you magnificent fuck up (
apostatised) wrote2008-09-08 12:18 am
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[log] and we'll learn politics and some new party tricks
New York is as easy to get to as about anywhere is when your main method of getting around is teleportation (every time he uses the pinpoint, Martel puts 'stables' higher on his mental priority list of necessary projects). He doesn't even argue the point about changing his clothes for the outing, even if he does spend altogether too much time fastidiously pulling at his cuffs and fixing his collar.
All in good time, he ushers Candice into the 'establishment' Ethan gave him details of, standing out about as much as a 6'3" man of military and noble bearing with long white hair tends to regardless of what he's dressed in.
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Everything about Candice tends to be carefully controlled all the time, which is possibly the basis of her current faith's appeal, honestly.
She rests her elbows on the table top. "I hope so. What sort of tribute does Chaos take?"
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Another drink, he thinks. "There are no rules. But I do enjoy causing... disruption. And twisting things on their head, too."
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"Sort of the point, wouldn't it be?" Martel asks, halfway between 'yes, I think I'm hilarious' and genuinely thoughtful. "It seems as though something that needs its opposite to balance it out."
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Candice mulls that over, but to herself, tracing her fingertips along the wood grain of the table.
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"But... balancing itself is a notion of order, so you can see how... chaos, true chaos, is something of a... mindfuck to be involved in. It's... counter to everything the mind likes."
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"Granted," Martel agrees, tapping his fingers against the side of his glass, "but in a world wholly without order, chaos unfettered, undefined, would only be a new form thereof."
See, these are not concepts he could've got across with his limited grasp of reading and writing in English. He's a quick study, but not that quick.
It sounds suspiciously like something he's given thought to the practical applications thereof, rather than pure philosophy. FYI.
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"Chaos is more than... most would dismiss it as."
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Martel smiles very faintly--another one of those private jokes, maybe. "Gods and monsters," he suggests, somehow managing neutral amusement before continuing. "People dismiss what they fear to lessen its danger. How would you describe it, then?"
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"One and the same, technically," she corrects almost absent-mindedly, re: gods and monsters, but then she doesn't really mind monsters on principle. It's a broad category she herself occasionally falls into.
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"Monsters needn't be gods," Martel observes to Candice, mildly, pausing to listen with some small amusement to Ethan's description of that which by everyone's admission defies it. "Your bias is showing," he notes, faintly smiling. (Nobody will hold it against anyone who happens to think Martel probably shouldn't smile. Ever.) "Interesting, though."
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"The word used to just mean 'space,'" Candice recalls, "A reference to existence--or the lack thereof--before the big bang, I think, though I may be misremembering. But the meaning got a bit shifted around."
She's not going to point out this is really odd conversation for casual drinks out, largely because of who her company is.
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He laughs at Martel. "Of course it is. But ask me on a bad day, and my answer might be different. It's... something of a chaote habit." He rolls his eyes at the paradox. Sometimes it hurts the head.
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To be fair, Martel will submit he was lured here for purposes of really odd discussion anyway. He leans back where he's sitting--moves like he's not quite used to or comfortable with the clothing he wears. It suits him well enough, adds to his certain air, but he doesn't seem well placed in it.
That and he dislikes the necessity of not wearing the broadsword here.
Regardless: he laughs, too, because as much of a headache as the complexities are he enjoys this. "I can't debate your words, not from where I am. But, I've been accused before of having no faith at all. No beliefs. It struck me as unintentionally funny, at the time, given indisputable proof...knowledge and faith are different again, of course."
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"I have a hard time ever seeing you that way."
She just leaves that there, and pushes her half-drunk scotch glass away a bit. Maybe she'll have the rest, maybe not.
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Plus, if someone else talks, he can drink.
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Martel spreads his hands, and...then takes a drink, because it's that kind of topic. He's fairly open about this--but outside the nexus people prefer explanations that don't sound totally alien to them, and he's never been a wildly forthcoming person.
Thus 'fairly open' leaves him a lot of leeway for casual misdirection and evasive secrecy.
"Ah. I was excommunicated from the Elene Church when I was a young man, among other things." He doesn't look much past his mid-thirties--if that--but he carries himself with at least another decade's experience on it. "It left me in something of a bad temper."
That is the most toned down version of that story in the entire world.
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"Now, of course," Candice supplies to Ethan, innocently, "he's always in the best of moods."
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"It's a gift," Martel replies blandly. (He ought to be grateful, really, considering.) "Death has an amazing calming effect."
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She laughs at that, quietly. "Most of the dead I've met would disagree with you."
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"Ah, well. Far be it from me to speak for anyone else."
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"The wandering dead are different, generally," she muses, "Not a lot of people are content without a physical body--which you've got, Martel, that might help."
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