He listened silently, mentally as well as verbally. This broke only when she mentioned the cause of her anger.
"...Well, you've memory. That's enough."
He smiled in surprise at Satsuki, or as he dubbed her, "Star"'s mention. "Goodness. Were there any whose benefactor she wasn't?" Her continual out pour, both to him and others, sorely resembled that angelic woman and her vases by the river. Seems there was something else he owed her.
"She ousted you? Bless her. I'm happy to continue the custom."
Satori's mention of friendship and apathy dimmed the gratitude. Through deduction, pattern recognition, and a great deal of thought, Ted had come to explain disappearances through their deadly apathy.
He wished he could've dammed these thoughts before they burst, but given his ready and impulsive mind, there's no helping it. These are the dangers he warned her about before they began. He can only hope her acceptance was sincere.
"Friend" was a relation he'd grown to take very seriously. He'd read Aristotle and Aquinas about what it meant, and concluded that he'd never had or known it. The meanings varied, but even the least of them excluded the total apathy that conquered the perished. It was a hard fact to accept; that those he loved so much had, in the end, come to love neither him nor anything else one whit. That existence, or as much as Genessia offered, meant nothing to them, and for nothing they threw it away.
How could he--how could anyone, be friends with one like that? A vast chasm lie between those who love, even badly, and those who don't. The latter could still be loved, and Ted meant to, but befriended? No, no. Their souls were too dark and too far.
He'd tried all he could think to spare them that fate. Praying, begging, exhorting, encouraging. Namur was his final attempt. He'd tried to bind him with an oath. Namur accepted, but it was vain. Unsurprisingly, apathy had sapped the strength necessary to keep one's word. All had failed, and Ted was finally brought to a truth and a choice.
The truth was that no matter what he is or did, Ted would never be enough to save people from that darkness. For a fervent believer like him, who thought often of salvific things, that was an extremely hard pill to swallow. The choice was that, knowing that, will he still try? He might've perished in despair; shared the doom that had claimed so many. The only other choice was that, knowing he couldn't accomplish the good he wanted, would he still draw breath to accomplish what little, slight good he could?
That he's here, talking and walking with Satori, meant the latter. In so doing he'd accepted defeat and laid down his arms. The frustration of every effort, and his acquiescence to the unyielding principle behind them all, meant he could finally rest. At least for now.
He thought it a small pity he had to talk now. He'd memorized Genessia's roads so well that he had ample time to observe Satori's eyes and how they gradually grew light. He'd have listened forever if only that effect could continue. Alas, the dangerous thoughts weren't finished.
no subject
"...Well, you've memory. That's enough."
He smiled in surprise at Satsuki, or as he dubbed her, "Star"'s mention. "Goodness. Were there any whose benefactor she wasn't?" Her continual out pour, both to him and others, sorely resembled that angelic woman and her vases by the river. Seems there was something else he owed her.
"She ousted you? Bless her. I'm happy to continue the custom."
Satori's mention of friendship and apathy dimmed the gratitude. Through deduction, pattern recognition, and a great deal of thought, Ted had come to explain disappearances through their deadly apathy.
He wished he could've dammed these thoughts before they burst, but given his ready and impulsive mind, there's no helping it. These are the dangers he warned her about before they began. He can only hope her acceptance was sincere.
"Friend" was a relation he'd grown to take very seriously. He'd read Aristotle and Aquinas about what it meant, and concluded that he'd never had or known it. The meanings varied, but even the least of them excluded the total apathy that conquered the perished. It was a hard fact to accept; that those he loved so much had, in the end, come to love neither him nor anything else one whit. That existence, or as much as Genessia offered, meant nothing to them, and for nothing they threw it away.
How could he--how could anyone, be friends with one like that? A vast chasm lie between those who love, even badly, and those who don't. The latter could still be loved, and Ted meant to, but befriended? No, no. Their souls were too dark and too far.
He'd tried all he could think to spare them that fate. Praying, begging, exhorting, encouraging. Namur was his final attempt. He'd tried to bind him with an oath. Namur accepted, but it was vain. Unsurprisingly, apathy had sapped the strength necessary to keep one's word. All had failed, and Ted was finally brought to a truth and a choice.
The truth was that no matter what he is or did, Ted would never be enough to save people from that darkness. For a fervent believer like him, who thought often of salvific things, that was an extremely hard pill to swallow. The choice was that, knowing that, will he still try? He might've perished in despair; shared the doom that had claimed so many. The only other choice was that, knowing he couldn't accomplish the good he wanted, would he still draw breath to accomplish what little, slight good he could?
That he's here, talking and walking with Satori, meant the latter. In so doing he'd accepted defeat and laid down his arms. The frustration of every effort, and his acquiescence to the unyielding principle behind them all, meant he could finally rest. At least for now.
He thought it a small pity he had to talk now. He'd memorized Genessia's roads so well that he had ample time to observe Satori's eyes and how they gradually grew light. He'd have listened forever if only that effect could continue. Alas, the dangerous thoughts weren't finished.
"...Have you ever heard the tale of Orpheus?"