[scoffs, but fairly lightly, and then, utters] You were born in a large bed, weren't you, Miss? One surely covered with soft blankets?
But somebody who isn't has to either murder for one, or steal one, or sell one's body for one, or sell one's organs for one, or tinker and make some things, some new things, to get to buy one. That is the truth of the world, for this universe and for all other universes if any other exist, I am sure.
You had to sell something - no, you did not have to ask for permission, I have never asked for permission, only tried to give birth to as many fruits of my intellect as I could when I was a child and later a teenager for a time - as a teenager, I never stayed long with all the fruits of intellect's labour that I made, I always sold them - and my parents were always in awe, because I've never sold my body and I never will. So they called me independent, resolute, free, their beloved little scientist - and it made me proud. And they bought for me an Academy uniform. Topside Academy's uniform. When I first put it on and looked in a mirror, I momentarily became a god in my own eyes.
That, ehh, God thing - I can never share that fragment of thoughts with any Piltie - because even the best of the best of them would NOT understand. God? For some very basics? They wouldn't get it. They don't know they are gods. Well, no, not very good ones - they are, over half of them, petty, cruel, negligent, insoquential, stupid gods of idiocy, but-- they would not get it. Though sometimes, one can find some pearls among the topsiders, shockingly, or some emeralds. Heh. [Viktor gives a small smile, that quickly falls, back to neutral expression. He hasn't raised his voice here, not much any time, not once. As if any voice raising was forbidden by some beautiful heavens above or acid stinking raging hells below. Or as if he was a calm man, always. Either or or both... who can tell...? hmmm?]
No, don't beg to exist. I can see you never had to miss. Glad to hear that. Truly, eh, glad, I don't wish my people's fate on anyone, miss, uhhh, trust in that, at least, I happen not to be a devil incarnate. Though some will beg to differ. Because they feel threatened by, uh, my brain. [heh]
[cough. blood. into hand. Blood that he WON'T show her, as that would, in his put-together chiseled and cared for mind, put a dent in everything he's said to her. There would have to be a modicum of trust, first, for him to offer the sight of this blood freely without anybody forcing his hand]
no subject
But somebody who isn't has to either murder for one, or steal one, or sell one's body for one, or sell one's organs for one, or tinker and make some things, some new things, to get to buy one. That is the truth of the world, for this universe and for all other universes if any other exist, I am sure.
You had to sell something - no, you did not have to ask for permission, I have never asked for permission, only tried to give birth to as many fruits of my intellect as I could when I was a child and later a teenager for a time - as a teenager, I never stayed long with all the fruits of intellect's labour that I made, I always sold them - and my parents were always in awe, because I've never sold my body and I never will. So they called me independent, resolute, free, their beloved little scientist - and it made me proud. And they bought for me an Academy uniform. Topside Academy's uniform. When I first put it on and looked in a mirror, I momentarily became a god in my own eyes.
That, ehh, God thing - I can never share that fragment of thoughts with any Piltie - because even the best of the best of them would NOT understand. God? For some very basics? They wouldn't get it. They don't know they are gods. Well, no, not very good ones - they are, over half of them, petty, cruel, negligent, insoquential, stupid gods of idiocy, but-- they would not get it. Though sometimes, one can find some pearls among the topsiders, shockingly, or some emeralds. Heh.
[Viktor gives a small smile, that quickly falls, back to neutral expression.
He hasn't raised his voice here, not much any time, not once.
As if any voice raising was forbidden by some beautiful heavens above or acid stinking raging hells below. Or as if he was a calm man, always. Either or or both... who can tell...? hmmm?]
No, don't beg to exist. I can see you never had to miss. Glad to hear that. Truly, eh, glad, I don't wish my people's fate on anyone, miss, uhhh, trust in that, at least, I happen not to be a devil incarnate. Though some will beg to differ. Because they feel threatened by, uh, my brain.
[heh]
[cough. blood. into hand. Blood that he WON'T show her, as that would, in his put-together chiseled and cared for mind, put a dent in everything he's said to her. There would have to be a modicum of trust, first, for him to offer the sight of this blood freely without anybody forcing his hand]
[cough. cough. cough.]