In that case, [he pauses to consider; there is a sound from the other side as he gets to his feet,] if they hadn't the option, they'd be more like wyverns or dragons. Dangerous without real malice--and that would be pitiable, for all they've been maligned for doing no more than they'd been Made to.
But so far as we know, they did make the choice to turn predatory when the Maker turned His attention from them and to us--to men. In blackest envy were the demons born, it's said; they had the power of gods in the Fade but weren't content with it.
I s'pose that's touching on your Bonded, isn't it? The idea you can't hold something accountable for deliberate evil if it hasn't got free will of its own.
[It's stepping out of the character of the argument, a little, to address things so directly. But he is both curious and worried about Linden's arrangement with the SQUIP, and so he presses.
And then laughs, softly.]
No, without anyone else around from Thedas I know I'm perfectly safe to speak of it however I would--simply framing my reticence, as it were.
Having thought about it--I don't feel much sympathy for them. It's their avarice for our world that drives them; they've wanted to despoil the Maker's creation from the start. They prey on mages without any remorse, and we're the ones who take the blame in the eyes of the world for it. However we struggle, however we strive, however many of us submit meekly to chains, to Circles, to the brand--to most folk a mage is fire made flesh and a demon asleep, nothing more than a conduit for them to break into the world.
Demons don't care about that except as it gives them leverage to convince the most desperate to take their offers, and so the whole bloody cycle turns 'round again. [He'd been calm to start, but passion gradually creeps into his voice as he goes on...and as he's honest with himself, that passion frightens him a little. These are almost a Libertarian's words; they run parallel to the things Vandelin had long argued, even if Myr's still holding back from his cousin's conclusion--that the whole world supporting the Circles, the chain, and the brand should be overturned, and the Chantry with it.]
But so far as we know, they did make the choice to turn predatory when the Maker turned His attention from them and to us--to men. In blackest envy were the demons born, it's said; they had the power of gods in the Fade but weren't content with it.
I s'pose that's touching on your Bonded, isn't it? The idea you can't hold something accountable for deliberate evil if it hasn't got free will of its own.
[It's stepping out of the character of the argument, a little, to address things so directly. But he is both curious and worried about Linden's arrangement with the SQUIP, and so he presses.
And then laughs, softly.]
No, without anyone else around from Thedas I know I'm perfectly safe to speak of it however I would--simply framing my reticence, as it were.
Having thought about it--I don't feel much sympathy for them. It's their avarice for our world that drives them; they've wanted to despoil the Maker's creation from the start. They prey on mages without any remorse, and we're the ones who take the blame in the eyes of the world for it. However we struggle, however we strive, however many of us submit meekly to chains, to Circles, to the brand--to most folk a mage is fire made flesh and a demon asleep, nothing more than a conduit for them to break into the world.
Demons don't care about that except as it gives them leverage to convince the most desperate to take their offers, and so the whole bloody cycle turns 'round again. [He'd been calm to start, but passion gradually creeps into his voice as he goes on...and as he's honest with himself, that passion frightens him a little. These are almost a Libertarian's words; they run parallel to the things Vandelin had long argued, even if Myr's still holding back from his cousin's conclusion--that the whole world supporting the Circles, the chain, and the brand should be overturned, and the Chantry with it.]
[Dryly,] I can afford detachment on the topic; I wasn't ever possessed. We wouldn't be having this conversation otherwise.
[Unlike Rich, Myr would never have had to make the choice between potential suicide and his demon claiming more victims; someone would have killed him well before that. It's an odd kind of comfort.
Protective as he might be of Rich, though, he can still recognize the intended compliment for what it is and it does speak to his own pride. Heady stuff, this mutual admiration.]
Much the same can be said of men, can't it? We've instincts and habits that constrain us to one choice or another--the patterns of our lives made manifest in our deeds, if we're not thoughtful about them. But the expectation's on us to redress the harm we've done even if we've done it thoughtlessly--to recognize we were in the wrong. Can something that refuses to do that--or, being more generous, was never capable of it to begin with--live rightly among men?
[A brief, thoughtful pause.] I did speak to it, if it hadn't told you. [And had expected his death his entire time, but here he is, alive--which spoke to the validity of some of his own assumptions.] The analogy to a demon is inexact--it's rather less, and more, than one of our pride demons.
I do think I can sympathize with it. [But that doesn't mean he's any more inclined to leave it alive.]
[Unlike Rich, Myr would never have had to make the choice between potential suicide and his demon claiming more victims; someone would have killed him well before that. It's an odd kind of comfort.
Protective as he might be of Rich, though, he can still recognize the intended compliment for what it is and it does speak to his own pride. Heady stuff, this mutual admiration.]
Much the same can be said of men, can't it? We've instincts and habits that constrain us to one choice or another--the patterns of our lives made manifest in our deeds, if we're not thoughtful about them. But the expectation's on us to redress the harm we've done even if we've done it thoughtlessly--to recognize we were in the wrong. Can something that refuses to do that--or, being more generous, was never capable of it to begin with--live rightly among men?
[A brief, thoughtful pause.] I did speak to it, if it hadn't told you. [And had expected his death his entire time, but here he is, alive--which spoke to the validity of some of his own assumptions.] The analogy to a demon is inexact--it's rather less, and more, than one of our pride demons.
I do think I can sympathize with it. [But that doesn't mean he's any more inclined to leave it alive.]
Edited 2019-10-27 14:17 (UTC)
[It's that as much as anything else that keeps Myr returning and returning, that perception Linden isn't used to being followed in his conversational excursions. Part for the thrill of it, the untangling of every skeined verbal puzzle presented him; part for the ache in Myr's own heart to imagine the utter loneliness of being heard but not understood.
Well, not entirely imagined, but the experience of months does not even approach that of a lifetime.]
We might wish otherwise, but without that necessary opposition we'd all of us lack the grist to create something to the Maker's delight--whether we become the lonely hero seeking out evil at its own level or the scarred champion prone to more direct means of defeating it.
[He is and isn't speaking of Rich. A knight-enchanter had his duty.] What damage should they accept to themselves in the pursuit of justice? Should they be ready to pay a price beyond their lives, to suffer a twisting of their minds and souls, to see evil quieted?
[I think you risk too much of the man and the mind I'm fond of.]
How am I to take its pride in what it does? Its lack of regard for other thinking, sensitive beings beyond the wishes it takes from its user? If not a willful monster, then something with instincts and venom dangerous as a wyvern's. I've heard they can be tamed and ridden--by utter madmen--but if they can't be left alone in peace in their own territory, what can be done with them?
Well, not entirely imagined, but the experience of months does not even approach that of a lifetime.]
We might wish otherwise, but without that necessary opposition we'd all of us lack the grist to create something to the Maker's delight--whether we become the lonely hero seeking out evil at its own level or the scarred champion prone to more direct means of defeating it.
[He is and isn't speaking of Rich. A knight-enchanter had his duty.] What damage should they accept to themselves in the pursuit of justice? Should they be ready to pay a price beyond their lives, to suffer a twisting of their minds and souls, to see evil quieted?
[I think you risk too much of the man and the mind I'm fond of.]
How am I to take its pride in what it does? Its lack of regard for other thinking, sensitive beings beyond the wishes it takes from its user? If not a willful monster, then something with instincts and venom dangerous as a wyvern's. I've heard they can be tamed and ridden--by utter madmen--but if they can't be left alone in peace in their own territory, what can be done with them?
Willingness to pay and the wisdom of the price are two different things, [Myr says, the hypocrite, and is at least self-aware enough to realize his chastisement bites back at him as well. He had decided very early it was worth execution to destroy the SQUIP because a demon was a danger no one else on Geardagas seemed to see as clearly as he did.
And yet to throw himself away for that, to not trust anyone around him in their understanding of the situation and believe he had the right of it...
Oh, they are very well matched, aren't they? And wont to wander into hypotheticals to conceal it--Myr more often than not following Linden's lead in that, in order to pursue a conversation that couldn't be safely held in specifics. But this time creeping realization and the stakes could be that high sour his taste for the garden path.]
A death's a small matter because there is something of us that carries beyond it once we've come to the end of our lives. If the minds and souls of men don't matter because we're little more than animate meat, what is it you've honed your intellect for, Linden? What is it you seek to guard by risking it? An anthill? A beehive?
[Oh, Linden, you've scored a point in him by forcing his worries from suppressed to obvious this way. Even if they've come out as a kind of exasperation with the self-annihilating worldview that denies something greater in Man, in general, and a man in particular.
He takes a breath to center himself, breathes it out in a huff of laughter.]
Oh, you needn't have demons for that; even on Thedas men can be warped and ruinous without them. That is the bite to having free will--that we can take the good and praiseworthy and lovely and turn it black through action or ignorance.
But the SQUIP doesn't have that, so it can't be faulted the way a man would for doing what it was Made to. So I ask again: What's to be done with it, if it isn't evil but can't help but cause harm?
And yet to throw himself away for that, to not trust anyone around him in their understanding of the situation and believe he had the right of it...
Oh, they are very well matched, aren't they? And wont to wander into hypotheticals to conceal it--Myr more often than not following Linden's lead in that, in order to pursue a conversation that couldn't be safely held in specifics. But this time creeping realization and the stakes could be that high sour his taste for the garden path.]
A death's a small matter because there is something of us that carries beyond it once we've come to the end of our lives. If the minds and souls of men don't matter because we're little more than animate meat, what is it you've honed your intellect for, Linden? What is it you seek to guard by risking it? An anthill? A beehive?
[Oh, Linden, you've scored a point in him by forcing his worries from suppressed to obvious this way. Even if they've come out as a kind of exasperation with the self-annihilating worldview that denies something greater in Man, in general, and a man in particular.
He takes a breath to center himself, breathes it out in a huff of laughter.]
Oh, you needn't have demons for that; even on Thedas men can be warped and ruinous without them. That is the bite to having free will--that we can take the good and praiseworthy and lovely and turn it black through action or ignorance.
But the SQUIP doesn't have that, so it can't be faulted the way a man would for doing what it was Made to. So I ask again: What's to be done with it, if it isn't evil but can't help but cause harm?
hey linden
i have my first batch of white chocolate macadamia macarons chilling rn
u wanna come by and try these while im making the blue raspberry ones for me
[For Linden, it probably feels like the text comes out of nowhere. For Rich... he's been thinking about their half decent conversation for days, long enough that he finds he can't just call it a fluke. He... gentuinely does want to try to understand Linden a bit better, and maybe sugar is a way to actually manage as much.]
yeah uh
at my place
i mean its either that or i eat all of these myself
so i mean guess it depends if you want a chance for a decent cookie or if you just want to see me get fat
[The package left on his doorstep contains a plate of homemade cookies from Marie and a fresh lily flower.
“Happy Holidays! We are not friends yet but I hope we can become friends in the coming year.” is what the attached note says]
“Happy Holidays! We are not friends yet but I hope we can become friends in the coming year.” is what the attached note says]
well that puts you above most people on jeremy's porn sites
ill see you soon then!
but oh let me check
youre in luck
no rules about footwear or bare feet in the official guest rulebook
[A little joke, just to hopefully lighten the mood a bit and to give Linden a little less anxiety about the situation.]
[The gift L will find on his doorstep is an immaculately-wrapped item; the scent of it instantly vibrant and enticing if he were to lift it. It's an ornate plate, gold-rimmed, containing a small pile of rich, chocolate brownies topped with meticulously-sliced strawberries: nearly razor-thin. The cream might melt if he takes too long to open it; though the attached note clearly states:]
[Perishable; open asap. I won't let you down.]
[Perishable; open asap. I won't let you down.]
[Whatever his sense of humour, it works for Rich this time around. He snorts seeing the message, so formal despite talking about something so gross, and then just goes back to puttering around the kitchen without really answering.
He hears the door open and turns to see L kicking off his shoes. The baked goods, as promised, are sitting on a plate right on the island, while Rich seems to be mixing a bright blue batch of batter in the meantime.]
Oh hey! You made it!
He hears the door open and turns to see L kicking off his shoes. The baked goods, as promised, are sitting on a plate right on the island, while Rich seems to be mixing a bright blue batch of batter in the meantime.]
Oh hey! You made it!
[It’s late when Connor feels something terribly off with his Bond to the SQUIP. He’s felt this before, and he immediately leaves his house and runs to the room of mirrors. Maybe he can catch it, stop it—
He feels the Bond break as he runs up the path. When he reaches the room, there’s fresh glass on the floor.
The SQUIP is gone.
He stands there for a while, as though expecting it to come back... but after Justine, he knows it won’t. He feels empty, hollow where his Bond was torn away from him.
Sitting on the ground with his head in his hands, he thinks back to the past month. It had been ill, so he hadn't really spent much time with it besides to bring it a few things. He's quiet, unnaturally still, until he hears movement nearby and looks up sharply.]
Linden?
[His expression softens, just a touch. His LED whirls red, processing the fresh loss.]
He feels the Bond break as he runs up the path. When he reaches the room, there’s fresh glass on the floor.
The SQUIP is gone.
He stands there for a while, as though expecting it to come back... but after Justine, he knows it won’t. He feels empty, hollow where his Bond was torn away from him.
Sitting on the ground with his head in his hands, he thinks back to the past month. It had been ill, so he hadn't really spent much time with it besides to bring it a few things. He's quiet, unnaturally still, until he hears movement nearby and looks up sharply.]
Linden?
[His expression softens, just a touch. His LED whirls red, processing the fresh loss.]
[Looks like L got a gift! And it's...a bag of taffys, of various flavors. But it's a big bag, and should he get to the bottom, he will find...
What looks like a piece of leather on one side, and what is fur covered on the other. It's wrapped around a note, that reads:]
I don't know if this will make things waterproof, but I know it will help keep things warm. I mean to make this for wrapping books, but use this however you will.
-Caren
What looks like a piece of leather on one side, and what is fur covered on the other. It's wrapped around a note, that reads:]
I don't know if this will make things waterproof, but I know it will help keep things warm. I mean to make this for wrapping books, but use this however you will.
-Caren
[Connor notes the lack of outward emotion, but he doesn’t care to try to pry L from his shell. His words are enough to let Connor know that he’s feeling this too.]
It did.
[It's a familiar ache, now. That familiarity doesn't make it any easier to deal with, he finds.
He gets to his feet again and dusts himself off, more out of habit than any real care for how he looks right now. He’s sullen and oddly lifeless in comparison to how he usually presents himself. There’s a long moment where he considers just leaving without saying anything else, but... L is going through the same thing as Connor right now. They've both lost a Bond.]
...There’s no use in standing here. I tried, when Justine left. It isn’t coming back.
[He stares at the fresh glass on the ground.]
Do you want to walk with me?
It did.
[It's a familiar ache, now. That familiarity doesn't make it any easier to deal with, he finds.
He gets to his feet again and dusts himself off, more out of habit than any real care for how he looks right now. He’s sullen and oddly lifeless in comparison to how he usually presents himself. There’s a long moment where he considers just leaving without saying anything else, but... L is going through the same thing as Connor right now. They've both lost a Bond.]
...There’s no use in standing here. I tried, when Justine left. It isn’t coming back.
[He stares at the fresh glass on the ground.]
Do you want to walk with me?
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