genessia | So Sing All Your Questions to Sleep - Action | Closed

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So Sing All Your Questions to Sleep - Action | Closed | Backdated

Who: Namur and Ted
What: Namur takes Ted for a sail. It ends as fabulously as one might imagine.
When: Backdated to Feb 22-25
Where: Fayren Ocean

Ted has been pulling some Ace level whaleshit these last few months, and with his family in a state of suspended uproar, Namur's finding he doesn't have much patience for a guppyshit brother trying to shoulder everything on his own and pushing away the people he's grown closest to.

So he takes Ted sailing.

After all, there's no better way to make people work through their whaleshit than sticking them alone on a small schooner and plopping them into the middle of the ocean for days at a time. Besides, Namur has a few other surprises tucked away in the ship, and a specific destination in mind, so it won't be a futile voyage, no matter how things turn out.

The first part of the voyage is relatively peaceful, spent teaching Ted the ropes, literally, and teaching him to work the sails. A quick explanation, then it's all hands on deck. About half a day's sail from their destination, Namur takes aim at the first objective of the trip. He's in the midst of adjusting the sails, and casually, like talking about the weather, says, "So it seems like y' been stonewallin' me ever since I told y' 'bout my pups. The hell's up with that?"

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[It's with tepid relief Ted takes to the sailing lessons as they start out. He's always wanted to learn this kind of thing, and takes to all novelties with enthusiasm. It's one thing to read about boats, and quite another to sail them. But his happiness only goes so far, for he is, after all, with Namur, and experience has taught him that it's only a matter of time before the pleasant surface gives way to inclement fathoms.

If despair seems so sure, why did he agree? Ted, per usual, is haunted by the fear of vanity, and isn't one to strike out on any venture if the prospects are dubious. A sense of courtesy or honor, perhaps. It wouldn't be manly to reject an invitation. All real living, wrote Buber, is meeting. For all his attendant miseries, Namur has done very significant things for him. If there's nothing obviously, strikingly catastrophic in the wings, he can't very well refuse, can he?

It'd be nice if the whole journey were like this, Ted thought. Just talk of nothing but the in's and out's of masts and knots with naught else to upset. But that's wishful thinking. Sure enough, the other shoe drops, and Ted's caught off guard as he thinks of an answer.]

"'Seems'? Well, erm, things aren't always what they seem. We're not, you know, at the same space of work so that might, er, contribute to the idea. Was there...something you wanted to speak of in particular?"

[That's a reliable trick he's learned: evade the general by asking for the particular. Usually the other person doesn't find the effort of articulation worthwhile, and he's off the hook.

Usually.]

Edited 2018-03-12 03:45 (UTC)

That, right there. Got the taste a deception in the air rather'n confusion.

[Namur finishes getting his sail in place, and quickly ties off the line with practiced efficiency, then moves to the next one.]

Keep tryna talk t' y' but y' end up askin' me shit an' then stormin' off when I answer. So I know I answered wrong, but hell if I know what the answer y's lookin' for was.

[He ties that line off, too, then hops in the rigging to sniff the air and squint at the current. Then he grins down at Ted.]

Can't 'zactly pull that shit off now, though, 'less y' think y' can outswim a fishman. So c'mon. What'd I do t' set yer knickers in such a twist?

[That didn't take long. It was a nice trip, while it lasted, but now they have to travel murky waters and try not to capsize too dreadfully. Ted's playing with rope and practicing knots while manning the steering at the aft. He sighs, considering how to proceed. He could dodge and pretend to not know the reference, but that'd only stall, and not for very long. Could he swim faster, with the life-fiber suit? That contest might be worth testing. Well, things haven't gotten that desperate. Yet.]

...I asked for your genuine thoughts, and got those and more besides, good and hard. All dreadful, as I should've expected, but they were what I wanted. That's what upsets; not what you do but what you...think. Well, it was my fault for inquiring. I should've known better than to indulge morbid curiosity.

Driftin' t' starboard. Let's trim her up a couple ticks, aye?

[Namur hops down out of the ropes and leans his butt up against the rail while, hopefully, Ted makes the necessary course corrections.]

So y' took issue with what I think, but y' didn't see fit t' give me other alternatives t' think 'bout. Jus' gonna leave me thinkin' my dreadful shit an' instead a sharin' yer own take y'd rather run 'way. Sums it up?

Aye and aye again, captain.

[One "aye" for turning the wheel slightly to port, another "aye" for the summation. He objected to the cowardly connotation of "run", but otherwise thought it concise enough. It's clear he'd like to speak about it as little as possible.]

[Namur takes a deep breath and huffs it out, folding his arms over his chest.]

Well, y' was right t' bitch me out over not talkin' 'bout my pups more. Shit y' care 'bout ain't like wine. Don't do nobody any good if y' keep it bottled up an' locked 'way where nobody can get at it.

[He takes a spare length of rope and begins speed tying knots as well, one after another, like a kata.]

So tell me yer shit, aye? The hell y' scared of?

[Asking what he fears provokes thoughts in that direction, summoning a roiling dark cloud in his chest. Good Lord, where would he begin? He fears what he's planning won't pan out. He fears that it will and that he'll have to do something drastic about it. He's worried he's due for a hard judgment for not doing something soon enough. He fears that the disappearance of one of his friends, or at least, one he called a friend, is because of him and he bears the blame. He's afraid his behavior now--though what part he can't know--will do the same. His mind anxiously flits between all these now-conscious fears. He needs to find something to do. It occurs to him that "trim" may refer to sails, not steering, and he goes to them to correct his error. Which way should they orient? He stares in puzzlement, both for his own inexperience and the pall on his mind.]

Aheh, well...I don't know, vicarious stygiophobia?

[He offers it like a joke, for he knew most, Namur likely among them, would find it ridiculous. It's not.]

I wouldn't put cares on the level of scares; the latter can be very silly, and speaking them into the air might grant a legitimacy they really don't deserve. I'll be all right, Namur; thank you for the concern.

[For all his attempts at ease, he feels the opposite. Namur's children was such a tender topic, and refusing to talk now felt like refusing that. Yet Ted believes it would be in vain; Namur doesn't care what he or anyone thinks. He said so himself. Now, how to put these sails right? Something about luffing?]

Edited 2018-03-12 18:25 (UTC)

[Another sigh. But he's not going to get hung up on words he doesn't understand. Know why?

He came prepared.]

A'ight, gotta pause a sec. Get them sails in place. I'll be back.

[Namur disappears belowdeck for a minute or two, and returns with a sizable dictionary in hand. Not a pocket dictionary, either. A full blown, leatherbound dictionary of every word that's ever graced the language.]

Figured I's gonna need this sooner or later. Didn't figure it'd be in the first twenty seconds, but whatever. Now what's that y' said? Stick... no. Shit. Ended with phobia I got that part but what's the first?

[He reaches out and almost idly tugs on a rope to trim the sails before cracking the behemoth book open and navigating himself to the Ses.]

Ah-all right...

[He thinks hard about what the telltales tell before attempting an adjustment. Again, his mind is elsewhere as he ponders what contingency item Namur would produce. He guessed alcohol, perhaps, to loosen him up.

What he gets instead is so contrary, both to Namur's character and Ted's assumption, he's led to laughter.]

Ahahha, that's...you know, if you wished to know, merely asking would've sufficed. It's...

[On second thought, far be it from him to sabotage scholastic self-sufficiency.]

"Stygio". Es, tee, wye...

Edited 2018-03-12 18:56 (UTC)

[There is alcohol in the hold, it's true. But Ted has never drank anything harder than water in Namur's presence, not even soda or juice. So it's best to fight the one fight and let the other be.]

[It's also a damn good thing Ted is spelling it for him, because he'd be stuck forever sitting on the deck with a giant book held over crossed legs, trying to find a word spelled stij.]

Swear half the time y' do this t' get me off course so y' ain't gotta actually talk shit through. But there ain't nothin' 'round t' be distractin' me here, so y' ain't gettin' outta it this time. A'ight here we go: stygiophobia. Fear a Hell. An' vicarious means... [He scrunches up his face, fingertips to his forehead.] Shut up, don't help me, I got that'n. Means doin' shit in someone else's place. So yer scared a Hell for someone else. Right?

[Ted's a grown man; he can handle his juice. He makes small, resigned chuckles.]

I don't, Namur, no more than you curse to deliberately offend delicacy, anyway. One has ways of speech. But yes, you've figured it neatly. Why, you're taking to reading like a fish to water!

[And then it'll dawn on him that he really doesn't want to talk about his eternal concerns either. Time to change the subject; a vague talk would be its own vanity. There's no sense to be too discursive about whatever it is Namur's so insistent on.]

As delightful as it is to see you with a book in your lap, might we cut to the chase? What, precisely, is it you wish to know? What exactly do you think I'm hiding? You know I'd talk to you about anything if I thought it'd produce good.

[Which is true, however rarely applicable.]

Edited 2018-03-12 21:42 (UTC)

[Namur flops the dictionary closed and leans his arms on it.]

'S jus' the thing, ain't it? If I knew, I wouldn't hafta ask y'. I'unno what's in yer head if y' don't tell me. Used t' wanna, I think, but now y' don't, an' I guess that's the part I don't understand. Why'd that change?

[He sat down, resting his cheek on his palm]

So more an attitude than anything acute. I'll...see what I can do; it's a little vague.

[So Namur suspects he's been more closed off ever since their talk at boot camp. Compared to hours of that sensitive sharing, what wouldn't seem cagey? But then, shortly afterwards he'd resigned with Jolly Eddy's without saying why. That's also when they had that failure of a bounty with the Nova City purists. After that came the fallout at the restaurant. Suppose those succession of sorrows might signify as much.

Truthfully, Ted doesn't share any thoughts of his own very often. Why would they be of interest to others? He meets, he greets, he chats about whatever others would like. For his own part, he keeps silent. The world has taught him that his cares are just that: his alone. From the silliest to the most solemn. Sharing those gets, at best, blank looks, and at worst, scorn. More vanity. Namur was right to call him "schoolie"; every passing day impresses the fact that, even in Genessia, he remains the odd man out.

He'd rather address specifics than generalities. They're solid enough to get footing on.]

Are you...confused about why I didn't argue with you at the restaurant? I'm confused as to why you'd expect me to, if so. You said so yourself that others' thoughts about ethics mean nothing to you. Given that, it'd be vain to offer mine.

Edited 2018-03-16 02:01 (UTC)

That's when I don't know a person. Like, folks on the internet flippin' their shit over a condemned buildin'. Shit ain't always the way y' might think, when it comes t' me an' mine, an' folks is quick t' put their own spin on it without knowin' what the hell they's talkin' 'bout. So let 'em think what they want! It ain't on me what they put in their heads.

But I know y' now. At some point I started givin' a shit 'bout what's in yer head. 'S why I started askin' what y' thought. 'S when y' started wigglin' 'way. An' 's why I can't jus' sit back an' let y', not without a good long chat t' see what's real an' what ain't.

...Oh.

[That changes things. Assuming Namur's pride and rigidity meant that any bad discoveries were set in stone, and the only choice he could make was whether to endure. If they could change! But doing that means confronting the ugliness, even the evil, of one he cares for so much. A hard thing; but he has to try. At least if he works through this, win or lose, Namur will probably leave him alone. One issue couldn't possibly lead to others, could it?]

Then let's...go back to that, I suppose.

[He closes his eyes in a moment of thought.]

Namur, what is it in slavery, in and of itself, that is wrong? Regardless of severity, duration, or anything else?

Naw, see, this's the shit I always fall int'. This's the shit y' keep doin'! Come here askin' 'bout what's up with y', an' y' turned it 'round on me. So let's do a thing. Pretend I answered somethin' dreadful, an' 'stead a stormin' off like a girl whose name I got wrong on a date, y' jus' tell me what yer divin' at, aye?

Please?

[It's not often one gets to hear Namur ask for something politely, and in such genuine tones.]

[That tone does give him a rare pang, one he can hardly believe. Is Namur actually worried about him? Suffering anxiety for his sake? It seemed absurd, and an absurdity would be more tolerable than a sincerity. That simply isn't how things should go. He sighs again, trying to think clearly. It takes him a while, for Ted still believes Namur is being vague and he's not honestly sure what he's driving at.]

I am, as discussed, trying to ascer--know what you think. Because what you think determines whether I think any talk would be worthwhile. I'm not sure why you think this is some break or departure from business as usual; I can't...remember having come to you with anything severe before.

Now, another has revealed to me that sometimes my assumptions are bleaker than truth, so I'd like to make sure they're on the mark before going any further. That, much as you dislike it, means establishing a baseline or two. If you want to have a "good long chat", fine. But that means no shortcuts.

I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think it was important. And if talk of importance is what you're after, then it's necessary you play along, if only to humor me.

Said y' loved me, man. An' I was a guppyshit an' I let that scare me, cuz y' remind me so much a my brother. No one can hurt me 'less I love 'em first, Ted. He let me think he's one a my closest friends for more'n a decade 'fore he spit in my face an' destroyed almost everthin' in my life I'd worked hard t' build. Then here y' come makin' friends with everbody new, helpin' 'em get their feet under 'em; with yer damn books an' yer stories from history an' yer questions that make y' think 'bout things deeper'n usual an' I choked cuz that's what he done all them years an' I loved 'im for it. Relied on 'im. So I's unfair t' y'. Didn't wanna make the same mistake twice.

But it was stupid, an' I lost myself in stupid. Whole time I been here, 's jus' been gettin' my damn business off the ground. Workin' nonstop, not carin' 'bout the folks 'round me so long as Jolly Eddy's managed t' eke out a profit. An' that ain't right either an' I realized that. An' I realized that in order t' make things right I had t' stop bein' a guppyshit.

I love y', Ted. We ain't on the level an' we ain't eye t' eye, but I want y' for a brother. Wanna find a way t' understand y'. Ain't gonna push y' 'way no more or give up on y', even if y' try t' run 'way.

So if y' meant it when y' said y' loved me, 's worthwhile. Cuz y' don't give up on folk y' love.

[Namur takes a deep breath. Okay. That was it, the crux of what he needed to say. Now when he inevitably gets shit wrong, at least Ted's heard it once.

Now to humor him.

Namur's hand goes to his left arm as he thinks about the question. He has more memories now- ones that include time spent as a slave, his mind and Will slowly taken from him. He was nothing, then. His life in the hands of someone who didn't care for it, who somehow managed to turn him against his own crew. He grits his teeth.]

T' answer yer question, I think people are more'n jus' shit t' be used. Slavery says some folk ain't. 'S why 's wrong.

I know. Like Teach, right?

[He didn't think it a completely unjust comparison. Even now he thinks that if he enjoined Namur on the enterprise that had consumed his mind for half a year, he might destroy him just as thoroughly as Teach did, with the only difference being the nobility of intent. What did that matter?

"I love you". Ted's face froze, and every internal faculty had a similar poignant pause. Ted had said those words often to others. He's sure others had meant them to him; confident he'd been the object of their goodwill. But not till now had he ever heard the words said back. Something about the words, in and of themselves, made his eyes well and his speech halt. After more moments, all he could really think to do is echo.]

...I love you too.

[If only that made things easier. But how could he give the hell he means for himself to one he loves? How could he take one who means so much and put them in danger? God only knows how Whitebeard did it.

He wishes he could be a brother. If Namur had said these words on the fateful night Ted had, he'd have been all too ready to accept then and there. But the return of the ghoulish dolls, mistakenly referred to as Pokemon, put Ted on guard against the illusory. It had to be true, had to be grounded on something real, not just mere sentiment. Wishful thinking like that would only lead to despair.

Perhaps he could put that issue off as he explained the disappointment. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his arm, gaze downcast.]

I thought as much. That's why I was so forlorn at the restaurant; it seemed like you didn't mean what you're saying now.

You see, when we first talked of Everglade, I was...similarly hurt when you said you didn't quite mind the fact that the citizenry might cannibalize one another, whether for survival or anything else. You didn't even bother to justify it or express any dismay; just shrugged it off with something about the law of the jungle or the nature of predator and prey. That's horrible; that's nothing like what a city, any city, should be, no matter the people therein.

I especially couldn't believe how you squared that with your abhorrence of slavery. The essence of that is the disregard of another, right? Taking their liberties to add to your own. Perhaps the slaver thinks he has a right to it, but it comes down to the strong dominating the weak.

[He has a slight but sharp intake of breath.]

Still, I prefer that to murder. At least a slave can be rescued. And even if they can't, they shall always have some liberties that none but, say, a necromancer can really take from them. There's hope yet.

But when you eat someone--when you murder them--that's it. That's the end of their liberty; every one. And what possible justification could you offer? What right had the predator to that liberty over the prey? None that I can see; the predator simply does because he can. Because he's stronger and he wants it. I cannot see any meaningful difference between that and the master of slaves. Each dominates the weak to take their liberties. Each has no regard for the life of another; partially in the master, totally in the predator.

So when-

[The turning of the general to the personal makes Ted's voice crack as he struggles to get it out.]

-so when you did that, at the restaurant. Explained how you justified eating the living--or rather, how you didn't really feel any need to, I couldn't bear it. I thought, out of all the virtues you had, those two were the ones you most seriously meant. Protecting liberties; protecting the weak from the strong. And yet--

[He grit his teeth, the relived moment bringing all the pain of the past]

there you were, going back on everything I could've sworn, with absolute confidence, you meant. I didn't--I didn't hear you make any distinction between the sushi and a person. Indeed, you used very personal language to describe the fish and the rice and everything else. So as far as I could discern, there was no difference. Not to you, at least. None beyond arbitrary, personal preference. And that...

That hurt. Abominably. To see someone so casually go back on everything good you thought they meant. I couldn't stand it. And I thought you didn't really care what I thought, so I left.

[If he had more to say, he didn't have the will. Just hearing that he was loved almost knocked him down; to go from returning that will to criticizing and explaining his despair left him utterly drained.]

Edited 2018-03-21 23:02 (UTC)

A'ight. That's fair 'nuff, when y' put it all t'gether that way, I guess. I never did. But, shit. Y' didn't come at me with all that put t'gether that way. Y' come at me with how d' y' justify eatin'. An' like. Shit, I'unno. How d' you?

[He'd very much like to believe the argument's as penetrating as it seems.]

"Justice" isn't quite it; not to do with deserts, but with...acceptance, I suppose. I can only take, or accept brute life as God's gift, or allowance.

The arguments from superiority are tempting enough. One might say one could because they haven't got souls and we do, or they can't discern right from wrong whereas we can. They can't think of the future or...etcetera.

None of them do as well as the acceptance of grace. And even that's something of a stopgap measure; the world's in a state of corruption, you know, and when that's done, why, if we eat anything, it will be dust, same as everything else.

So that's my line: taken as a gift while looking forward to when there shall be no taking whatever. That sort of thing could explain why saying grace and thanksgiving so often accompany meals.

[Something that would set his heart at ease to see Namur do, now that he thinks of it.]

[Namur nods.]

Tell y' for a fact that a lotta fish understands that they's food for bigger fish, an' 's a part a what makes 'em complete. My fish I catch is the old'ns, the ones that's already had a chance t' breed an' that's ready t' pass their Life on t' me. Let the young'ns that ain't bred yet go. An' I got a responsibility t' the ones I catch t' do somethin' with my life bigger'n what they're able t' do. Been kinda shit at it the last year or so, won't lie. But I'mma be lookin' for ways t' change that. Gotta do more'n jus' survive. Gotta be makin' a differnce somehow, t' somebody, catch me?

Talk that shit up front cuz... mean it ain't wrong. Fish can talk. Hell, my shirt from home was designed by a starfish. My Princess got herself a pet shark that's her best friend an' he tells folk shit sometimes 'bout how she's doin' an' all that. Don't get me wrong, most fish is hardcore dumbasses. They know two things: eatin' an' screwin' an' everthin' they do revolves 'round them two things. Their lives is so quick they ain't got much time t' worry 'bout anythin' else anyway. But there's older'ns that think a bit more, an' they know all that shit y' was sayin'. They got haki an' I know some folk call that their soul. They got ideas a right an' wrong, they jus' don't line up with humans, really. But they do think a the future.

But if y' ask a human, they'll swear 'til they're blue in the face that a fish won't never talk t' nobody cuz it jus' ain't in 'em. Well, surprise! It ain't that fish ain't talkin', 's that humans ain't listenin'! So if that can happen, who says oysters or kelp or rocks ain't talkin' too? Maybe they do, an' we jus' don't understand it cuz we're so damn young an' tiny we still gotta use words an' chemicals t' express ourselves an' they're so beyond that that we think they're behind. They all got Life in 'em, anyway, an' I think 's snobbish as hell t' go 'round shittin' on them that eats fish or meat then turn 'round an' stuff yer face with grass. Jus' cuz it don't bleed don't mean its Life weren't precious t' it. But then maybe it knows, in a way, that that's what it's there for. Like the fish, y' know?

Anyway, shark types like me get a lotta shit from other seafolk that thinks cuz we can talk t' 'em we oughta not eat fish. But then like I said, they'll eat oysters an' kelp an' shit jus' the same. Don't make no sense t' me. Jus' eat what y' need an' be grateful that it gave y' its Life, an' let other folk eat what they need- [Here he looks a little bit pained.] -even if what they need's a buncha dead burned up shit. Ain't worth fightin' over, catch me?

[Something just now crosses his mind.]

Oh! Er, if you were apologizing, you're forgiven. I'm very glad you're improving and attending to what's important.

[Because to follow an admission of fault with criticism of another fault is hard. Truthfully Ted still doesn't want to argue; not that Namur's virtue isn't hugely important to him, but if he actually succeeds in changing Namur's mind, that might very well lead into instilling other things of importance to him. Which could naturally lead into embroiling him in the same conflicts. And then the danger's mutual, and then Namur is closer to death than he was before.

A worrying chain, and yet, feeling foolish, he continues on, if only because it seemed more honest.]

That's the reasonable conclusion, isn't it? If something's never talked to anyone, the likeliest explanation is that it can't. Until, I suppose a rockman comes along to enlighten them.

The sense in others' criticism of you eating things that talk is sensible enough, for they, I assume, never would. If a thing can "talk" it's intelligent, and they would not eat an intelligent anything, and so would have of you the same rule. The only difference lay not in the thing, but in its ability to be understood. If you knew more than anyone the thing's nature, why would you eat it? It's not at all the same thing as them eating kelp, for no one, or at least, neither you nor they, know more of it than either of your senses tell.

As for the blood, well, that usually comes because blood is regarded as a sacred thing, with its right or wrongness hailing from that. Do you...regard anything as sacred?

[That might sound like an insult, but it's a genuine question as to whether Namur can even grasp the concept; of things regarded with a value beyond mere rationality.]

But to answer your question: no, I don't catch you. These are matters of life and death. If that's not worth fighting over, nothing is.

You struck the crux of the matter with one word: "give". If something is given, there are--aside from the sacredness of the thing, of course--no more questions of conscience. Though a slave and a servant did the same work, the servant alone is justified because his work was given, and the slave's was taken. That's the thing. Of course you're allowed to take what's given to you. But when something's isn't, that's when you become unjustified; a thief. And that's the mildest judgment.

Which is why I still don't understand how you can look on what's happening in Everglade so passively. What does "need" have to do with it? If someone "needed" slavery to survive, would you let them have it? If, say, a vampire was given blood by a charitable soul--and it violated nothing sacred, remember--that's one thing. But were a vampire to slay someone, taking what belonged to another for their own without any gift whatever...

I don't understand how you could place that one in the right and the slave-owner, the master, in the wrong. Both, by force, have reduced another into, to use your words, a "thing to be used".

Edited 2018-03-26 10:18 (UTC)

See a person's got their skin near hangin' off their body, they's so weak they can't hardly even talk, let 'lone think. Whaddy' say t' 'em? Shit, how long since y' bought somebody, man? Let's getcha down t' the auction house 'fore y' die?

Please.

'S absolutely differnt.

Folk can't pick what their bodies need t' be healthy. 'S part a what they is, 's in their DNA. Ain't no one oughta be 'shamed a what they is. Far as I know, ain't no one given a choice a what they want their best diet t' be. Know I sure as hell weren't. But cuz a what I am I'mma go through all my days knowin' that no matter how much I care 'bout a person, at some point in time, somethin's gonna happen an' they gonna smell like lunch. An' that shit's gonna happen every. single. day. Don't get t' pick when it happens or why. But slavery? That shit ain't instinct. That shit ain't in no one's DNA, it ain't a part a their species. Sure, y' can use yer words t' make slavery seem like a good idea but that ain't the truth a Life. Sure as hell y' can 'xpect a person t' go months an' years an' decades without ownin' a slave. Gonna ask a person t' go decades without eatin'? Hell naw, not 'less y' got sick in yer heart!

We'll have to agree to disagree about the shame; but then, that'd require knowing about where one's from and who one's meant to be.

It's a hypothetical, Namur. Perhaps a ridiculous one, but then, Everglade's life depends, it would seem, on fear. If one's life can depend on something as strange as that, it might depend on anything.

The point is that the sillier examples isolate the issue and make the matter clearer. The matter being: at what point is one allowed to take the life of another? When they're about to die themselves? Then all's fair?

Take the cordyceps mushroom, which overwrites the behavior of its host to lead it to its own death so that the aforementioned fungus can have its way. If that's not slavery, I'd like to know what is.

Not that instinct or DNA matters one bit. It only tells you what comes easier. You can always choose different, whatever excuses one might like to make in favor of acting like a brute or beast. And to answer your rhetorical: yes, if going without eating meant doing what's right, I absolutely would ask them to go without, even at the cost of their life. Someone who abandons their principles whenever they're too difficult are weaklings, and a life gained that way is no life at all.

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So Sing All Your Questions to Sleep - Action | Closed | Backdated

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