[ Ronan honestly doesn't know a single thing about dreaming when it comes to San Junipero -- the logical part of his brain (yeah, that does exist in there somewhere.) telling him that there shouldn't be any way for him to dream in the current state he's in. His consciousness is stored on some kind of hi-tech flash drive -- at least, that's how he thinks it works. He didn't really pay much attention to the explanation of it all. -- how the hell was he supposed to even get himself to any sort of dreamspace?
No body, no brain, no nothing. Just a bunch of fancy coding and technology that he doesn't even want to try and understand. It went against everything that he'd grown up knowing and believing in. Throws a wrench in everything that he thought he knew.
He doesn't have a good answer for Kavinsky because he honestly doesn't know why the hell he came here of all places. Why Kavinsky seemed like the perfect candidate to help battle his insomnia. He'd simply been walking, and then there he was: in front of the boy's door, feeling desperate and defeated but not letting any of it show outwardly.
He's always been good at that, after all. ]
I dunno. [ He mumbles with a shrug of his shoulders -- something a little uncharacteristic, some of those feelings worming their way to the surface. ] Just figured you'd be up, don't look too deep into it.
[ The door opens a little wider and Ronan hesitates for a moment, as though he's still debating going back home, as though crossing the threshold into Kavinsky's house would have had some life-altering consequences, as though he's preparing himself to enter the belly of the beast.
And after a few short seconds, he brushes by Kavinsky and slips silently inside. ]
Yeah. Thanks.
[ Which sounds about as sincere as it always does -- which is, to say, hardly at all. ]
no subject
No body, no brain, no nothing. Just a bunch of fancy coding and technology that he doesn't even want to try and understand. It went against everything that he'd grown up knowing and believing in. Throws a wrench in everything that he thought he knew.
He doesn't have a good answer for Kavinsky because he honestly doesn't know why the hell he came here of all places. Why Kavinsky seemed like the perfect candidate to help battle his insomnia. He'd simply been walking, and then there he was: in front of the boy's door, feeling desperate and defeated but not letting any of it show outwardly.
He's always been good at that, after all. ]
I dunno. [ He mumbles with a shrug of his shoulders -- something a little uncharacteristic, some of those feelings worming their way to the surface. ] Just figured you'd be up, don't look too deep into it.
[ The door opens a little wider and Ronan hesitates for a moment, as though he's still debating going back home, as though crossing the threshold into Kavinsky's house would have had some life-altering consequences, as though he's preparing himself to enter the belly of the beast.
And after a few short seconds, he brushes by Kavinsky and slips silently inside. ]
Yeah. Thanks.
[ Which sounds about as sincere as it always does -- which is, to say, hardly at all. ]