![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Complementing a Half-Truth [Video, Text, Backdated to 5/2]
"Hello, everyone. Thank God the Cirque du Vrai is no more, eh? First time I've been glad that the circus left town. My sympathies for those who suffered its decadent airs. To my chagrin I was silly enough to go, and, thanks to the terrible charities of a dear and faithful friend, blessed enough to die to it. By now I suspect everyone knows the meaning of its name: "Circus of Truth." An odd title for something with the pretense of a masquerade. If there was truth therein, 'twas only partial, and taken solely by itself, is as destructive as a lie. The other half ought to be unveiled, and it's towards that attempt I present the following works. I hope reflecting on their wisdom will help settle your mind and mend whatever wounds were left in the carnival's wake. May whole truth, bared in love, illuminate."
1st Piece: The nature of the circus
The Devil is a gentleman and askes you down to stay
At his little place at What'sitsname (it isn't far away).
They say the sport is splendid; there is always something new,
And fairy scenes, and fearful feats that none but he can do;
He can shoot the feathered cherubs if they fly on the estate,
Or fish for Father Neptune with the mermaids for a bait;
He scaled amid the staggering stars that precipice the sky,
And blew his trumpet above heaven, and got by mastery
The starry crown of God Himself and shoved it on the shelf;
But the devil is a gentleman, and doesn't brag himself.
O blind your eyes and break your heart and hack your hand away,
And lose your love and shave your head; but do not go to stay
At the little place in What'hitsname where folks are rich and clever;
The golden and the goodly house, where things grow worse forever;
There are things you need not know of, though you live and die in vain,
There are souls more sick of pleasure than you are sick of pain;
There is a game of April Fool that's played behind its door,
Where the fool remains forever and April comes no more,
Where the splendor of the daylight grows drearier than the dark,
And life droops like a vulture that once was such a lark:
And that is the Blue Devil, that once was the Blue Bird;
For the Devil is a gentleman, and doesn't keep his word
2nd Piece: Proper pretense
Let us take the most elementary example: as a father, I know I am an unprincipled weakling; but, at the same time, I do not want to disappoint my son, who sees in me what I am not: a person of dignity and strong principles, ready to take risks for a just cause -- so I identify with this misperception of me, and truly 'become myself' when I, in effect, start to act according to this misperception (ashamed to appear to my son as I really am, I actually accomplish heroic acts). In other words, if we are to account for symbolic identification, it is not enough to refer to the opposition between the way I appear to others and the way I really am: symbolic identification occurs when the way I appear to others becomes more important to me than the psychological reality 'beneath my social mask,' forcing me to do things I would never be able to accomplish 'from within myself.' - Zizek
Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men’s minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations as one would, and the like: but it would leave the minds of a number of men poor shrunken things: full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves? - Bacon
Final Piece: Do you have eyes but fail to see?
Once upon a time, a man named John was arrested in his pilgrimage by armed men, who, upon meeting him, sprang up and barred his way.
"Do you not know," they said, "that you are in the land of the Spirit of the Age?"
"I am sorry," said John, "I did not mean to trespass. I will try and find some other way beyond that country."
"You fool," said the captain, "you are in his country now. This pass is the way out of it, not the way into it. He welcomes strangers. His quarrel is with runaways." After that, a young man clapped John in fetters and dragged him towards their prison.
They went through a valley. Along the way, John observed a strange mountain, and said so.
"Oh, is that what you think it is? Plain rock?"
"What!" cried John. "Then what is it?"
John became like a terrified child and put his hands over his eyes not to see the giant; but the captain tore his hands away and forced his face round and made him see the Spirit of the Age where it sat like one of the stone giants, the size of a mountain, with its eyes shut. Then the captain opened a little door among the rocks and flung John into a pit made in the side of a hill, just opposite the giant, so that the giant could look into it through its gratings.
"He will open his eyes and look upon you soon," said the captain, before locking the door and leaving John imprisoned.
John lay in his fetters all night in the cold and stench of the dungeon. And when morning came there was a little light at the grating, and, looking round, John saw that he had many fellow prisoners, of all sexes and ages. But instead of speaking to him, they all huddled away from the light and drew as far back into the pit, away from the grating, as they could. But John thought that if he could breathe a little fresh air he would be better, and he crawled up to the grating. But as soon as he looked out and saw the giant, it crushed the heart out of him: and even as he looked, the giant began to open his eyes and John, without knowing why he did it, shrank from the grating. The giant’s eyes had this property, that whatever they looked on became transparent. Consequently, when John looked round into the dungeon, he retreated from his fellow prisoners in terror, for the place seemed to be thronged with demons. A woman was seated near him, but he did not know it was a woman, because, through the face, he saw the skull and through that the brains and the passages of the nose, and the larynx, and the saliva moving in the glands and the blood in the veins: and lower down the lungs panting like sponges, and the liver, and the intestines like a coil of snakes. And when he averted his eyes from her they fell on an old man, and this was worse for the old man had a cancer. And when John sat down and drooped his head, not to see the horrors, he saw only the working of his own inwards. Then I dreamed of all these creatures living in that hole under the giant’s eye for many days and nights. And John looked round on it all and suddenly he fell on his face and thrust his hands into his eyes and cried out, "I am in hell. There may be no heaven, but there is certainly its opposite, and I am there. I am mad, I am dead, I am in hell forever."
Every day a jailor brought the prisoners their food, and as he laid down the dishes he would say a word to them. If their meal was flesh he would remind them that they were eating corpses, or give them some account of the slaughtering: or, if it was the inwards of some beast, he would read them a lecture in anatomy and show the likeness of the mess to the same parts in themselves—which was the more easily done because the giant’s eyes were always staring into the dungeon at dinner time. Or if the meal were eggs he would recall to them that they were eating the menstruum of a verminous fowl, and crack a few jokes with the female prisoners. So he went on day by day. Then I dreamed that one day there was nothing but milk for them, and the jailor said as he put down the pipkin:
"Our relations with the cow are not delicate—as you can easily see if you imagine eating any of her other secretions."
Now John had been in the pit a shorter time than any of the others: and at these words something seemed to snap in his head and he gave a great sigh and suddenly spoke out in a loud, clear voice:
"Thank heaven! Now at last I know that you are talking nonsense."
"What do you mean?" said the jailor, wheeling round upon him.
"You are trying to pretend that unlike things are like. You are trying to make us think that milk is the same sort of thing as sweat or dung."
"And pray, what difference is there except by custom?"
"Are you a liar or only a fool, that you see no difference between that which Nature casts out as refuse and that which she stores up as food?"
"So Nature is a person, then, with purposes and consciousness," said the jailor with a sneer. "No doubt it comforts you to imagine you can believe that sort of thing;" and he turned to leave the prison with his nose in the air.
"I know nothing about that," shouted John after him. "I am talking of what happens. Milk does feed calves and dung does not."
"Look here," cried the jailor, coming back, "we have had enough of this. It is high treason and I shall bring you before the Master." Then he jerked John up by his chain and began to drag him towards the door; but John as he was being dragged, cried out to the others, "Can’t you see it’s all a cheat?’ Then the jailor struck him in the teeth so hard that his mouth was filled with blood and he became unable to speak. While he was silent, the jailor brought John outside.
When they came out into the air John blinked a little, but not much, for they were still only in a half-light under the shadow of the giant, who was very angry, with smoke coming from his mouth, so that he looked more like a volcano than an ordinary mountain. And now John gave himself up for lost, but just as the jailor had dragged him up to the giant’s feet, and had cleared his throat, and begun "The case against this prisoner—" there was a commotion and a sound of horse’s hoofs. The jailor looked round, and even the giant took his terrible eyes off John and looked round: and last of all, John himself looked round too. They saw some of the guard coming towards them leading a great black stallion, and in it was seated a figure wound in a cloak of blue which was hooded over the head and came down concealing the face.
"Another prisoner, Lord," said the leader of the guards.
Then very slowly the giant raised his great, heavy finger and pointed to the mouth of the dungeon.
"Not yet," said the hooded figure. Then suddenly it stretched out its hands with the fetters on them and made a quick movement of the wrists. There was a tinkling sound as the fragments of the broken chain fell on the rock at the horse’s feet: and the guardsmen let go the bridle and fell back, watching. Then the rider threw back the cloak and a flash of steel smote light into John’s eyes and on the giant’s face. John saw that it was a woman in the flower of her age: she was so tall that she seemed to him a Titaness, a sun-bright virgin clad in complete steel, with a sword naked in her hand. The giant bent forward in his chair and looked at her.
"Who are you?" he said.
"My name is Reason," said the virgin.
"Make out her passport quickly," said the giant in a low voice. "And let her go through our dominions and be off with all the speed she wishes."
"Not yet," said Reason. "I will ask you a riddle before I go, for a wager."
"What is the pledge?" said the giant.
"Your head," said Reason.
There was silence for a time among the mountains.
"Well," said the giant at last, "what must be, must be. Ask on."
"This is my riddle," said Reason. "What is the colour of things in dark places, of fish in the depth of the sea, or of the entrails in the body of man?"
"I cannot say," said the giant.
Reason set spurs in her stallion and leaped up on to the giant’s mossy knees and galloped up his foreleg, till she plunged her sword into his heart. Then there was a noise and a crumbling like a landslide and the huge carcass settled down: and the Spirit of the Age became what he had seemed to be at first, a sprawling hummock of rock.
[A poem, some choice quotations, and an allegorical story. A trifecta of literary pleasure! Hopefully, Ted thought, those words would do someone, somewhere good, especially as they recovered from the dark bacchanal of the circus. The last story was incomplete; he had to shorten it for the sake of relevance and attention span. The meaning of the riddle is explained, though Ted humbly thought everyone else perceptive enough to not need it. But if they do, he's always happy to reveal for those who sincerely want to know. For the right reasons, of course.]
1st Piece: The nature of the circus
The Devil is a gentleman and askes you down to stay
At his little place at What'sitsname (it isn't far away).
They say the sport is splendid; there is always something new,
And fairy scenes, and fearful feats that none but he can do;
He can shoot the feathered cherubs if they fly on the estate,
Or fish for Father Neptune with the mermaids for a bait;
He scaled amid the staggering stars that precipice the sky,
And blew his trumpet above heaven, and got by mastery
The starry crown of God Himself and shoved it on the shelf;
But the devil is a gentleman, and doesn't brag himself.
O blind your eyes and break your heart and hack your hand away,
And lose your love and shave your head; but do not go to stay
At the little place in What'hitsname where folks are rich and clever;
The golden and the goodly house, where things grow worse forever;
There are things you need not know of, though you live and die in vain,
There are souls more sick of pleasure than you are sick of pain;
There is a game of April Fool that's played behind its door,
Where the fool remains forever and April comes no more,
Where the splendor of the daylight grows drearier than the dark,
And life droops like a vulture that once was such a lark:
And that is the Blue Devil, that once was the Blue Bird;
For the Devil is a gentleman, and doesn't keep his word
2nd Piece: Proper pretense
Let us take the most elementary example: as a father, I know I am an unprincipled weakling; but, at the same time, I do not want to disappoint my son, who sees in me what I am not: a person of dignity and strong principles, ready to take risks for a just cause -- so I identify with this misperception of me, and truly 'become myself' when I, in effect, start to act according to this misperception (ashamed to appear to my son as I really am, I actually accomplish heroic acts). In other words, if we are to account for symbolic identification, it is not enough to refer to the opposition between the way I appear to others and the way I really am: symbolic identification occurs when the way I appear to others becomes more important to me than the psychological reality 'beneath my social mask,' forcing me to do things I would never be able to accomplish 'from within myself.' - Zizek
Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men’s minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations as one would, and the like: but it would leave the minds of a number of men poor shrunken things: full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves? - Bacon
Final Piece: Do you have eyes but fail to see?
Once upon a time, a man named John was arrested in his pilgrimage by armed men, who, upon meeting him, sprang up and barred his way.
"Do you not know," they said, "that you are in the land of the Spirit of the Age?"
"I am sorry," said John, "I did not mean to trespass. I will try and find some other way beyond that country."
"You fool," said the captain, "you are in his country now. This pass is the way out of it, not the way into it. He welcomes strangers. His quarrel is with runaways." After that, a young man clapped John in fetters and dragged him towards their prison.
They went through a valley. Along the way, John observed a strange mountain, and said so.
"Oh, is that what you think it is? Plain rock?"
"What!" cried John. "Then what is it?"
John became like a terrified child and put his hands over his eyes not to see the giant; but the captain tore his hands away and forced his face round and made him see the Spirit of the Age where it sat like one of the stone giants, the size of a mountain, with its eyes shut. Then the captain opened a little door among the rocks and flung John into a pit made in the side of a hill, just opposite the giant, so that the giant could look into it through its gratings.
"He will open his eyes and look upon you soon," said the captain, before locking the door and leaving John imprisoned.
John lay in his fetters all night in the cold and stench of the dungeon. And when morning came there was a little light at the grating, and, looking round, John saw that he had many fellow prisoners, of all sexes and ages. But instead of speaking to him, they all huddled away from the light and drew as far back into the pit, away from the grating, as they could. But John thought that if he could breathe a little fresh air he would be better, and he crawled up to the grating. But as soon as he looked out and saw the giant, it crushed the heart out of him: and even as he looked, the giant began to open his eyes and John, without knowing why he did it, shrank from the grating. The giant’s eyes had this property, that whatever they looked on became transparent. Consequently, when John looked round into the dungeon, he retreated from his fellow prisoners in terror, for the place seemed to be thronged with demons. A woman was seated near him, but he did not know it was a woman, because, through the face, he saw the skull and through that the brains and the passages of the nose, and the larynx, and the saliva moving in the glands and the blood in the veins: and lower down the lungs panting like sponges, and the liver, and the intestines like a coil of snakes. And when he averted his eyes from her they fell on an old man, and this was worse for the old man had a cancer. And when John sat down and drooped his head, not to see the horrors, he saw only the working of his own inwards. Then I dreamed of all these creatures living in that hole under the giant’s eye for many days and nights. And John looked round on it all and suddenly he fell on his face and thrust his hands into his eyes and cried out, "I am in hell. There may be no heaven, but there is certainly its opposite, and I am there. I am mad, I am dead, I am in hell forever."
Every day a jailor brought the prisoners their food, and as he laid down the dishes he would say a word to them. If their meal was flesh he would remind them that they were eating corpses, or give them some account of the slaughtering: or, if it was the inwards of some beast, he would read them a lecture in anatomy and show the likeness of the mess to the same parts in themselves—which was the more easily done because the giant’s eyes were always staring into the dungeon at dinner time. Or if the meal were eggs he would recall to them that they were eating the menstruum of a verminous fowl, and crack a few jokes with the female prisoners. So he went on day by day. Then I dreamed that one day there was nothing but milk for them, and the jailor said as he put down the pipkin:
"Our relations with the cow are not delicate—as you can easily see if you imagine eating any of her other secretions."
Now John had been in the pit a shorter time than any of the others: and at these words something seemed to snap in his head and he gave a great sigh and suddenly spoke out in a loud, clear voice:
"Thank heaven! Now at last I know that you are talking nonsense."
"What do you mean?" said the jailor, wheeling round upon him.
"You are trying to pretend that unlike things are like. You are trying to make us think that milk is the same sort of thing as sweat or dung."
"And pray, what difference is there except by custom?"
"Are you a liar or only a fool, that you see no difference between that which Nature casts out as refuse and that which she stores up as food?"
"So Nature is a person, then, with purposes and consciousness," said the jailor with a sneer. "No doubt it comforts you to imagine you can believe that sort of thing;" and he turned to leave the prison with his nose in the air.
"I know nothing about that," shouted John after him. "I am talking of what happens. Milk does feed calves and dung does not."
"Look here," cried the jailor, coming back, "we have had enough of this. It is high treason and I shall bring you before the Master." Then he jerked John up by his chain and began to drag him towards the door; but John as he was being dragged, cried out to the others, "Can’t you see it’s all a cheat?’ Then the jailor struck him in the teeth so hard that his mouth was filled with blood and he became unable to speak. While he was silent, the jailor brought John outside.
When they came out into the air John blinked a little, but not much, for they were still only in a half-light under the shadow of the giant, who was very angry, with smoke coming from his mouth, so that he looked more like a volcano than an ordinary mountain. And now John gave himself up for lost, but just as the jailor had dragged him up to the giant’s feet, and had cleared his throat, and begun "The case against this prisoner—" there was a commotion and a sound of horse’s hoofs. The jailor looked round, and even the giant took his terrible eyes off John and looked round: and last of all, John himself looked round too. They saw some of the guard coming towards them leading a great black stallion, and in it was seated a figure wound in a cloak of blue which was hooded over the head and came down concealing the face.
"Another prisoner, Lord," said the leader of the guards.
Then very slowly the giant raised his great, heavy finger and pointed to the mouth of the dungeon.
"Not yet," said the hooded figure. Then suddenly it stretched out its hands with the fetters on them and made a quick movement of the wrists. There was a tinkling sound as the fragments of the broken chain fell on the rock at the horse’s feet: and the guardsmen let go the bridle and fell back, watching. Then the rider threw back the cloak and a flash of steel smote light into John’s eyes and on the giant’s face. John saw that it was a woman in the flower of her age: she was so tall that she seemed to him a Titaness, a sun-bright virgin clad in complete steel, with a sword naked in her hand. The giant bent forward in his chair and looked at her.
"Who are you?" he said.
"My name is Reason," said the virgin.
"Make out her passport quickly," said the giant in a low voice. "And let her go through our dominions and be off with all the speed she wishes."
"Not yet," said Reason. "I will ask you a riddle before I go, for a wager."
"What is the pledge?" said the giant.
"Your head," said Reason.
There was silence for a time among the mountains.
"Well," said the giant at last, "what must be, must be. Ask on."
"This is my riddle," said Reason. "What is the colour of things in dark places, of fish in the depth of the sea, or of the entrails in the body of man?"
"I cannot say," said the giant.
Reason set spurs in her stallion and leaped up on to the giant’s mossy knees and galloped up his foreleg, till she plunged her sword into his heart. Then there was a noise and a crumbling like a landslide and the huge carcass settled down: and the Spirit of the Age became what he had seemed to be at first, a sprawling hummock of rock.
[A poem, some choice quotations, and an allegorical story. A trifecta of literary pleasure! Hopefully, Ted thought, those words would do someone, somewhere good, especially as they recovered from the dark bacchanal of the circus. The last story was incomplete; he had to shorten it for the sake of relevance and attention span. The meaning of the riddle is explained, though Ted humbly thought everyone else perceptive enough to not need it. But if they do, he's always happy to reveal for those who sincerely want to know. For the right reasons, of course.]
[Video]
[But hey, at least they've got an island to live on, rather than their population being confined to the back of an elephant!]
Yeah, she hated livin' in the streets so she worked hard t' get herself a place t' shelter in an' always let the pups take shelter there, too. Still had t' go out an' scavenge for food but at least they weren't sleepin' in the gutter. Whitebeard's the only man I'll accept callin' me his son. Whoever's blood I got in my veins obviously didn't want nothin' else t' do with me or my Ma so he ain't important. Used t' think he was, but I got someone better.
[Namur shrugs, happily.]
Re: [Video]
[Phew, he was beginning to think Namur's maritime world was completely alien to his own. No points for guessing why Eve would be so significant to him.
However, Namur's mind is still estranged, as evidenced by Ted's thoughtful, slight frown. Ted can't quite imagine not caring one whit about one's father, however worthy a symbolic substitute. He's read about cases on Earth like that; some criminal's father would be brought into court to prove how terrible an upbringing the defendant had, and thus exonerate. What a shock, then, to read how utterly unemotional such reunions were.
Thinking about it further, he shudders. His own religion put forth that the relation between father and son was by far the most central. The whole universe, in other words, hinges on fatherhood. The attainment of it is the best thing, and the absence of it is the worst.
What ripe hunting grounds Whitebeard had, then. It must've been so easy. Every man--even a fishman, he supposes--yearns for some things. Adventure. A sense of purpose and belonging, especially to something greater than yourself. A father most of all. And Whitebeard could offer every part. Who would refuse him? What did they have to lose? Is it any wonder he could inspire such enduring devotion, even from beyond the grave? Indeed, who would want it more than the denizens of a lawless orphanage? It seemed almost predatory.
In a way, that almost makes Ted hate him. He's a usurper. That need, that hole in the soul, was meant exclusively for one's true Father. How dare he use that for his own earthly gratification, however noble. He may as well have damned every single one of his "sons" to hell!
But he can't do anything with that. For one, hating a person as a person is wrong, full stop. For another, he has to acknowledge that if it weren't for Whitebeard, there probably wouldn't be a Namur to speak of.
He's left with an inarticulate and familiar frustration. Ted remembers what this is like: the argument about the auction. The point he tried to make there was the value of accidents; the meaning inherent in the random hand one's dealt. But Magicians don't care for that; they willed things. They wanted to choose and direct. Why wouldn't he love Whitebeard, the superior synthetic, over his own father, the forgettable accident?
But then, was it all that synthetic? He doesn't know why, but despite the gloomier feelings, he wants to keep going.]
"I know we've touched on this before but...call me stubborn. How were you recruited, exactly? It's ha, hard to imagine your mother approving of piracy. Then again, she doesn't sound quite usual."
[Video]
But I's up on the surface jus' tryna get by an' not get throwed in a shitty jail jus' for lookin' wrong. Causin' a bit a shit, too, I admit, sheheheheh! Anyway, guess I picked the wrong bar t' make my stand in, cuz after a few months one a the Ol' Man's Commanders, guessin' he was a friend a the owner's, rolled in an' scooped me up an' whisked me 'way. Thought for sure they's gonna sell me or some shit so I fought 'em hard when I woke up, an' wound up poppin' the Ol' Man hisself right in the sniffer. Everbody freezes, right? An' I'm thinkin' I'm dead for sure, right then an' there. An' then, blood runnin' all down his face an' stainin' his mustache a nasty red, he starts laughin' his ass off. Said he liked my spirit an' offered t' call me his son on the spot. Couple months later, I took him up on it.
'S the short version, anyway.
Re: [Video]
She thought you were dead? Did she, er, ever find out what really happened to you? Did you write letters or use those...where were they called...den den mushis?
[Video]
Re: [Video]
[He breathed with profound relief. That was shaping up to be a much darker story than he anticipated. Now he can put away the fainting couch for another day.]
Heh, how relieving it is to discover the mother's boy in you. Perhaps not all pirates should be hanged on sight.
[Video]
Seriously, man. The hell y' got 'gainst pirates, anyway?
Re: [Video]
Ah, and a diary, too! What a surprisingly sensitive life you lead.
Pffha, against them? Why, pray tell, would any civilized person be for them? What good do they do that is both good and piratical? My own world knew them simply as brigands who preferred channels to mountain passes. Suppose one compliment they've earned is their enduring skill in dance. They alone popularized the "hempen jig."
Though perhaps your own world, whose name I've never heard, had a different definition.
[Video]
Anyway I'unno if my world's got a name. Didn't think much a it at the time cuz I didn't know there was other'ns out there, y' know? So it might, but y'd hafta ask someone that thought 'bout that kinda shit 'fore they left. Usually though if someone recognizes an ocean called the Grand Line, they're from my world.
Plenty a places is for pirates where I'm from. Not all a 'em, lotta pirates is like y' say. But some do important shit like protectin' an island that the dumbass World Government won't. Like mine. Back when I's born, pirates was runnin' wild all over the place, kidnappin' folk t' take the surface t' sell an' stealin' supplies an' shit. Only way t' cross the Red Line without goin' through Mariejoa's headin' down through Fishman Island, so y' can guess which folk went which way. Anyway, Fishman Island's part a the World Government an' it shoulda been easy for the Marines t' get their asses down there t' get shit under control, considerin' 's right there next t' the capitol an' the Marine's Headquarters. But World Nobles an' Celestial Dragons is the ones doin' most a the buyin' when it comes t' slaves, so they didn't want the pirates t' stop raidin' everythin' ever, so even though ol' Neptune asked for help defendin' the Island, Marines never came. So the Ol' Man stepped in. Guess he made friends with Neptune on one a his trips through the Island an' decided t' help out. Planted his flag in the port an' told all the pirates there t' pass it 'round that Fishman Island was his, an' if someone came down pullin' whaleshit an' he heard 'bout it, they'd have the Whitebeard Pirates huntin' 'em in the New World. This was... shit. Twenty five, thirty years 'go now? Somethin' like that. Didn't change shit much in the District, a course, but the Island proper cleaned itself up pretty damn quick. Mean, weren't a hunnerd percent effective, but Pops was terrifyin' an' most folk like the thought a livin', so they'd behave. Maybe cause a ruckus now an' then but the Ammo Knights could take care a that, catch me? Know Big Mom was doin' the same kinda shit- plantin' her flag on islands she liked that needed her protection, an' Shanks an' Kaidou done the same. 'S why they started callin' 'em Emperors. Ain't like they's goin' 'round makin' laws an' shit but damn they could make more selfish folk think twice 'bout gettin' too wild. An' there's folk like Li'l Bro- uh. Strawhat. Luffy. Ace's li'l brother. He's here not long 'go. Anyway, heard some a the shit he's done. Basically, goes 'round helpin' folk an' it pisses off the Marines cuz they're either in on it or can't an' it makes 'em look weak, sheheheheh! So cuz the Marines is pissed, they put a bounty on 'im, spin shit in the worst way t' make 'im sound like he's a horrible person, an' let it go at that. Hell, they call Jimbei a pirate, an' if that guy ever broke a damn law in his life I'll eat my own shit. But he's a fishman, see, an' he lives on a ship on the surface an' he ain't too keen on goin' t' jail for lookin' like a whaleshark, so he's a criminal.
[Namur waves his hands in an overdramatic shrug. What can he say? It seems pretty wrong, to him.]
Re: [Video]
[Ted wears a charmed smile as he listens to Namur's discursiveness. Partly because Namur has a funny voice and, boy, is it getting a workout. But mostly because he loves it when people have something to say. He takes as well as he gives when it comes to words, and despite the flood of strange proper nouns, manages to keep up.]
"Huh! So this Red Line was very desirable to cross, and this Mariejoa very undesirable, then? And I take it the World Nobles and Celestial Dragons are much allied with the World Government, too. I wonder why the District didn't get much attention from Pops--er, Whitebeard. Seems like it could've used the help. Hoping for a trickle-down effect, perhaps?
Haha, no I don't quite catch you. The Ammo Knights? That's too fancy a name to think of anything as mundane as mere police.
Goodness, one could be criminalized simply for looking like a sinister fishman? What on earth did they do to earn that sort of reputation?
Well, all this raises an extremely interesting question: what on earth did "pirate" mean, then? By your account it almost seems like the Marines invented it out of whole cloth. But that can't be right; at the very least it comes from a Greek root meaning "to attack", so violence must be part and parcel of the thing. Was it simply a black brush the World Government painted with chauvinistic zeal? And if it was, why on earth would people accept it so readily? Hah, too much trouble? The term "sailor" might've done.
Still, I'm glad Whitebeard was one of the whiter pirates. That was the business he got up to, then? A sort of marine Robin Hood? Defending the weak when the powerful would rather not?
Goodness, I'd like to meet this Jinbei. Seeing a fishman with love of law would be a pleasant shock.
[Video]
[Give him a second, he has to repeat that last little bit and write down a list of things to explain.]
A'ight, so. Mariejoa's the capitol. 'S where the Celestial Dragons live, an' a lotta the World Nobles, so there's a shitload a Marines there, too. Don't y' put a shitload a bodyguards an' soldiers 'round yer kings in yer world? Well, that's what they are. The kings a the world, an' the Marines is their guard dogs. 'S why even though they talk a lotta shit 'bout justice, it ain't what they live. Cuz their masters don't give a shit an' they gotta do what the rich bastards say. 'S also how a lotta 'em become pirates theirselves, if they really mean the shit they're spoutin'. There's justice like what Smoker talks 'bout sometimes, an' then there's Absolute Justice, which is what a Marine's gotta worship. An' Absolute Justice is decided by the Celestial Dragons, that go 'round tellin' folk they're gods, so whatever they say goes, an' the Marines back 'em up or get turned int' pirates for defyin' 'em.
District didn't get much attention cuz nobody pays much attention t' the District. Hell I'd be surprised if Pops even knew it existed 'fore he met me. When yer caught up dreamin' 'bout the girls in Mermaid Cove an' takin' lunch in the Ryuugu Palace, y' ain't 'zactly thinkin' shit, I wonder if they got a secret place no one talks 'bout where they dump off all the babies no one wants t' admit they ever had, y' know? Also the District ain't in a bubble like the rest a Fishman Island, so them that's got a Devil's Fruit Ability can't 'zactly go there. The sea's jealous a 'em, so if they get covered in water more'n like in a shower or somethin', they get paralyzed an' drown. Ammo Knights is King Neptune's soldiers. An' hell if I know why 's a damn crime t' be a fishman on the surface. Probly jus' assume every fishman or mermaid on the surface is an escaped slave.
Pirates from other worlds keep tryna tell us we ain't real pirates, too, cuz we don't fit in their smelly li'l box, so whatever. Seems like their problem more'n ours. We know who we are.
An'... shit man. Wish y' could meet Jimbei too, cuz it'd mean he's here an' it'd be good t' see his snaily face 'gain, sheheheheh!
Re: [Video]
[It just keeps going; the answers lead to more questions! A fractal conversation. Just what Ted would like. He continues to nod and "mm" along.]
Good Lord! Kings of the world? That's incredible. So their tyranny extends that far? Damned despots; hopefully some righteous bolt of indignation knocks them off that false throne soon. And poor Smoker; forgot to say that he, heh, alone constitutes another injustice of pirates; I'd be surprised if piracy didn't drive him into smoking, and such excessive smoking at that. Then again, his unusually prophetic parents did bestow the name; perhaps he was destined to breathe that fetid air.
That certainly explains how "pirate" could be so broad; if it simply means "whom Marines despise", and the Marines themselves aren't quite as moral or efficient as they ought to be, it's a small wonder how so many could fit under that umbrella.
Oh, so the District is underwater, right? And those who...hold on. "Devil Fruit"? I vaguely recall Smoker mentioning something like that. So your band had these and couldn't go for that reason? The, um...jealousy of the sea?
Hah, well if other pirates hate you, you must've been doing something right. You mentioned Whitebeard liked to, in addition to poaching talent, claim territories and put them under his protection; presumably those the government neglected. What else did his increasingly particular parade of pirates get up to?
[Video]
Whaddy' mean, what else? Whatever else come up, I guess. I'unno. What sorta shit'd y' get up t' when y's at home?
Re: [Video]
"Logia" type? Hah, come on, that's a bit much. Why would he buy cigarettes if they were no different from himself? He can't be that narcissistic.
[This Devil Fruit's stuff is good info, though. Was that what Marco had? So the key was drowning him, them. Good to know.] [Ted's line of questioning was meant to suss out just how evil of a pirate Namur was. He liked everything he heard so far, but there were still lingering doubts. But then he remembered that that probably wasn't friendly. He was annoyed when Namur had doubted him along similar lines, after all. Besides, isn't it better to believe the best in people, when you can? There might be something unkind in probing for wickedness when he needn't.]
Heh, so long as Whitebeard kept a white schedule, I suppose. My own was more innocent still; reading, mostly. I think. [aka: spending time in his own little world]
[Video]
[Seriously.]
Readin's all y' done, huh? Didn't y' have any friends good 'nuff t' go drag y' 'round with 'em? Say oi Ted y' look like a shitty ghost, come walk in the sun with us half a shake or anythin'?
Re: [Video]
Haha, that would be a little pathetic.
[He sounds faintly shier; friends weren't something widely available for him growing up. Too strange, or not enough people around. Still, Ted's worked up a decent tan. He spends a lot of time in the sun.]
"Oh, hah, not all. There was the family pet, and my parents, and my parents' social circles. Even changed houses every so often; they meant for me a, ah, liberal arts education, I suppose, and thought a variety of experiences would make a robust man. Though sometimes I wonder if they weren't simply mad about novelty. I'm touched, but my time indoors was healthily moderate. Between the two of us, I'm not the one who should be worrying about walking in darkness."
[Ah, morality humor. Endless void notwithstanding.]
[Video]
Re: [Video] [Now Private ya jerk]
"I don't...really understand it myself."
[True, if evasive. Much like a Devil Fruit, he has an intuitive if incomplete idea on how it works, growing over time. The "why" of it--by far the most important part in his view--eludes him, and all he has on that score are guesses. It's an unnerving topic for him, so he'll jest and deflect.]
"But, aheh, no need to disparage, now. I'm sure whatever menace you see will help frighten off any who'd accost Jolly Eddy's patrons.
Speaking of strange, black things, I could've sworn I saw something like that in our last feud. I recall trying to kick your head before your skin turned dark. Felt like striking diamond. What was that?"
[Video] [Private]
[He says it as if that explains it all. Then he blinks, remembering that people from other worlds don't know what that is.]
Means I'm such a badass, all I gotta do's decide y' ain't gonna hurt me, an' from that point on, it ain't possible.
Re: [Video] [Private]
[New goal: break through Haki and make him eat those words at least once. That settled, that raised his curiosity considerably.]
Well, you said you weren't a sorcerer so it can't be magic. There must be something more to it than simple say-so.
[Video] [Private]
Naw, that's pretty much the long an' short a it. No tricks or nothin', jus'. You.
Mean, there's a lot that goes int' wakin' it up an' shit an' learnin' how t' use it on purpose an' it ain't everbody can do that an' them that can it takes 'em years an' years. Their whole lives sometimes.
[Namur shrugs.]
Re: [Video] [Private]
[Sorry Namur, you brought up another otherworldly proper noun. Now you get the questions only slightly more tolerable than prison interrogation.]
[Video] [Private]
[He's laughing as he says it, though.]
Haki's like... spirit power. So yeah, there's folk that uses it without even realizin'. Most a the time 's how y' find out y' got it woke up, but y' can train someone t' do it, too, if they's strong 'nuff an' got 'nuff determination. Took me several years t' get the hang a it, but I's doin' shit 'fore I even realized what was goin' on, 's why they even started yawpin' at me 'bout it. All them folk y' met from my world uses it.
An'... shit I forgot the last part.
[He frowns, trying to remember.]
Re: [Video] [Private]
Goodness, so your spirit manifests as an impenetrable blackness? I should've guessed.
Ah, well if it takes as long to work as all that, my last question was merely idle curiosity. I wondered what would happen should two of its users square off. If neither could hurt the other, what would result? They fight until fatigue?
[Video] [Private]
[Namur rubs at the side of his head.]
Look I'm better at knockin' dumbasses 'round t' get 'em t' 'waken it. Yer gonna want book shit an' I can't tell y' that.
Re: [Video] [Private]
[He means that, even if there is a mildly mournful air about him. He really is happy that Namur has light about him. Some people have all the luck.]
Well, I appreciate you indulging me and my bookishness. And thanks again for, ah, coming to my rescue back there. I'm in your debt.