Stanley opens his mouth. He closes it, then opens it again. "I..." One hand rises, unconsciously mirroring Ford's gesture at the back of his own neck.
"...Alright," Stanley says, thinking, this sounds like one hairy hell of a hallucination. "Alright," he says again, and tries to figure out how he's going to handle this.
"And these, uh. These Great Old Ones from the Space Beyond, or whatever." Shouldn't've said it that way, too much chance Ford will think the Lovecraft reference means Stanley doesn't believe him. He doesn't. Ford isn't supposed to know that. It's too late to take it back now, keep going and hope he doesn't think about it. "You been doin' research on them? Like, takin' pictures and shit?"
And that shit about the Fabric of Reality (because you bet he can hear the capital letters as Ford says it)? Not important. Not nearly the most important part of that. Harder to prove wrong.
no subject
"...Alright," Stanley says, thinking, this sounds like one hairy hell of a hallucination. "Alright," he says again, and tries to figure out how he's going to handle this.
"And these, uh. These Great Old Ones from the Space Beyond, or whatever." Shouldn't've said it that way, too much chance Ford will think the Lovecraft reference means Stanley doesn't believe him. He doesn't. Ford isn't supposed to know that. It's too late to take it back now, keep going and hope he doesn't think about it. "You been doin' research on them? Like, takin' pictures and shit?"
And that shit about the Fabric of Reality (because you bet he can hear the capital letters as Ford says it)? Not important. Not nearly the most important part of that. Harder to prove wrong.