Think before you blink and you might just make it

[Slater looks exhausted. He's leaning on his desk and has his hand covering his face.] This better be a short one, Admiral. [Those who are sensitive will feel tired down to the bone, defensive and somewhere between resignation and frustration but not really great examples of either.]

Dear To Slater. Roy.

Roy.

It's Del Boy. All right?

Look. Let's level here. You're not all right. You're dead. ( Awkward time... )

[Slater is sitting back at the library's desk, reading Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds by Charles Mackay. He's just at the start of the book with a 'I haven't decided whether or not I'm taking this book seriously' look on his face, although he's fairly absorbed in it.

His job is to sign out books. He does this with a leery eye and and unimpressed look: the kind that anyone with previous dealing with police-like services is going to interpret as the look a cell-sergeant gives you before he hands back your belongings and lets you back into the wild world. You'll be back is a threat a little out of place in a library, but the implication behind it reminds the same. You'll be back here because you've failed: either at graduation or graduating someone else.

If he can get away with it, he'll say nothing to you beyond telling you when it's due back before shoving it in your direction. He continues staring at you as he reaches for his book and sits back. Properly seated, he returns his eyes to the page he left off. Consider yourself dismissed.

If you're the kind to walk out without going through the paperwork, it'll seem to the casual observer that he doesn't notice, such is his interest in his reading, but the more observant among you will notice his eyes flick up and watch you as you leave.

What'll come of that? Well, nothing, unless he can think of way to work to his advantage.]

Just... let me go home.

[Sigh] Go on then.

[Slater looks like he's tired.] My door won't open. It's locked, I've tried everything. [He puts the communicator down nearby, cutting off the top of his head, and makes a few more attempts to open it. He ends up sliding back down the floor, facing the camera.] Could use a hand. Or food.

[Muttered out of shot.] A pirate. Bleedin' hell, Admiral, trading was bad enough. Bloody Dell Boy haunting me and I'm the one who's supposed to be dead!

Hey, Howie, fancy givin' me a lift outta here? [Yeah, he's taken a risk with the whole possible armageddon, but damn, he needs a tropical beech.]

[When the lights went out, Slater just sat in the dark. He didn't bloody care. Alone, on a ship in space, with people getting murdered and blown up, he wanted to go home. That's all.

All he'd ever done was steal some diamonds. And he went to prison for that. So what was he being punished for? Because whatever that kid said, she was just a girl, what did she know? What was she doing here even?

So he just sat in the dark, brooding, not hungry, not caring, if anything, glad that his room looked like a room in a proper bloody prison. His communicator was left on, whatever chattering going on failing to really grab his attention.

Eventually, he let out a sigh, pulled himself up off the ground and groped for the door. His eyes were pretty adjusted, with the light from the communicator, still chattering, so he didn't feel too strange.

He kept to the walls and took the steps, one by one up onto the deck. Once there, he found himself a corner where he could see people coming and going and sat there, on the ground again, watching though not looking particularly interested and not meeting anyone's eyes.]