| ooc entry |
[Jul. 15th, 2010|06:25 am] |
Lj is purging inactive journals; I am making this entry to save the many Londo ficlets I have not archived anywhere else, and the roleplays which are still very dear to me. |
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| The game of life |
[Nov. 1st, 2007|04:01 pm] |
If life is a game, who is winning?
The universe, of course. Which is insane. This should not be news to anyone, yes?
Now, I am a gambler of some experience, and so I am well aware of the truth in the old Centauri saying - which the humans stole from us later - that "the bank always wins". The bank, my friends, and not the people playing the game, oh no. No matter whether you play against a skilled opponent or a dolt, no matter which of the two of you is victorious, in the end, neither of you wins.
(This, by the way, does not mean certain races who went beyond the rim and thus can no longer threaten my home planet with their superior weaponry should be classified as "the bank", though they certainly thought so. In the end, they, too, were gamblers, for why else would our valiant Captain Sheridan have been able to tell them to "get the hell out of his (!) galaxy", hmmm? The universe might be mad, but it has a wonderful sense of humor about it.)
When I, in a stage of some inebriation, told some of these indeniable truths to Mr. Garibaldi, he asked me why, if this was so, we still play. Or why I do, as I cannot answer for anyone else.
"What do you take me for, a Minbari?" I asked back. "Sitting back and not participating at all is no fun!"
"But Londo, if you already know the bank always wins..."
"One can always hope to charm the banker," I replied, and he told me I was hopeless. But he did smile, which proves my point. |
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| Who was the wisest person you ever met? |
[Sep. 29th, 2007|07:55 pm] |
As I was idly strolling through the customs area and may or may not have been looking forward to the delivery of my favourite brand of brivari from Centauri Prime, I was accosted by a young human lady who told me she absolutely had to ask me a question. Now, I am the last man to be discourteous to a lady in distress seeking out my company, yes? Alas, I misjudged the situation. This particular young lady had decided that her life's happiness depended on interviewing the senior diplomats on Babylon 5 for something she called her "college paper". After she promised me she would not ask me what I wanted, or anything regarding the Narn-Centauri war (either one), I agreed to answer at least the question she said she was asking everyone. What can I say? She was not aesthetically displeasing.
What she wanted to know was who the wisest person I ever met was.
"And this is what you asked or are going to ask everyone?" I returned. "Shall I tell you what everyone but the Ambassador for Minbar will answer, hm?"
She looked uncertain and nodded.
"They will all name Delenn, or have already done so," I said benignly.
"But how did you...?"
"My dear child, it is the simplest of guessworks. Anyone who does not believe Delenn to be the wisest person they ever met will name her anyway as naming her will not cause any diplomatic incidents, and, by contrast, might contribute to gaining the favour of the President. Delenn herself, of course, does not have that option, and so she will probably name... no, not her dead mentor, this would be undiplomatic and might open old wounds, and besides, it would make her look like someone valuing only her own species. No, she will be her wise self and name a human being. Probably her husband's father, which is the kind of charming gesture no one can possibly resent."
The young lady pouted a bit, most becomingly, and then asked me whether I would name Delenn as well.
"Mmmmm," I said. "I should."
"Do you not think she's the wisest?"
"I think she is witty, and wise, and a pearl among sentient beings of any sex. I might even think she is the wisest, but you would not possibly believe me after what I have just said, yes?"
"Now you're confusing me," she said. "Get real."
This was a human expression I was not familiar with - the exhortation to "get real". I believe it is confined to the adolescent variation of the species. The rest of them, as the rest of any other race, is undoubtedly aware that our collective reality is highly disputable anyway.
"Very well then," I said. "With all respect to Delenn, I shall nominate my own wife instead."
"Huh. Doesn't the Lady Timov live seperated from you?"
"A dazzling proof of her wisdom," I said, "but how do you know it is the Lady Timov I am referring to? I could have been thinking of any of my divorced wives as well. After all, one of them tried to kill me, which half the known universe will tell you is a strike for wisdom. And another, who has been my wife all too briefly, once spoke a sentence which I still believe encapsulates all the wisdom and compassion we can ask for when we met in a tavern. She kissed me on the head and said: 'Whatever it is, it cannot be that bad.' Though I must admit that not everyone shares my regard for this sentence; when I repeated it to Mr. Garibaldi, he threatened to break my arm, which makes its wisdom questionable. Still. How do you know I was not thinking of them?"
"I would," she said, "since they divorced you. Looks wiser and wiser to me. Say, do you ever shut up? Wait, don't go away, I didn't mean it. Come on. Which one did you mean? It's for my paper, and I neeeeeeeed it."
"The one who would never believe I believe her to be the wisest of creatures," I said. "For she truly is, and thus she would never believe a professional liar."
I left the young lady then, muttering "wait - if she knows you have to be lying, then you don't think she's the wisest, only you do think she's the wisest because she would believe you're lying, so you weren't lying - or is it the other way around?" One always does have to do one's best to educate the young, after all. |
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| Make a wish |
[Sep. 18th, 2007|03:48 pm] |
Oh no. Not that again. I should have known Mr. Morden's "associates" were the powers behind this organization called "livejournal". This explains everything, yes? Bah. I shall not even dignify this insane question with a response again.
*locked from each and everyone*
In truth, my reply these days would be on a far less ambitious scale, though whether this makes it better, I do not know. It is certainly far more selfish. My dearest wish would be for a day at the beach on a very particular beach, on the island Celini, were my grandfather's third wife had a home I was allowed to visit. Timov and my friend Urza's children would be there, with Vir, who would be playing with the children; my dearest Adira would be there, alive and walking with me on that beach; and awaiting us, not bothered in the least with being on Centauri Prime but arguing about the climate because he can, would be G'Kar.
But Adira is dead. G'Kar can not be on Centauri Prime without remembering all the blood between us. Timov, Vir and the children, now this is possible, but the island of Celini is gone. I destroyed it myself, through a single button.
My wishes have always been about the impossible. |
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| What makes someone a hero? What makes someone a villain? |
[Sep. 8th, 2007|06:34 pm] |
My dear friends, the answer to both is the same, and it is not a what, it is a who: the historian. I dare say that a great many scoundrels achieve immortality this way, and many a valiant deed is forgotten, simply because they knew, or did not know, how to cultivate posterity, or, more to the point, the media of the day. And of course one race's villain is another race's hero, yes? If the Xorn had won the war for our planet, we Centauri would either be not remembered at all or would have been painted in the blackest of colours, and our first Emperor would not be thought of as a hero, to be sure.
(No, this does not mean I regard the Xorn as heroes who have been wronged by our historians. Heroes or villains, by all accounts, they were abysmally dull and montonously inclined towards warfare, with no idea how to party. I shall refrain from making obvious contemporary comparisons.)
Now of course one might argue there are certain qualities that are, no matter how one regards the person in question, heroic or villainous. (One might, but this is just the type of naiveté that ensures you will never be taken seriously in politics at the best, or gets you killed at the worst.) One of the bravest deeds I ever saw was regarded by the man who accomplished it as something that made him less than what he was, which tells you something about just how annoying he is. Yes, I am referring to G'Kar. He would have preferred to die, a martyr to Narn freedom, rather than to give the late Emperor Cartagia the satisfaction to hear him scream, and being G'Kar, he could have accomplished this. It was one of the most difficult feats of my life to persuade him that a scream would serve his people better in the long term; screaming in pain was much harder to G'Kar than dying for the cause would have been, and it went against everything he had believed to be brave. Yet rarely have I seen him more courageous.
Then there is the heroism of saving another's life at risk of one's own. Young Lennier, without hesitation, once saved mine this way. I shall never forget this, and I was quite aware that most of our mutual aquaintances would have regarded the exchange as a poor bargain. Indeed, I told Lennier so myself when he was sleeping a medicated sleep in our abysmally decorated med lab. A further visit was delayed by some human terrorist or the other, whose actions left me trapped in a lift with G'Kar who at the most breathtakingly inconvenient moment took it into his head that we should die to musical accompagniment. By the time we were freed from the lift and brought to medlab ourselves, Lennier had awoken. I heard him talk to Delenn and some others, and he did express regret at his actions. A wise young man, Lennier; he was aware that by saving my life, he might have contributed to shortening the lives of others. He did not regard his earlier action as heroic, no.
As for villainy. Surely, you say, surely there are deeds unquestionably villainous, no matter who writes the story? Ah, but look at the Minbari, and the humans. If the Minbari had not surrendered at the very last minute of the Earth-Minbari war, they would have wiped out the entire human race, save for whichever humans were not defending Earth at that time but were sprinkled across the stars. We Centauri are often called ruthless warmongers, but with the exception of the Xorn in our dark ages, we never did this to any of our enemies. The Minbari, of course, did not start this war without provocation. I happen to know something of the background of that war, and let me assure you, the provocation in question was the result of a series of breathtakingly stupid decisions, but deliberate malice had not been involved. Who would you cast as villains then, in this war? The humans? The Minbari? But those two races are now allied, and some of the humans who fought side by side then, defending their people, are now fighting against each other, in their civil war. (While the Minbari had a civil war of their own.)
One of the human writers did use a phrase to the effect that no action as such is good or evil, but the intent makes it so. I, on the other hand, stand by my claim that even the intent does not matter. (Has Delenn, who served in the Grey Council during the Earth-Minbari war and now leads at Sheridan's side, more or less noble intentions now than she had then, hm?) Heros and villains are created by whoever looks at them, and tells their story. |
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| Where do you see yourself in twenty years? |
[Aug. 16th, 2007|09:49 am] |
Great Maker, didn't anyone tell you that it is rude to ask someone about their death dream, hm? Now, I have told the occasional person about it, yes. But it is not an image I wish to dwell on again and again, to the doubtful entertainment of the universe at large. Ask our valiant Captain Sheridan, who shares my problem. (Though I am fairly certain his twenty years will run out before mine do, as I always had a sense of his nearby presence in my dream. That part never made sense, though.) Of course, not being Centauri, he has not yet divined that the only way to deal with such a knowledge is to savour the present in the best way one can, in other words, throw parties, but then, we can't all have the benefit of the wisdom my people have perfected through the ages.
But if you must know, and haven't heard already: I see myself throttled, and in the process of throttling. The identity of my killer used to make sense to me, but things have changed, which is one reason why I do not care for this particular knowledge. There is one consolation, though: I know who will succeed me, and he will make sure there won't be any of those ghastly statues tradition demands after one's death errected; for mysterious reasons, people always manage the least talented artist imaginable for these things, and I do not wish to be remembered as a lamentable piece of art disgracing the Centauri landscape, yes? |
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| Write two letters... |
[Jul. 26th, 2007|09:31 am] |
...one to someone you hurt, and one to someone who hurt you.
From the Mollari archives; the first letter is dated from the early reign of Mollari II, the second, however, was written a year earlier, when Londo Mollari was still Ambassador on Babylon 5.
My dear Rhodopis,
in all the wonderful words our language provides, there is none quite as cutting as "regret", yes? I can only wish that your life in the decades since was a happy one. I would not intrude on it now, were it not for a more important reason than an old man looking back on that short time in his youth when he loved, married and divorced a lady he had met when she kissed him on his head and told him that whatever it was, it could not be that bad.
My dear, so many of our people died in the recent attack by the Alliance. I have made it my business to read the lists of survivors, and thus I came across your name. You lost your home and your family, and I would offer you shelter in the Royal Palace, were it not for the fact that I know all too well your pride would keep you from accepting it. I can hear you know, telling me that I made my choice all those years: and that Mollari II. was nobody you knew or wanted anything from. (It is strange how I see only now that you share more than one trait with Timov.)
However, there is a home I can offer you, and I hope you will accept it. Some years ago, I purchased a house on Cerulon. I intended to give it to a young lady named Adira Tyree; the documents of the property still bear her name. Like you, she was a dancer; like you, she had the misfortune of falling in love with me. I flatter myself that that I became a better man while loving her; at any rate, I was the Londo you might remember with less than anger. She died before I could present her with this house, and I had not the heart to give it away since. But I can think of no more suitable owner than you, Rhodopis, and if you will accept this present of Londo who was, for a very short while, your husband, I would be most grateful. The necessary documents are attached, as is a ticket of passage.
Yours in memory,
Londo Mollari
My dear Mariel,
after receiving the somewhat mystifying message from your human lawyer, I went through a paroxysm of laughter that lasted long enough for Vir to alarm Dr. Franklin as he thought I was having another heart attack. This, my darling little viper, might have been the very purpose of your message, for I am at a loss to explain it otherwise.
Your lawyer, if I understand him correctly, thinks the money I settled on you after our divorce is not enough, and not so subtly hints that if I do not add to the sum, you will have to earn your living by publishing your memoirs. Mariel, you adorable minx, why should I keep you from the laudable enterprise of adding a poisoned pen to your already impressive armory? Not I. I admire an artist, and you, my dear, were never less than skilled at everything your set your mind on.
If you do write about our life together, be sure to include details on just what poison you used when trying to kill me during the anniversary of my ascension. Not that I bear a grudge, you understand, but it might just be one I haven't come across yet, and it could be useful knowledge when I return to Centauri Prime. A politician's work is never done, alas.
Yours in amusement and eager anticipation of the literary event of the year,
Londo |
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| Religion |
[Jul. 11th, 2007|12:56 pm] |
"What are you doing, Londo?"
"My duty. Valtoo!"
"Your what?"
"My religious duty, dear wife. I am trying to achieve unity with the gods."
"This is the most pathetic excuse for drunkeness you have ever offered."
"I know. This is why I was saving it until now."
"..."
"My docile darling, you could either join me in religious devotion or ask me why I have chosen this time to honor the gods, if you intend to further grace me with your presence."
"Londo, you are not just a fool but a painfully obvious fool. I do know the date."
"Of course you do. How could I ever doubt your admirable devotion to all things numerical? Well then, Timov, as it is the Feast of the First Emperor, let us rejoice. After all, we are Centauri. No other race has shown the wisdom to pray to the gods by celebrating, yes?"
"Disgraceful as the spectacle is, I've seen you rejoicing. You are not rejoicing now. You are feeling sorry for yourself, because the Feast of the First Emperor is the day a Centauri looks back on his achievements. Do get a hold of yourself. Your life is no one's fault but your own."
"I know. Valtoo!"
"...."
"Timov. Timov, I don't believe this. You just broke a precious bottle of brivari on my head. I could have died, woman! More importantly, the brivari is lost!"
"I was honoring the gods, Londo. There is more than one way to waste brivari and revel in wanton destruction. Now, where is that other bottle..."
"TIMOV!"
"..."
"..."
"Great Maker, my lady, what happened here?"
" My husband and I celebrated the Feast of the First Emperor. Which should be obvious to anyone with a sense of religious duty. Now, do clean up. If my husband awakes and manages to stumble on a shard, he'll return to feeling sorry for himself, and that really was not the purpose of my visit." |
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| Moment of Triumph |
[Jul. 3rd, 2007|11:56 am] |
I always imagined it would involve one of our more spectacular celebrations; a party as only we Centauri can throw, after the Republic was restored to its old splendor, something I, personally, would be responsible for, yes?
In reality, it involved nothing of the sort.
There were, of course, celebrations during the war with the Narn and after our victory, and I had been very much responsible for both. But I could not have felt less triumphant if I tried, and not just because Vir was there, watching, and every time I looked at him I could hear his fervent pleas not to follow this path. There was no triumph there; I think what I felt was a mixture of determination and doubt.
After Cartagia's death and the end of the Shadow war, when the Vorlon ship that had darkened the sun withdrew, I did not feel triumphant, either. Most of all, I felt an incredible relief because if we had not managed to save Centauri Prime, our planet would have been doomed, because of me. Besides, there had been a price for Cartagia's death which I had not reckoned with, and Vir had been the one to pay it: the last of his innocence. No, there was no triumph in that moment.
If there was a moment of triumph, it came a few months later. After we had both returned to the station, G'Kar had told me I did not exist in his universe any more, which tells you something about G'Kar; "his" universe, indeed. Now, I must admit common sense pointed towards avoiding him. We had been allies on Centauri Prime, yes, but that had been because of a mutual enemy, and at any event, I had kept my promise and freed his planet. There was no sensible reason in the universe to seek someone out who had vowed eternal enmity with, admittedly, good cause, yes?
Well. Perhaps it was because I did not want things to return to the way they had been before everything had started, and not just between G'Kar and myself; between Centauri and Narn. Perhaps rarely a day passed when I did not remember that once upon a time, he had bought me a drink, and believed, ever so briefly, things could be different indeed, and if only it had happened a few hours earlier...
And perhaps it was simply because I do not like the word "no", and I do not like declarations about my non-existence.
The humans were still fighting among themselves, then, and I thought that if Centauri and Narn sided with the same party - to wit, our noble Captain Sheridan of the determined chin and the ever shorter hair - it would be the kind of gesture that would both stun the rest of the races, be of some practical use to the good Captain, and, well, impress a certain Narn. He, of course, remained determinedly unimpressed. After letting me recite the speech I had very carefully prepared, he rejected my offer in no uncertain terms. Later, I fond myself sitting at the Zocalo, as depressed as I had ever been in the old days, when my hands were free of blood (and full of unpaid bills). I did not talk to anyone, and despite the presence of a bottle and a glass, I did not drink. I just stared into the air, and presumably looked as vacant as your next useless middle-aged politician.
And then, I noticed someone approaching. Sitting next to me. Pouring himself a drink out of my bottle. And telling me: "But I won't sign on the same page, do you understand that?"
"Yes," I said, looking at him and realizing that for the first time in years when it came to my presence, there was actually the tiniest smile in his face.
That, dear readers, was my moment of triumph. I shall not see its like again. |
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| Tell us a secret |
[Jun. 23rd, 2007|02:57 pm] |
Letter, written in the third year of the reign of Mollari II
My dear Delenn,
it has been years since last we spoke; there is not a lot that the Emperor of the Centauri could say to the Head of the Rangers, or, for that matter, to the future President of the Alliance these days, yes? (If I were still who I used to be, and thus entitled to tease you, my dear, I should make some remarks about having introduced democracy to Centauri Prime a long time ago if I had known it consisted of the highest offices in the family, as this is what we have been doing here since the first days of the Republic.) But this letter, my dear friend, does not come from the Emperor, but from a ghost, and is addressed to a woman who asked me once to participate in a ceremony that dealt with the entrusting of secrets. It concerns another ghost, of course; otherwise I might not be at liberty to write it.
On that memorable occasion when I saw you last, I had not been aware that young Lennier had just left your side; I could not help but notice you were distressed, but did not learn the reason until very recently. How did I learn it? Because, Delenn, a visitor arrived on Centauri Prime, unbidden, uninvited, and very much in danger, his fighting prowess notwithstanding, especially as it seemed he did not wish to fight at all. There were those in my goverment who deemed him a spy for the Alliance, which shows you that the stupidity of officials is as universal and dominant as ever, even on my ruined planet which is still recovering from its wounds. "If the Alliance wished to spy on us," I said, "it would undoubtedly have used its considerable funds to support various members of this cabinet whom I see still maintaining the luxury of old. It would not have send a Minbari who stands out among Centauri as glaringly as evidence of intelligence does in this assembly."
Lennier, when he was brought in my presence, did have a tale to tell. It seems he wishes for atonment, and confuses this with following the late Marcus Cole's example in attempting suicidal gestures.
"Lennier," I said, "aside from an economized truth you were once kind enough to tell on behalf of an aging Centauri diplomat, I cannot imagine anything you should have to atone for."
Being a Minbari and your student, he thought otherwise, and told me of his moment of weakness. Ah, Delenn, now I understand your sorrow on that fateful day. Undoubtedly, you must have worried for him ever since.
"It seems clear to me," I told Lennier, "that you wish to die, but why do you choose the Centauri as your executioners?"
He then spoke of the investigation and his testimony which led the Alliance to believe in the guilt of the Centauri before Vir and the estimable Ms. Alexander could bring the proof that exculpated us, and of the bombardment that followed. That, he said, was why we were his choice.
"Life is more difficult than death, Lennier," I said. "I know this better than anyone, yes? If you truly wish to atone for your part in the fate of this planet, then, my good friend, you shall do so, but not through death. No. We need healers here, and I remember how you and Delenn chose to remain with the Markab in the hours of their agony. Well, our agony is more prolonged, but requires attendance nonetheless. Will you give the Centauri what you gave the Markab?"
This sounded punishing enough for him to agree, it seems. He made me promise not to tell you. But I still owe you one shared secret, Delenn, and it is this, for I know far too well what it is not to know the fate of the ones we love. Do not fret for Lennier. He will not stay in the capital; the air of the Royal Palace is, shall we say, too refined. He will be with the poor, those who lost everything due to the bombardment, and no shadow shall touch him there, not even a fragment of a shadow. And eventually, he will return to you.
Yours in the secrecy of friendship past,
Londo Mollari |
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