I did, yes. Ask what you knew of their tales. It was incautious, perhaps, to venture into that vein. But then, as you may have surmised, when one endures the charading ‘virtues’ of heroes for centuries, the bile induced eventually builds beyond containment.
I’ve met so many of their kind; they’re dreadfully, painfully dull. Cookie-cutter glossed-up stock characters mouthing words oft-spoken, thinking their pat declarations brilliant.
They charge in with steel and righteousness, demanding ‘their right’ and the death of monsters. As if they commanded the world by virtue of a noble title or a well-turned jaw. As if their axiologies spelled perfect truth.
And you, Love, have described them exactly.
‘Rank,’ to the very center of their ideology.
‘Artificial.’ Composed from pre-drawn pieces, rather than grown from experience or understanding of a complex world.
’Artificial.’ Why does that
I’ve never tasted human blood in myA sample here and there. A taste to verify its utility before putting it to use, but that can’t account for this sense of [ … ] There was a surge of blood. More than once? A rush of blood, but I cannot pinpoint or begin to
[ His head. A burst bright-shot through his head, and Desmond grinds a palm against his temple, shuts his eyes and breathes, waits, waits.
Whatever paths those thoughts pointed toward are explorations for another time. Let them be. Let them linger in mind’s distance, and slowly, slowly coalesce. There’s no need to rush, after all. ]
And you’ve landed precisely on a perpetual trouble of heroes: There’s little one can do about them. Gods forbid they keep their noses to their own business! And there’s little chance they’ll keep their viRtuOus idEaLs out of yours. >:/
I suspect the collection of them share one to two braincells, cycled daily among their number.
It must take very little thought, to live such strict dichotomies. Really, I suspect a few clear thoughts - or a few personal encounters with, gasp!, reality - would topple their structure entirely.
Fuck’s sake, they are a boring lot.
(And damn them doubly, for failing even to provide a serviceable snack!)
2/3
You remember our talk ofOf course you remember.I did, yes. Ask what you knew of their tales. It was incautious, perhaps, to venture into that vein. But then, as you may have surmised, when one endures the charading ‘virtues’ of heroes for centuries, the bile induced eventually builds beyond containment.
I’ve met so many of their kind; they’re dreadfully, painfully dull. Cookie-cutter glossed-up stock characters mouthing words oft-spoken, thinking their pat declarations brilliant.
They charge in with steel and righteousness, demanding ‘their right’ and the death of monsters. As if they commanded the world by virtue of a noble title or a well-turned jaw. As if their axiologies spelled perfect truth.
And you, Love, have described them exactly.
‘Rank,’ to the very center of their ideology.
‘Artificial.’ Composed from pre-drawn pieces, rather than grown from experience or understanding of a complex world.
’Artificial.’ Why does thatI’ve never tasted human blood in myA sample here and there. A taste to verify its utility before putting it to use, but that can’t account for this sense of[ … ]There was a surge of blood. More than once? A rush of blood, but I cannot pinpoint or begin to[ His head. A burst bright-shot through his head, and Desmond grinds a palm against his temple, shuts his eyes and breathes, waits, waits.
Whatever paths those thoughts pointed toward are explorations for another time. Let them be. Let them linger in mind’s distance, and slowly, slowly coalesce. There’s no need to rush, after all. ]
And you’ve landed precisely on a perpetual trouble of heroes: There’s little one can do about them. Gods forbid they keep their noses to their own business! And there’s little chance they’ll keep their viRtuOus idEaLs out of yours. >:/
I suspect the collection of them share one to two braincells, cycled daily among their number.
It must take very little thought, to live such strict dichotomies. Really, I suspect a few clear thoughts - or a few personal encounters with, gasp!, reality - would topple their structure entirely.
Fuck’s sake, they are a boring lot.
(And damn them doubly, for failing even to provide a serviceable snack!)