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Post by Hush on May 27, 2019 19:16:11 GMT
Timeline: After Ars Moriendi
Before The time jump and/or Beyond the Pale
Previous Threads: Ars Moriendi
Characters Involved: Hush, Radio Host
Location: Empire Radio
What in creations name was he thinking, his time in this world, protecting who and what he was, casting a network and carving out a place where he could belong.
Was he attempting to right the wrongs of his past?
No, his past was exactly that, it shaped his future and nurtured his present, guiding decisions and motivating him to take action. Whatever he had done, it was done, and he wouldn’t change that. He had made mistakes both small and colossal, but he made a point to never repeat them, though admittedly, he did sometimes learn the wrong lesson from them.
Was it an attempt to make his soul worth more than 21 grammes?
No, he willingly accepted that should he be judged, a higher power that measured the merits of the soul would be advanced enough to understand that right and wrong are merely a matter of perspective, and that he had acted in accordance with what was necessary.
Besides, he would question the validity of such a metric, at what point does the scale tip? As a surgeon letting someone die to protect his statistics, or pulling a trigger, they both amounted to the same thing, but yet one was acceptable and the other was not?
The starkest truth of it all, was that he had done it because anything less would have been unsatisfactory for someone such as himself.
He could have arrived here in this new world and forged a criminal empire, he could have become a doctor once more and continued to practice, the legality of it aside, he had been a pioneer in his field, prolific and pre-eminent in the world he once called home. As a surgeon he was acting as the hands of god to many, he could fix what others could not, and temper life in the very face of death.
But, to follow a path that he had already trodden would have been folly, to take the same journey again, was it truly what he was meant to do? Had he been crafted into a perfect monster, both by nature and nurture? little more than a creature of darkness, enveloped in the trappings of man?
A dichotomic process of thinking was not a comfortable thing, not to someone like himself who only acted when they were entirely committed to the course. But yet in the wake of recent events this is what he had come to experience. Was his friend right, was it merely a matter of time before he would spread the wings of his nature and envelope the world in a darkness that only man can bring ?
He had been so sure that Bruce would have been able to see that the world needed better than them as enemies, and that necessity was paramount above all else, including their history. Bruce needed resources to get back home and he needed his friend, as distasteful and pathetic the thought was to him, Bruce was the tether that he had to humanity.
An almost laughable notion, the spoilt brat that he was, but yet in all the hate, in all the hurt, he held him as a friend. He loved him like a brother, but he also hated him like only a brother could.
But now, spurned, all the hurt that he felt, and the hate that he harboured, sat close to the surface, ready to tear its way into reality, ready to erupt forth in a sea of blood and a chorus of agony. Yet he contained his thoughts, faught his very nature even now, against every part of his better judgment, he sat across from this individual who was to bring his final salvation, or his utter damnation.
His life teetered on the precipice of the decision that he had made.
“I’m ready…”
The words spoken, what would be would depend on how they followed, a switch was flipped, vermillion became viridian as a buzz filled his ears momentarily. His gaze rose from the floor, emerald etched portals of obsidian turning to the woman who looked at him with a primal mix of fear, expectation and excitement,
“Mr. Si…”
Softly raised fingers breaking her speech, his eyes fluttered and nostrils flared as air plunged into his lungs, his hand softly descending to the top of the desk, breath rushing out as eyes widened once more,
“My name is Trent Simons, to those who know me and those that do not, I ask only that you hear my words, and listen to what they have to say.”
A calmness exuded from every word, but the slightest flutter brought with it a gravity in sincerity.
“I am the owner and maintainer of L’Oublette, a club existing within the urban regeneration area of this fine city that I would call home. The area, one that was supposed to represent what this world could offer, with a club in its very heart where all peoples are welcome, regardless of skin color, regardless of belief. A place where everyone, be they neo or native, would have a place.”
Taking a moment to let his words land, even without an ability to see or feel an audiences presence, it wasn’t beyond his measure to know that it was justified to give out information in carefully metered amounts.
“A place that found itself free of the plight that burdens the everyday, A place where people could be safe, irrespective of the warring factions in Manhattan. Everyday that passes we hear of another Vagrant that arrives to terrorize the world, We hear of a Neo that has committed an atrocity. And, even though I am unable to deny that these things happen, I still believe that it is not the way things should be.”
Another pause, this one slightly longer, his tones were hardening with a need to temper himself,
“There are those that think they know what is best for the peoples who find themselves in this world… and those who think that they know how to best deal with their arrivals… In truth no-one knows... The people defer to the politicians, who themselves defer to the military, and the military in kind turn to the small fraction of vagrants that have been made to feel relatively welcome in this world.”
A sigh, and a pause, with little more reason than to break his speech pattern.
“A confounding hypocrisy, though not in itself unsurprising… I have come to know many both of this world and not. I have harbored the secrets of both with no discrimination or preference. Held no prejudice or hatred for either one or the other.”
“And so, in light of this, to those that have accepted me, who have worked with me and even those who have stood opposed, I say” An almost laughed sigh breaking his flow, a confusion within his tones, one of disappointment and acceptance, but also of hope and pride. “My name is Trent Simons,”
His mind screaming at him for what was about to happen, his consciousness fighting the words that were about to be spoken, desperately attempting to claw its way back from the precipice of unknowing that was to follow.
“and I am a Dimensional Vagrant...”
Before The time jump and/or Beyond the Pale
Previous Threads: Ars Moriendi
Characters Involved: Hush, Radio Host
Location: Empire Radio
What in creations name was he thinking, his time in this world, protecting who and what he was, casting a network and carving out a place where he could belong.
Was he attempting to right the wrongs of his past?
No, his past was exactly that, it shaped his future and nurtured his present, guiding decisions and motivating him to take action. Whatever he had done, it was done, and he wouldn’t change that. He had made mistakes both small and colossal, but he made a point to never repeat them, though admittedly, he did sometimes learn the wrong lesson from them.
Was it an attempt to make his soul worth more than 21 grammes?
No, he willingly accepted that should he be judged, a higher power that measured the merits of the soul would be advanced enough to understand that right and wrong are merely a matter of perspective, and that he had acted in accordance with what was necessary.
Besides, he would question the validity of such a metric, at what point does the scale tip? As a surgeon letting someone die to protect his statistics, or pulling a trigger, they both amounted to the same thing, but yet one was acceptable and the other was not?
The starkest truth of it all, was that he had done it because anything less would have been unsatisfactory for someone such as himself.
He could have arrived here in this new world and forged a criminal empire, he could have become a doctor once more and continued to practice, the legality of it aside, he had been a pioneer in his field, prolific and pre-eminent in the world he once called home. As a surgeon he was acting as the hands of god to many, he could fix what others could not, and temper life in the very face of death.
But, to follow a path that he had already trodden would have been folly, to take the same journey again, was it truly what he was meant to do? Had he been crafted into a perfect monster, both by nature and nurture? little more than a creature of darkness, enveloped in the trappings of man?
A dichotomic process of thinking was not a comfortable thing, not to someone like himself who only acted when they were entirely committed to the course. But yet in the wake of recent events this is what he had come to experience. Was his friend right, was it merely a matter of time before he would spread the wings of his nature and envelope the world in a darkness that only man can bring ?
He had been so sure that Bruce would have been able to see that the world needed better than them as enemies, and that necessity was paramount above all else, including their history. Bruce needed resources to get back home and he needed his friend, as distasteful and pathetic the thought was to him, Bruce was the tether that he had to humanity.
An almost laughable notion, the spoilt brat that he was, but yet in all the hate, in all the hurt, he held him as a friend. He loved him like a brother, but he also hated him like only a brother could.
But now, spurned, all the hurt that he felt, and the hate that he harboured, sat close to the surface, ready to tear its way into reality, ready to erupt forth in a sea of blood and a chorus of agony. Yet he contained his thoughts, faught his very nature even now, against every part of his better judgment, he sat across from this individual who was to bring his final salvation, or his utter damnation.
His life teetered on the precipice of the decision that he had made.
“I’m ready…”
The words spoken, what would be would depend on how they followed, a switch was flipped, vermillion became viridian as a buzz filled his ears momentarily. His gaze rose from the floor, emerald etched portals of obsidian turning to the woman who looked at him with a primal mix of fear, expectation and excitement,
“Mr. Si…”
Softly raised fingers breaking her speech, his eyes fluttered and nostrils flared as air plunged into his lungs, his hand softly descending to the top of the desk, breath rushing out as eyes widened once more,
“My name is Trent Simons, to those who know me and those that do not, I ask only that you hear my words, and listen to what they have to say.”
A calmness exuded from every word, but the slightest flutter brought with it a gravity in sincerity.
“I am the owner and maintainer of L’Oublette, a club existing within the urban regeneration area of this fine city that I would call home. The area, one that was supposed to represent what this world could offer, with a club in its very heart where all peoples are welcome, regardless of skin color, regardless of belief. A place where everyone, be they neo or native, would have a place.”
Taking a moment to let his words land, even without an ability to see or feel an audiences presence, it wasn’t beyond his measure to know that it was justified to give out information in carefully metered amounts.
“A place that found itself free of the plight that burdens the everyday, A place where people could be safe, irrespective of the warring factions in Manhattan. Everyday that passes we hear of another Vagrant that arrives to terrorize the world, We hear of a Neo that has committed an atrocity. And, even though I am unable to deny that these things happen, I still believe that it is not the way things should be.”
Another pause, this one slightly longer, his tones were hardening with a need to temper himself,
“There are those that think they know what is best for the peoples who find themselves in this world… and those who think that they know how to best deal with their arrivals… In truth no-one knows... The people defer to the politicians, who themselves defer to the military, and the military in kind turn to the small fraction of vagrants that have been made to feel relatively welcome in this world.”
A sigh, and a pause, with little more reason than to break his speech pattern.
“A confounding hypocrisy, though not in itself unsurprising… I have come to know many both of this world and not. I have harbored the secrets of both with no discrimination or preference. Held no prejudice or hatred for either one or the other.”
“And so, in light of this, to those that have accepted me, who have worked with me and even those who have stood opposed, I say” An almost laughed sigh breaking his flow, a confusion within his tones, one of disappointment and acceptance, but also of hope and pride. “My name is Trent Simons,”
His mind screaming at him for what was about to happen, his consciousness fighting the words that were about to be spoken, desperately attempting to claw its way back from the precipice of unknowing that was to follow.
“and I am a Dimensional Vagrant...”
