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Entry tags:
[Action] Thot or not?
Who: Ted and Sonico
What: Ill-fated conversation about careers and lust
Where: Fayren in the afternoon
Warning: Lust is the subject matter. Initially just the two of them, but run into them later if you want.
The first part of any crimefighting crusade was chatting up the locals and squeezing them for all they've got. Some ne'er-do-well had been polluting the city's fortune, in the superstitious sense. A curse of bad luck had cast a pall over this part of the world, thinning out the people he'd usually talk to. Not many were out and about when whatever could go wrong almost certainly would.
Or so it's said. Ted, for all his fancy and eccentricity, is not especially superstitious, and treated the day like any other. The sprites had other ideas, if the emptiness and silence of the village was any indication.
Where is everyone? Alone and shut up, living lives as inobtrusive as they could. If every roll of the dice was snake eyes, the only winning move was not to play.
That makes it harder for Ted and his tedious gruntwork than usual. Doubtless people would avoid him if they suspected any chance of, say, his gun misfiring or something. At this rate he'll just have to head back to Everglade and deal with their turmoil instead.
But wait, what's this? What a length of pink hair! He'd know that anywhere: Sonico! He'd flag her down to talk and inquire. Who knows, maybe she has some insight into the luck-damning dastard!
"Hello, Sonico! Fancy meeting you here! Been mindful of any black cats in your way? I've got salt to toss over your shoulder, if you need it."
If they only knew how much their luck was about to suffer.
What: Ill-fated conversation about careers and lust
Where: Fayren in the afternoon
Warning: Lust is the subject matter. Initially just the two of them, but run into them later if you want.
The first part of any crimefighting crusade was chatting up the locals and squeezing them for all they've got. Some ne'er-do-well had been polluting the city's fortune, in the superstitious sense. A curse of bad luck had cast a pall over this part of the world, thinning out the people he'd usually talk to. Not many were out and about when whatever could go wrong almost certainly would.
Or so it's said. Ted, for all his fancy and eccentricity, is not especially superstitious, and treated the day like any other. The sprites had other ideas, if the emptiness and silence of the village was any indication.
Where is everyone? Alone and shut up, living lives as inobtrusive as they could. If every roll of the dice was snake eyes, the only winning move was not to play.
That makes it harder for Ted and his tedious gruntwork than usual. Doubtless people would avoid him if they suspected any chance of, say, his gun misfiring or something. At this rate he'll just have to head back to Everglade and deal with their turmoil instead.
But wait, what's this? What a length of pink hair! He'd know that anywhere: Sonico! He'd flag her down to talk and inquire. Who knows, maybe she has some insight into the luck-damning dastard!
"Hello, Sonico! Fancy meeting you here! Been mindful of any black cats in your way? I've got salt to toss over your shoulder, if you need it."
If they only knew how much their luck was about to suffer.
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Finally, they were done, and Sonico made her way home, back in her usual outfit of short skirt and tshirt, when she bumped into Ted, "Hello. Black cats? I haven't seen any... Have you lost one?"
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"Ahahuh, well, perhaps. Mordecai is his name; walks on two legs, a sinister sourpuss, and the only collars he wears are lapels. If you do find him, please return him to his owner. He's quite lost otherwise."
Ted reflects that sometimes it's funny even if they don't get the joke.
"Anyway, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Sonico? Work? That's what brought me. Don't suppose you know from whom all this rotten luck supposedly springs?"
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Sonico nodded at the mention of work, "Yes. I've just finished working - it was quite a long day. But, as for any kind of luck, I'm afraid that I don't know anything about that. Have you had a bad day?"
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"Ah, that's too bad. He's...quite the sight." It makes him lightly tremble with laughter just picturing it.
"Oh, no, no more than usual, but thank you for asking. Speaking of work, I'm curious: what's the nature of yours? You've probbaly figured mine: looking for trouble and troublemakers. You're a model, correct? What, er, what kind? I ask because there's so many different kinds."
Nope, no bad days here. Not yet.
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Ted, knowing many words, knows that one, but not the cultural context it's used in. Besides, in Genessia you could never really count on particulars like that translating perfectly. More interesting is the fact that, judging by her posture, he might almost think she was embarassed about it.
"Huh; I've never heard that word used that way. What does it mean? Don't spare any detail, now. As much length as you please."
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"Oh..."
He looked contemplative and anxious, wondering if the worst would come to pass. A few more questions can't hurt.
"So, um, what's the business model for modeling like? What's the target audience for all this? You model things and then people...buy them?"
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Ted's beginning to think that discomfort might be entirely justified. He's getting a fuller picture of what her job entails, but he'd prefer things to be a little franker.
"Gentlemen's magazines'?" he asked, leadingly. It sounded like a euphemism.
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"...I see. Are these pictures meant to arouse? Is this 'liking' of the, ah, venereal variety?"
He'll get the hang of subtlety one of these days.
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That would be a professional fact he'd find as interesting as it is disturbing. Models find their jobs easier to do if they don't think about the finished product? What a smoking gun! It's like the opposite of sausage-making. He's satisfied, at least, that she was willing to admit the pornographic nature of the images. That would make things easier.
"So...these pictures are used to titillate and incite lust in others in order to make money off them."
He's trying for tact by not specifically saying her pictures.
"In essence...that's not much different from prostitution, is it?"
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"I - But. But of course it's different. It's very different. It's... I don't know what you might think that I do but - it is not that."
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Ted's full of surprises, albeit unpleasant ones at the moment. His tone and demeanor are more akin to a doctor breaking bad news.
"Is it very different? The method is, granted, but the results are much the same, aren't they? The commoditization of sex, the debasement of all parties involved. Spiritually speaking, isn't it identical?"
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Here, then, lied the crux of the matter: whether he can convince her that the way lust manifested in the soul, its essence, was everything, and that the form it took was nowhere near as important. But if she insists on drawing an arbitrary line between them; to think that lustful looks are licit, yet fornication is illicit...well, he has to try, at least.
Ted shook his head. "Sonico, these things are judged by the heart. A married man lusting after another, who is not his spouse, is guilty of adultery even if no carnal deed is carried out. Similarly, these pornographic images are illicit by the same standard."
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Ted's expression is pained, but steady and stern. He clearly doesn't like talking about this. But for the sake of reproof--no fun thing--he forces himself to keep going, praying that he can speak the truth in love.
"Sonico, that's a bit heartless. If you knew that those pictures were the source of someone's stumbling...that's all you'd have to say? 'Oh well, too bad for them. They ought to have been more virtuous.' Doubtless, they should, but why would one want to make things harder for them? People aren't angels. They suffer temptations; they have weaknesses. We should be mindful of that, and care for each other and do whatever we can to ease those burdens. Even if you were right; even if such actions were perfectly free for you to do...in light of such a dire consequence, you'd...be using your freedom to destroy someone."
Ted knows that sins of the flesh are the least of the deadly ones; it's the spiritual sins that make one truly diabolical. The sin of not caring what affect your actions have, legitimate or not, is the sin of uncharitableness. He hopes Sonico does not have that.
"Pornography is any image or written work designed to produce erotic feeling. The ones in those 'Gentlemen's magazines' are of that nature; you said so yourself. That is their explicit intent."
Ted hoped Sonico would connect the dots herself: that in being knowingly complicit with the production of said images, she was, in fact, making pornography.
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She paled at the word 'pornography', appearing frightened and quite lost. "I think you are quite mistaken with what I do. There is nothing...nothing pornographic about what I do..." Even as she said it, she was aware of the choke in her throat and the tears now blurring her sight.
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"It's not about assigning blame or who's fault it is, just...having concern for others, that's all."
The conversation is, by now, going in circles. Ted is, at least, cognizant enough to recognize that going any further that way would be in vain.
"...much like this talk, if you can believe it. Sonico I'm not trying to judge or condemn or anything. I just...worry about my friends; probably excessively. I know I haven't been especially friendly. Horribly bothersome, rather."
Ted uncomfortably shifts and fidgets with his hands. Seems there are bad feelings all around.
"But I thought...if I didn't say anything or pretended not to notice, I'd...well, I wouldn't consider that especially friendly either."
Ted's own words seem to rouse something deep and subtle; keeping silent, not saying anything for fear of disturbing decorum. What did that remind him of?
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to upset you, as incredible as that may sound."
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She flickered, appearing next to both of them, half stepping between Sonico and Ted and facing the latter. Her expression was eerily calm but her eyes were bright red and her left hand was shifting restlessly, though she hadn't yet drawn any knives.
(For intimidation sake, she had put the groceries down behind a nearby bush.)
"What did you do?"
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Then Sakuya appeared and Sonico blushed, embarrassed to be caught when she is feeling so lost and low. She shrank back when she saw the colour in her friend's eyes. "Sakuya..."
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Ted got the feeling that there was nothing more he could say that would get through to her. Not quite the happy ending he would've liked. With Sakuya on the scene, any hope of going further was dashed.
He was a little stunned at her sudden appearance such that her question went almost unheard. He muttered.
"...it's private."
Weary and defeated, he makes out of here. There doesn't seem much prospect of continuing his bounty work for today.
"Farewell, Sonico. Sorry about...all this."
Not his most eloquent parting.
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"If my dear friend is crying, it is not something I will be letting you walk away from. What did you do?"
There was nothing that Sakuya hated more than people being evasive with her. Especially when she felt it was something extremely important.
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Then she looked to Sakuya and swiped at her eyes - was she crying? She knew she nearly had been, and it would be horribly embarrassing if she were crying and she hadn't even realised that yet. She bit her lip and bowed her head, looking between the two like a lost school girl, "I - It's okay. It's over. I just... I need to go home."
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Wow, first Mercury and now this psycho. Sonico, consider new friends. Preferably ones who aren't killers.
"Ah, perhaps I wasn't speaking clearly. It's private," he said with a slightly more severe tone. He's glad that Sonico's attempting to defuse the madwoman, at the very least. Hopefully if she's such a "dear friend", she'll leave Ted alone in favor of Sonico, which is what he'd really like. Heedless of the threat, he walked away regardless. There's manners to think of.
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Ted, on the other hand, would suddenly find himself in an alleyway about a block from where he started in an alley next to a dumpster in nothing but his underwear and with the wind knocked out of him. He'd be sporting several new bruises including a black eye.
At least Sakuya had dumped his clothes and bag next to him.
Sakuya huffed, turning to Sonico, her knees and knuckles significantly redder than they had been a moment ago. She placed a hand on Sonico's shoulder, gently turning her, and guiding her in the opposite direction.
"I am buying you a milkshake. Then I will be walking to you to your apartment. I will not stand him heckling you again."
Overprotective might not be strong enough a word in this situation.
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Battered and beaten in the garbage; Sakuya, Ted thought, had some poetry about her. It seemed like the way a maid would treat objects of her ire. Whatever had just happened to him--he'd reason and inquire about the time manipulation later--it certainly smart. But worse than that: he's not decent! In his boxers he jerked left and right to find...phew, his bag, thank goodness. Providently, the bad luck scare gave him privacy enough to cover up.
"Bad luck indeed," he marveled aloud. Just how much of today's misfortune could be laid at bad luck's feet?
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"He's fine." Sakuya responded. "If he physically harmed you then he would have much worse than a bruise or two." The maid flexed her hands. Striking the Kamui had really hurt.
She let out a breath, turned, and took Sonico by the elbow, gently leading her in the opposite direction of where she had left the fool. "Yes. Milkshakes. Whatever he said to you is not worth crying over. He does not think about what he says."
Sakuya was still clearly fairly angry, but she was not taking it out on Sonico.
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"I do not keep many people by my side, but the ones I do I will always protect. And this includes you. If you need help or to speak to someone you can always turn to me and I will be happy to assist however I can."
She worried about Sonico's well-being far more than she'd ever admit.
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