Although, granted, the Doctor thinks it's a Ferris wheel sometimes, which in of itself could be rather apt, a Ferris wheel in a twisted fairground.

Presently he takes his journal from his pocket and props it up and open on the wall.]

"As evening clouds withdraw, a clear cool air floods in. The jade wheel passes silently across the Silver River. This life, this night, has rarely been kind. Where will we see this moon next year?"

Good Morning, Paradisa. It's the Doctor here of the fawn coat kind, starting your day with a piece of poetry passed to me from a-- A good man and friend. Now, I'm sure someone will be curious enough to want to know what it means. It's about the value you place on time spent with family, or with friends; I'm sure many can agree that ultimately, you choose your family for yourself. Here perhaps, that rings just as true.

While there can be plenty more said on the matter of friends lost, I will refrain from that. I do have a question however, if you will permit me to ask and be so direct. What have you lost?

The castle takes its price and I'm... Well, I can only apologise for my curiosity. There are a few of you that I have asked already, and if there is any offence taken I am very sorry. You have the choice not to answer.

[ The Doctor sighs and then straightens up, choosing to lean his hip against the wall and pick up his journal as he does so. ]

On a lighter note. While we have poetry, why not a riddle as well to get us going this morning? No cheating now by stopping by the library for this one. The aim of this is to think, and that's the most important thing you should be doing. Besides, this is one of my favourites, how could I not share?

John gave his brother James a box: About it there were many locks.
James woke and said it gave him pain; So gave it back to John again.
The box was not with lid supplied; Yet caused two lids to open wide:
And all these locks had never a key. What kind of box, then, could it be?

Comments

dictated

[nukeoleptic]

[ Jade listens to that, allows him to finish in silence. She sounds distant but not melancholy when she begins, the journal open in her lap. ]

Umm. I'm pretty sure it took my grandpa from me.

dictated

[toobravehearted]

[Well, her voice does sound a little... distracted, he thinks. His own is soft in reply.]

Sometimes, what it takes appears trivial, and other times, not nearly so. How did you discover this, Jade?

dictated

[nukeoleptic]

Umm. I thought the first people I ever met were my friends -- when we were all thirteen? But apparently I'd known my grandpa, too, before he died. It makes sense! I just don't remember.

dictated; until if not

[toobravehearted]

[He does think that is a steep price for such a young lady. He's careful though, because pity won't wash.] I'm sorry, Jade. It made sense to think you had been alone, all that time?

[nukeoleptic]

[ Jade chews her lip, thoughtful, trying to figure out a way to phrase things. ] Well.. he died when I was pretty young, anyway. So I guess being alone really doesn't seem that weird to me? I had my dog!

[toobravehearted]

[What? No, hang on, he did hear that right.] So you didn't just think that you were alone. You were for a considerable time, you and your dog.

But- [She's already so young...] -You must have been terribly self-sufficient and resourceful. Very good qualities, Jade.

[nukeoleptic]

I don't deserve that much credit. [ She sounds almost sheepish. ] My grandpa -- I think he knew? He made sure that I'd have everything I need. I grew most of my own food, and there was satellite internet! Everything ran automatically off of a really complex geothermal system - I never really figured out how, exactly, he set it up, you know? But it was so cool. And there was mail! I got mail sometimes. It wasn't like I was completely isolated.

[ Except, well - she mostly was. ]

Being around this many people is still really cool, though. I'm not used to it at all.

[toobravehearted]

[He thinks she's being modest. For someone so young to be alone for so long, he has an amount of respect for Jade. He smiles gently and it is evident in his voice.]

You said your grandpa was quite the expert. I think I'd like to have met him.

I can imagine at being around so many people after knowing so few before. I'm glad that you find it exciting though. Some people, well, they might go the other way.

[workaphilic]

[Idly, like he's just flipping through:]

Punched him, so his brother punched him back.

[toobravehearted]

[Humpfh.]

Hello, Sherlock. Not nearly a challenge for you, I see?

[workaphilic]

You tried. [He tries to stay flippant, but there's a smile in his voice. Self-satisfied, of course.] It's not the worst I've ever heard.

[toobravehearted]

[Of course. He's mildly flippant, more amused than not.] Oh, not the worst ever heard, that's good at least.

Try another with me, Sherlock? A philosophical problem, perhaps?

[workaphilic]

[A hum.]

Only if it's interesting. Never liked philosophy, not enough to offer.

[toobravehearted]

Oh, you've been looking at the wrong type of philosophy, then.

[He thinks for a moment and then smiles. Let's continue on a theme. There's a strong possibility that Sherlock may know it, but it's a harder question all the same.]

Achilles challenges a tortoise to a race. So confident is he that he will win, he even offers to give the tortoise a head start. The tortoise however, through discourse, proves to Achilles that he himself would win the race and Achilles would forever be behind him. How did the tortoise so flummox the light of foot Achilles?

[workaphilic]

[He doesn't. He wasn't lying when he said he didn't like philosophy, and he very rarely lends brain space to things he doesn't like.

He's quiet for a moment, listening. Then, lazily:]

Achilles is a moron?

[toobravehearted]

[He nods, opens his mouth, takes a deep breath to speak-- and is suitably derailed by Sherlock as the words sink in.] Ah, what?

[Ffff. Humour, sense of.] That's an interesting answer. You're also correct, in a sense. The tortoise argued the deduction and logic of infinite regression, and Achilles was fooled into forever eating the tortoise's dust.

Well, supposedly. It made for an interesting night with Charlie and a practical example of the same with a bottle of whiskey anway.

[workaphilic]

[He makes an amused sound.]

So, essentially, the answer to your philosophical problem is that philosophy is pointless in the real world?

[toobravehearted]

[He laughs, amused also.]

No. Philosophy is a construct to make us think, to see our worlds in something other than black or white. A good deal of philosophy has its basis in science or in numbers also, like this particular problem. The tale was written by a famous logician from a philosophers musings; many have tried to prove that infinite regression does or does not exist.

I wonder what the philosophers and logicians would make of where we are currently.

[workaphilic]

I don't need the help.

[On thinking, that is. He's not easily swayed, still thinks philosophy is a crutch for boring people, but he at least respects Five enough not to harsh his mellow.]

They'd have a field day, I'd assume. All their musings, suddenly relevant.

[Okay but he can't just not get some of his shots in.]

[toobravehearted]

Oh, I think you do just fine in thinking outside of the box as evidenced with our friends John and James.

[Returning volley, incoming.] Some perhaps. There are still yet stranger things than are dreamt of in their philosophy.

[workaphilic]

Everyone would do as well as me if they bothered to think every once in a while.

[A beat.]

Well. Not as well as me. But better than asking whether I can reach a door in a finite amount of time or not.

[toobravehearted]

[Another interpretation of the paradox. Well done, Sherlock. The Doctor smiles to himself.] That they would, people could learn a lot from you and I'd almost even go as far to say that you're the most intelligent person in the castle.

[Almost...]

[workaphilic]

[That gets an amused scoff.]

Only almost?

[toobravehearted]

[There is humour in his voice, but it's not without the confidence of his own ability.]

Isn't it obvious? I'm here.

[workaphilic]

Clearly you need to get to know me better, then.

[toobravehearted]

I certainly intend to and I never miss an opportunity to teach.

[workaphilic]

I always miss opportunities to teach, so I'm afraid you'll be out of luck.

[AGGRESSIVE EGOS GO.]

[toobravehearted]

[Ego yes, aggressive, no, not today. It's just been so long since he's had a verbal sparring partner.]

Just as well I know rather a lot.

[workaphilic]

We'll see, won't we?

[eat_me_beat_me]

I can't sew. But the crazy thing is until this year I couldn't touch red paper. I dunno when or why it changed but it did.

[toobravehearted]

That's a different one, Nora. I've heard a lot of variants, as well. [He taps his fingers on the journal a moment. Darn his curiosity.] Your loss changed. What is significant to you about the red paper or the needlework? If, that is, you'd permit me to be so bold to ask.

[eat_me_beat_me]

I don't mind if you ask.

[She smiles, reflecting back on her two years at the castle]

Back before I figured out who Mark was back home, when he was still just Harry on the radio, I would send him letters on red paper. It was kind of our thing. As for the sewing? I guess it'd be because I used to make most of my own clothes back home and after I got here.

[toobravehearted]

Ahh. [And he smiles, wondering if he has an understanding.] I see - it wouldn't take a leap to wonder what kind of letters are written on red paper. I can see how that'd be important to you.

[eat_me_beat_me]

[Her smile turns slightly mischievous]

Poems, actually. He used to call me the poetry lady [among other things] before he figured out who I was. I still remember every one I wrote him.

[toobravehearted]

Do you know, I'd wager that you do remember each one as well. The memories are fond to you but until your loss changed-- You arrived here after Mark, didn't you? If I recall-?

[eat_me_beat_me]

[She'd offer to recite them but she's not sure if she feels up to reciting poetry that includes "eat me, beat me" and "jam me, jack me" to the Doctor]

Yup. I got here 'bout a month after he did.

[toobravehearted]

[If he were to know she's not feeling up to reciting that poetry, he'd be eternally grateful just from those snippets alone. Not that he'd think her poetry to be bad of course...]

Hmm. [Thoughtful pause.] That would make sense, I suppose. With Mark being here as well... I'm sorry, I'm thinking out loud. As to why your loss might have changed.