Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
Oh, Raymond hadn't been joking, however much he might smile, and he certainly wasn't intending to make her happy by speaking so boldly. He'd simply used the information afforded him by the mare's own actions and taken a gamble that she would be unbalanced by his words. Judging by the way the mare's sinews and telekenesis seemed to have wound themselves up as tightly as bowstrings, he'd struck a nerve.
Unfazed by her rage, he pressed on, taking advantage of her momentary restraint. "I don't need to know who you are," he riposted. His tail had stopped swaying - the only outward sign that he was prepared to defend himself should she betray the Summit's peace.
"You refused to help free the regimes, which might just have meant you didn't think you would be able to - but I saw you laughing, too. That seems more like you don't think anyone could manage it. If I were to hazard a guess from that, you're a religious sort, are you not?" All this was said with a scientist's observational intrigue - impartial, informative, empirical - and he did not pause long enough to let her affirm or deny the assumption.
"If you are religious, and believe mortals should abandon their own principles in the face of divine will, how do you not support slavery? If you believe that it's folly for us to support one another by trying to shift that rockslide, because the power of the gods is so much greater than ours, then what are you but a slave who's forgotten the weight of her own shackles?" He tilted his head and leaned forward slightly, slate-grey eyes cold and incisive. Neither her spear nor her anger frightened him; he'd come to terms a long time ago with the reality that he could die at any moment. The trick to surviving was always having an exit strategy.
"Or am I putting words in your mouth?" he echoed in conclusion.
Sometimes the best place to stand happened to be right in front of the dragon's nose.
Unfazed by her rage, he pressed on, taking advantage of her momentary restraint. "I don't need to know who you are," he riposted. His tail had stopped swaying - the only outward sign that he was prepared to defend himself should she betray the Summit's peace.
"You refused to help free the regimes, which might just have meant you didn't think you would be able to - but I saw you laughing, too. That seems more like you don't think anyone could manage it. If I were to hazard a guess from that, you're a religious sort, are you not?" All this was said with a scientist's observational intrigue - impartial, informative, empirical - and he did not pause long enough to let her affirm or deny the assumption.
"If you are religious, and believe mortals should abandon their own principles in the face of divine will, how do you not support slavery? If you believe that it's folly for us to support one another by trying to shift that rockslide, because the power of the gods is so much greater than ours, then what are you but a slave who's forgotten the weight of her own shackles?" He tilted his head and leaned forward slightly, slate-grey eyes cold and incisive. Neither her spear nor her anger frightened him; he'd come to terms a long time ago with the reality that he could die at any moment. The trick to surviving was always having an exit strategy.
"Or am I putting words in your mouth?" he echoed in conclusion.
Sometimes the best place to stand happened to be right in front of the dragon's nose.
@Avdotya
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
