nexus_crossings | This Mortal Coil

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This Mortal Coil

Micolash is in the Nexus Plaza, thankfully looking cleaner and smelling better than the last time he'd been asking questions. The cage is still in place, of course; why would it not be? He even looks a little healthier! Not much, as his skin is still sallow and gaunt over angular bones and features. But at least not as unsteady and proportionally more alert as well.

He's not quick to ask a question, however. The scholar is instead on a sofa, long legs pulled up onto the seat with him and folded in front of him. The rest of the sofa, normally big enough to seat three, is piled with books. Easily two dozen, if not more. A glance at the covers that are visible will show a selection of possibly recognizable names: Erwin Schrödinger. Charles Hartshorne. René Descartes. David Ray Griffin. The one he has open on his knees right now is a collection of Thomas Aquinas' summae and related theories.

The scholar is content to immerse himself in this reading for hours on end, but eventually, he seems to recall where he is. And that he can ask questions if the fancy takes him.

"What do you think. Or believe. Happens after death?"

Getting RIGHT to the heavy stuff, it appears.

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Micolash smiles as he watches Adia pet the augur, the expression shy but excited someone shares his sentiments on this unique creature. "I let it out from time to time, if I require distraction or. Simple company. Or it wants free to wander about or escape the-...Ehm." He trails off, pale eyes flitting downwards, looking uncertain he should elaborate. "...Sometimes. When my thoughts grow feverish. It is better to not be in my skull with them."

He's quick to agree with Adia about the potential loss of the strange slug, though, nodding. "If I'd have arrived here without Ebrietas' blessing still with me, I would have surely remained even more uncertain of my time in the Nightmare than I am presently. How much was fit and folly, if having the augur was just another delusion..." The talk of the anti-violence field, however, gets his head tilted in response. This is news to him!

"Anti-violence...? I'm not sure I understand."

His confession draws her gaze away from the slug and up to his face, her smile fading into a soft, sympathetic line. How frenetic must his thoughts be to drive out this otherworldly creature? She even feels a little guilty when he adds that he would have questioned whether it had even been real in the first place. She had assumed initially that his ramblings had been at least partly delusions... well, obviously he was telling the truth, at least in his own way...

Bucky, who had also been examining the slug, tilting its head to stare at it one eye at a time, lets out a soft croak of approval. This man is still creepy and weird and Adia should absolutely not be on friendly terms with him, but the tiny glowing gastrodon is all right.

His surprised question is met with surprise in turn. No one told him about the anti-violence field yet? "In the Nexus, there's a kind of forcefield that gets activated if someone tries to physically harm someone else. It's strongest here in the Plaza, a little spotty if you go out into the Wilds." And sometimes it fails spectacularly. With a somewhat pensive frown, she adds, "I wouldn't bet my life on it, but it does make things safer here than they would be otherwise."

That is the trick, isn't it? How much of what he says is legitimate and how much is the twisted shadows of truth warped through a damaged mind? (And how and why is it damaged in the first place?) There's no one to conflate or second his accounts, after all. No one else from this bizarre place called Yharnam. ~~Yet?~~

The caged scholar listens to the explanation of the AVF, head still tilted like a curious dog. "...How strange. Who maintains it? It must be the dreamer, but why would They wish such a thing? And how often can They ensure that no harm is enacted? Does this mean They all can? And if They can..." Micolash trails off, eyes going distant as he thinks. His thin fingers twist themselves in one sleeve of his regalia, idly so as he ponders. "...Oh, but it wouldn't have been Mergo's fault if he could have," he eventually adds. "He was just a babe. Perhaps he didn't know? It was possible?"

But to think if violence could have been prevented in the Nightmare, what would that have been like...?

It's not her place to judge, that's for sure. Although her suspicions that he kidnapped a baby are going to nag at her for a while, even as she seems rather comfortable now, looking back at the slug briefly and smiling.

She doesn't interrupt his audible musings, although there are a couple moments where she seems tempted to speak up, to redirect him from the path that his thoughts are taking him. Far be it from her to make assumptions of the true nature of the Nexus, but she's not sold on the idea that a Great One is responsible. How strange of him to ponder if violence could have been prevented in the Nightmare. Isn't that the point of of a nightmare? Maybe she's relying too heavily on its traditional definition.

"I don't know who are what maintains it, but it's likely a combination of advanced magic and technology... I don't know how a place like this would function without it, honestly. Many powerful people visit or live in the Nexus. It'd be a... a might makes right sort of place, if physical violence was acceptable."

"Magic," he murmurs in an echo of her words, considering it. "...That sounds very likely. Arcane energy is always present in matters of the higher planes. Are you sensitive to it? Did you feel it all from Ebrietas' blessing? Her limbs radiate immense arcana. I find the sensation. Quite thrilling, really." Magic casters are weird.

Speaking of, the slug proves itself increasingly talented, because Micolash at one point lowers the hand that holds it, but the creature remains hovering in place! It even twinkles a little. Aww...

As far as the rest of it, the concerns of this place being a good deal more dystopian without the field, he hums thoughtfully. "I have...very firm convictions regarding survival of the fittest, the right to the strongest but. Ah!" Micolash suddenly looks like he recalls something, then turns to one of his book piles, sorting through them and checking all the covers until he finds one in particular. "Ah! Here we are! Have you heard of ahhh..." He squints at the author's name before reading carefully, "Jean Jacques Rousseau? I had not before now, but his writings on human nature ended up intriguing. May I read a passage to you?" Micolash looks hopeful, clutching the book in both of his spidery hands, eager to share knowledge and talk philosophy! You've done it now, Adia. But it can't be as weird as tentacles, at least.

"And technology," she reminds him, unable to stay silent on that point. As for his question, she less quick to respond. "I, um... I wouldn't normally consider myself sensitive to magic, but..."

Her gaze drifts down to the slug, which is now disobeying the laws of gravity along with everything else. Adorable! She smiles at it again and says, "Your friend gives off a... a feeling of the sea. And... butterflies?" She looks up at him uncertainly. "Is that typical of Ebrietas' blessings?"

If only they could stay on that subject. His opinion of survival of the fittest makes her frown softly in disappointment, but she stays silent while he sorts through his books. She has not, in fact, heard of Rousseau. "Is he an Earth writer?" she asks, her curiosity returning. It's hard to say no to that hopeful expression. "Yes, please. Go ahead."

He nods with her reminder of technology, conceding the point. Advances in that do go a long ways as well, of course. Any man of science can agree to that. And where would Yharnam be without the ingenuity of the Workshop, the Powder Kegs, all those trick weapons the lot of them made?

Micolash is hurriedly flipping through the pages of his book, looking for the passage he'd mentioned. "Oh yes," he says as he does so, reassuring Adia of her impressions caused by the augur. "The Great Ones are intrinsically linked to the sea. Kos, some say Kosm, especially. Others, as Vacuous Rom, are linked to lakes, Formless Oedeon to stagnant water." He pauses, looking up to smile fondly, if vacantly. "And Ebrietas is quite beautiful. And her name, while sharing the root word for 'drunkenness', also speaks of a genus of, ah. Skippers. Butterflies." He smiles wider, as if to cap that explanation, then turns back down to his book. Where is that page he-...Ah!

Micolash holds the book out and open in front of him, clearing his throat in preparation to read. Also, he has to take a moment to adjust the distance he holds the pages out at, squinting until he gets it right. Someone must need reading glasses. His reading voice is a lot like his speaking voice, which is to say a nasal drone, but at least the strange cadence is gone for the most part. It's different when he has to adhere to someone else's written cues.

"The Strongest is never strong enough to be always the master, unless he transforms strength into right, and obedience into duty. Hence the right of the strongest, which, though to all seeming meant ironically, is really laid down as a fundamental principle. But are we never to have an explanation of this phrase? Force is a physical power, and I fail to see what moral effect it can have. To yield to force is an act of necessity, not of will—at the most, an act of prudence. In what sense can it be a duty?

"Suppose for a moment that this so-called 'right' exists. I maintain that the sole result is a mass of inexplicable nonsense. For, if force creates right, the effect changes with the cause: every force that is greater than the first succeeds to its right. As soon as it is possible to disobey with impunity, disobedience is legitimate; and, the strongest being always in the right, the only thing that matters is to act so as to become the strongest. But what kind of right is that which perishes when force fails? If we must obey perforce, there is no need to obey because we ought; and if we are not forced to obey, we are under no obligation to do so. Clearly, the word “right” adds nothing to force: in this connection, it means absolutely nothing.

"Obey the powers that be. If this means yield to force, it is a good precept, but superfluous: I can answer for its never being violated. All power comes from God, I admit; but so does all sickness: does that mean that we are forbidden to call in the doctor? A brigand surprises me at the edge of a wood: must I not merely surrender my purse on compulsion; but, even if I could withhold it, am I in conscience bound to give it up? For certainly the pistol he holds is also a power.

"Let us then admit that force does not create right, and that we are obliged to obey only legitimate powers. In that case, my original question recurs."

Now finished, Micolash looks up, pale eyes bright with expectation towards hearing Adia's thoughts.

Edited 2017-10-27 04:28 (UTC)

It's a relief to know that her impressions were spot-on, although she'll have to take his word on Ebrietas' beauty. "But they aren't water deities?" she asks, to clarify. It does seem rather fitting for Great Ones to be linked to the sea. Bodies of water are often associated with secrets and mysteries.

His mannerisms as he prepares to read, right down to the squinting and clearing of his throat, remind her so much of professors in her past that she forgets about the cage on his head and pays attention as if she were back in school, focusing on his words and trying to make sense of them. The writing is verbose, but Rousseau's line of thought is fairly straight-forward, and she follows along easily enough.

It's easy to see what kind of student she was back in college: eager, well-behaved, but a little shy when it becomes her turn to speak. "He, um, he's making a good argument against might making right. Just because you force others to follow your rules, it doesn't make those rules 'right'. Not if someone even stronger than you can come along and knock you off your pedestal."

He smiles weakly at Adia's response as well as her obvious listening skills. "Yes! Very astute. For indeed, there is nothing inherently 'right' about forcing others to bend. Or threats to maintain the desired status quo.

"But what of the other half this assertion? What if...the idea is more that there is no 'right' to begin with? Morality cannot be measured by this metric, so what version can it be? It is prudent to obey...certain shows of force if one cares about self-preservation. And while that is arguably correct for the suppressed to do, does that speak of it being the moral choice? And what of the morality attached to the being who oppresses? What if their actions were done to maintain their understanding of what is right, what is moral? And continuing to ascribe morality to uprising against oppressive powers, it only grows increasingly muddy, doesn't it?

"I would think any idea of what is the 'right' of things is even more subjective and impossible to determine, to the point of it being a construct. Perhaps even another assertion of force built by society and the men who control it. Such a thing so nebulous does not encourage the belief that it is real or legitimate, does it?"

She shifts uneasily in her seat as she listens to his argument. She's heard this sort of thing before, usually from philosophy majors who are cutting their teeth on the concept of moral relativism. But it doesn't sit well with her, the idea that there is no "right", that the entire idea is some sort of get out of jail free card for those who wish to do whatever they want with impunity.

Combined with his earlier cluelessness on talking about people as if they are a collection of curious parts, and she really doesn't like where this conversation is going.

"There are other ways to measure morality. If it cannot be understood through the lens of obedience and enforcement, then try looking at it through the lens of society itself. How can a group of people live together in harmony if they don't treat one another with compassion and respect?" She pauses, glancing once at his collection of books. "Have you ever heard of the golden rule? 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you?' That gets close to my views on morality, but I generally take it a step further. 'Treat others as they wish to be treated.' And I have yet to meet anyone who wishes to be treated badly, unless they have some underlying psychological problem."

He listens, though his mouth is twisted in an uncertain expression, looking just as concerned with Adia's assertion as she was with him. The book is closed now, both hands flat on either cover and simply holding it thusly.

"...The golden rule of Yharnam was always more a matter of 'do not step upon anyone's toes'. It is better to give people their space and to. Maintain decorum, privacy, and dignity. What happens behind closed doors is not the business of anyone but those who are behind them to begin with. Someone who noses in the matters of others is either a hunter seeking prey, or the worst sort Yharnam has to offer." Which is, what? Thieves? Looters? "Busybodies. Gossips." Oh. "I've not really heard it said in the way you describe. How interesting."

For once, they have matching expressions, although Adia seems a touch relieved that the conversation has veered into something more manageable, by her standards. Talk of decorum she can handle. Debating the innateness of morality is a little out of her reach. Mostly because she doesn't know how to argue something that feels innately right to her. She doesn't even have religion to fall back on. Just her empathy.

"Giving others the privacy they ask for is important," she agrees slowly. Yharnam's golden rule sounds good in theory, but she's reluctant to endorse a way of life for a town that uses blood as currency. "I'm not a huge fan of secrets, but no one should be forced to reveal personal things about themselves, especially if others will use that information to hurt or exploit them."

She smiles wryly and gives Bucky's neck feathers another scratch. "Most people don't agree with me... or they do, but they make exceptions for people that they don't like." She shrugs. "It's too easy for me to feel the suffering of others, no matter how small. I don't like adding to it, if I can help it."

"Oh, no one asks for it. It is just expected. That is how we are. Or...should be." Considering how invasive and blasé he was about airing Abysa's private...well, privates, this might seem a golden rule Micolash struggles with despite being raised with it. "Secrets are just part and parcel for our culture. Everyone holds them; parents, children, the church, the schools, the Great Ones. Ah, but that is why discovery is so thrilling! Uncovering truths is the heart of being a scholar.

"It is simply how things have always been. We do not care for outsiders, nor outliers. Sticking out, being where you shouldn't. All of it is. Heavily discouraged." Hmm. Considering how odd Micolash behaves, one could continue to wonder how well he adhered to these standards. If at all. Where'd he fit into the structure of Yharnam society? "And the suffering of others is-...Ah, but you must remain impartial. With the way Yharnam had become, to feel the pain of all the others is to invite madness. Soul sickness. Not with the Beast Plague about and rampant."

The way he describes his town fills her with a profound sadness for the man who sits before her. How was he able to fit into such a society? Was he an outlier even before communed with Great Ones? That sadness mixes with disappointment when he talks about being impartial to the suffering of others. She doesn't know what a beast plague is, but even without the threat of disease and madness, Yharnam sounds like a horrible place.

"I don't think I'd last an hour in your world," she confesses. "But here, I think I've managed okay, following my own philosophy."

She glances over at his piles of books. It reminds her of her own research she needs to do, and now is as good a time as any to end the conversation.

"I need to go. Thank you for showing me your, um... blessings." She stands up and Bucky stretches his wings, eager to follow. "Hopefully we'll get another chance to talk soon." If anything to make sure he is minding his manners around his demon benefactor.

Micolash nods. "Of course. I've kept you for some time, haven't I." As if on cue, the hovering augur twists itself around in the air and then zips back inside of the scholar's head through the temple it exited from. He doesn't move or flinch, the sensation perhaps not profound enough to cause either, but his left eye DOES glow blue briefly.

As is polite, Micolash stands and offers a hand to shake. If taken, she's gonna find his skin to be kinda clammy and cold. Wonderful. "It was a delight speaking with you, Ms....?" If she'd given it earlier, he's already forgotten. Absent-minded professor is a term for a reason.

Edited 2017-10-31 05:01 (UTC)

Whoops, she forgot to say goodbye to his little slug friend. Oh, well. At least there's something quiet and gentle living among all the disorder in that caged, troubled head.

As a matter of fact, she had given him her name, and Bucky's as well, but she's not insulted, or even surprised that he's already forgotten. "Adia Costas," she replies easily, shaking his hand and trying not to wrinkle her nose at its clamminess. She doesn't bother re-introducing Bucky; maybe it'd be better if he forgot about her pokémon friend entirely.

"Take care, Micolash." She gives him a sincere smile, with only a hint of her earlier nervousness. "I'll see you around."

The braviary waits for Adia to turn and walk away before giving him one last glare. A look that says he's going to be keeping his eyes on you, buddy. No funny business. A few flaps of his wings, and he takes to the sky.

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This Mortal Coil

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here we go with massive transcript from a book from the 1700s

I really hope you cut and pasted that. ;)

M-MOST OF IT

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