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Sep. 22nd, 2009 02:29 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
thebunnybag.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
babylon5_loveThe humans built the vehicles in question hundreds of years ago and it was often used for transportation in addition to a symbol of status, masculinity, and bravery. Lennier learned all of this in the span of an hour, and was right now intensely reading about motorcycle subculture and viewing pictures of large, burly humans wearing leather and standing in front of these vehicles with scantily-clad women. He averted his eyes from the women, even though they were just images from history, and he knew history could often be improper.
Most of the humans in question had a large amount of facial hair. He wondered if that was merely a symbol of motorcycle riders or if it was needed to protect their faces from dust and other airborne particles encountered at high speeds. None of the articles mentioned that, but they did have a fair amount of muscled human arms with hearts that had “mom” written inside tattooed onto their skin.
That must be painful. He could not imagine what it would be like to have a tiny needle jab into his arm hundreds of times until the word “mom” appeared inside the heart. But this was a long time ago, and that was clearly a symbol associated with masculinity…the ability to handle a great deal of pain, no doubt…and in a way it was not very different from an old (and significantly less painful) Minbari tradition of carving one’s bone to fit whichever clan they belonged to.
Delenn was going to be away for another few days yet, and that left him with minimal aide duties and far more free time than he usually had. Free time was unusual and normally he did not know what to do with that time other than pray, but this…this was fascinating.
The manual, Mr. Garibaldi said, was in Japanese. He found the intricate patterns to be mesmerizing, and wanted to learn how to write in it, if for no other reason than that. He picked up the manual and studied it, turning it over, then over again, wondering what the best way to start learning this was. It couldn’t be that difficult a language compared to English, and the words were pointing to specific parts on the motorcycle and thus it should be fairly easy to figure out their general meaning.
But that was best left for later. Languages were simple when one understood the basics.
There was music associated with motorcycles as well. He went down the entire list, deciding it was appropriate to select historical music while figuring out how to assemble this, and selected a song by a large human by the name of Meatloaf entitled “Bat out of Hell.”
I'm gonna hit the highway like a battering ram, on a silver and black phantom bike
When the metal is hot and the engine is hungry, and we're all about to see the light....
The loud, coarse music made Lennier flinch and drop the instructions. It blared through the room, filled with guitars plugged into amplifiers and steady, loud, repetitive drumming, and how humans enjoyed this and listened to this on a regular basis, small wonder their species was still able to hear…and this had to be turned off before it gave him a headache. History should not do that.
Still, one ought to try and listen to music from that time period, as it would help him better understand the mindset of people who drove these motorcycles. The singing, though loud, grating, and unpleasant to Lennier’s ears, was perhaps liberating in the ears of humans, and certainly the sort of thing one listened to while careening down a road on a highly unsafe vehicle at ridiculous speeds. Yes, they would find that exciting, and…were it to be a bit safer, and not accompanied by such awful music…perhaps some Minbari warriors would be inclined (were they not to detest humans as much as they did) to try it.
That's when I fell for
The leader of the pack
This one was slightly more tolerable. He left it on while bringing up lyrics to other various motorcycle related songs, and read through them for about an hour. Then there were records of famous motorcycle groups and he read of the Hell’s Angels and Dykes on Bikes and these records were as interesting as they were slightly disturbing.
Gone, leader of the pack, now he’s gone
Lennier covered a yawn with the manual. There were too many records to go through to bother sleeping now. And that was quite a sad song, that woman losing the one she loved in a horrible crash, the screech of tires and tearing metal, and he could only imagine the coarse pavement tearing at thin human skin…that is a terrible tragedy, a darker side to these machines. Still, perhaps they found that a small price to pay for freedom…
Beep beep.
Hmm?
Beep beep.
Lennier opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall near the console, his left arm pinned awkwardly to the side and wrench still in his hand. There was no music and the last data crystal had run its course, and the console beeped insistently at him, and “incoming message” was displayed across the screen. He blinked frantically and sat up, and jumped as the sensation returned to his arm in pins and needles. What time was it? He certainly could not have fallen asleep…
He accepted the message and was surprised to find Delenn looking back at him quite curiously, no doubt because he still had a wrench in his hand. He lightly dropped the wrench to the floor and stood up, still half asleep, and bowed.
“Good morning, satai,” he said quickly, feeling more comfortable using her title since she wasn’t here to object.
“Good morning, Lennier,” she replied, glancing down at the wrench and then back at him. “I tried to contact you in your quarters, but was informed you were in Mr. Garibaldi’s, still.”
“Yes, I…was working, but appear to have fallen asleep. I apologize for the inconvenience…”
“It is not that much of one. What exactly is…occupying your time here?”
“Just a small project that has interested me, satai, but I am sure it will not take too long and if there is something else you need…”
Delenn smiled and shook her head. “I was just wondering how Shaal Mayan was getting along in her visit. I tried to contact her but she was asleep, and I felt no need to wake her. So I will ask you instead…is she doing well this time? Have there been any incidents?”
“None, satai. She has been accompanied by what Mr. Garibaldi called his “top notch” guards, and had quite an enjoyable dinner with the other Minbari visiting the station. Her poetry reading was very touching, and I am impressed by her way with words. I believe some of the humans were as well, and I was surprised to find one Drazi attending, though that might have been purely for diplomatic reasons…”
“Is she enjoying her visit?”
“As far as I could tell, yes,” Lennier nodded. “She asked me to tell you that she regrets you could not be here, but hopes to be on the homeworld before you return so that you may see each other once more. She is aware that your duties both as a diplomat and as satai keep you busy, as do hers as a poet.”
“Thank you, Lennier,” Delenn said. “And now that I have the answers for my questions, would you mind if I asked you one?”
“Not at all,” Lennier replied.
“May I ask…what exactly is that?” she looked behind him and indicated the half-built motorcycle.
“It is…just a project, that is all.” He had not expected her to take any interest in something so trivial when she was terribly busy taking care of far more important matters at home. “A favor for Mr. Garibaldi, who spent many years trying to build this and has not had as much success as he wanted. I offered to help and it…offers a great insight into human culture,” he finished. “It is taking up a great deal of time, so if it is keeping me from doing something you need me to do, then I can always stop and…”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” Delenn chided. “I was the one who interrupted your work, therefore I apologize and encourage you to continue,”
“Oh…well, then…thank you, satai,” Lennier bowed again and tried not to appear as flustered as he felt. He could not imagine why she would apologize for anything, let alone to him. “But if you need me to do anything, then I will be glad to do it.”
“I will let you know, but until then, we should both sleep. Goodnight, Lennier.”
“Goodnight, satai.”
But he was awake now, and the Japanese manual was near the other parts he had been putting together before he fell asleep. He finished with those parts and then picked up the manual and after looking at it for a minute or so, realized that he could not continue building based on guesswork and needed to translate this before continuing. Further research was required.
There were a thousand recordings of Japanese, and he found it easier to learn when sung. The cadence and rhythms were decipherable, and when he studied the translations in the database, it was easier to see how the words came in neat, intricate symbols, and like many languages in this universe, one syllable could stand for many things, and these two here, they meant…
What did they mean? They did not make any sense, compared to the rest!
Think, Lennier, think, this should not be difficult. What time was it?
He checked the console. Sometime near the afternoon. When did this happen?
Between the middle of the night when Delenn called and now, and that was an absurd question. The question was what this symbol meant, and he traced his finger along a previous page, comparing the top few slants to the slants he knew which formed this symbol, one that meant…
He tapped a loose metal pipe against his leg, beating out a steady rhythm of impatience.
No, that would not do. Impatience led nowhere but frustration, and frustration led around in circles until one gave up altogether.
He set both the pipe and manual down and took the time to meditate instead, and was not interrupted once by any console beeps, and when he opened his eyes a few hours later and looked down at the manual, he understood the letters now and realized they were speaking of internal combustion the entire time.
This all made much more sense now, and he could get to work at translating the entire manual. That would take hours, and perhaps it was time to stop for dinner…no, this was far too interesting, he could always eat tomorrow…now with the manual, this would go much smoother.
What time was it now? When was the last time he slept?
It didn’t matter, not really, because this motorcycle was almost done and it would be quite impressive, a marvel of human history, and workable piece of their past that most of them had likely forgotten about. It was easy to synthesize a workable battery, and the whole machine made an oddly satisfying vroom vroom sound when started.
He was very much looking forward to showing Mr. Garibaldi his completed work. No, it was…he felt proud to think…his masterpiece of history.
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Date: 2009-09-22 09:18 am (UTC)I still think the scene of Garibaldi and Lennier zooming around the station on the bike (and Sinclair saying in response that he's glad 'things are back to normal') is one of my favourite B5 scenes. ^_^
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Date: 2009-09-23 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-23 09:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-26 04:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-27 02:27 pm (UTC)Is it just me, or did you pick Leader of the Pack purposefully? The idea of Lennier going thru the musical history of biker songs makes me smile. I hope he watched Easy Rider too.
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Date: 2009-09-28 11:19 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it! I don't write Lennier that much just because he's my favorite and I'm so OCD about getting a character right when I want to write fic for them, and Lennier (at least for me) is very difficult to get right because I always feel like I'm missing something. I'm glad this worked out well :) Conquer the table!
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Date: 2009-09-28 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 12:52 am (UTC)(both, however, are beat out by the fanfic my friend found yesterday where Marcus was brought back from the dead by space unicorns)
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Date: 2009-10-02 01:57 am (UTC)