[Most people would, given the option. Maketh just looks at him, annoyance clear. He's being obstinate. Trying to threaten her, failing at it, and then failing yet again when she offers him suggestions.]
It would be a necessary evil, wouldn't it? And one you'd have to commit to fully or it wouldn't matter at all.
[She smiles at him, not kindly.]
I'll make another assumption. I assume I could survive almost anything you could think to do with your own two hands. You're not nearly as clever as the men I served with.
[He watches her in return as she speaks, his eyes narrowing slightly; he is not about to get into an intelligence competition with someone he's never met and who isn't even here, nor is he going to bother arguing about what she could survive or not. It's a creepy thing to even discuss in begin with, and besides, he likes people thinking he couldn't possibly be dangerous in a fight. Except for that it makes his threats sound really pathetic, anyway.
So instead he scoffs, taking a sip of his drink.]
Wow, I'm actually amazed you can be this bad at reading people.
[Great, he's lumped in with 'most people.' Thanks.]
I prefer to call it warning. Or even just giving advice.
[Or threatening. Whatever.]
Although I did make the mistake of thinking you might consider that there are options other than resorting to violence.
[Which she's right on; he'd only do so in extreme circumstances. But he has no problem dealing with issues in more social and political ways, and has a whole array of options on how to do that if necessary.]
Correct. That was your mistake. I do hope you won't make it again.
[Oh, there are certainly other things he can try. But none, Maketh thinks, that would ring quite as true as a blunt object to her extremities. Doctor Sweets can read people, certainly, but he doesn't have enough political pull to be truly dangerous.
You really think violence is the most effective way to deal with someone?
[He ignores her question entirely in favor of one of his own, tone clearly incredulous, because there's something about this that bothers him--besides the obvious--and he can't quite make it out just yet. Maybe it's that people with that attitude cause his skin to crawl, or maybe that he can't believe that the effectiveness wouldn't have worn off in a world seemingly centered around it. Maybe something else, or multiple things.]
Except it isn't, at all. Short term, sure, and obviously if death is permanent then that's a different matter, but you don't change anyone's mind with violence. All you do is scare them into complying for awhile, if even that.
[The emotional and mental damage can be long lasting, but violence itself--or the threat of it--is an unreliable, short-term 'solution' at the very best. He's never really understood why anyone would use it unless they enjoy it, but maybe that's just it.]
Don't be naive. [Her tone is a little sharper at that, more serious.] People adapt to the situation they find themselves in. If survival requires compliance, then they will comply. The warlords have proven that a thousand times over.
[Lance takes a longer drink from his glass at that, to give himself a moment for the flare of anger to pass after her first comment.]
That compliance lasts exactly as long as the threat does. And, if that threat goes on for too long, people get tired of living in fear.
[Whether individuals or groups, intimidation only lasts so long.]
Even if it works infallibly--which I doubt--in your world, why would you assume it would here? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but most of the people in this place don't scare easily.
Yes, yes. One falls and the next rises to take their place. It's the way of things. My mother's people based their culture on it. Only the strongest may live. I think they had the right idea, most of the time.
[She laughs again. Softer than before.]
Because it already has. The gods are still in control. And we are not stronger.
[She bares her teeth.]
But we are clever, Doctor Sweets, and we have conquerors on our side. General Skywalker ended a war in my world. Did you know that? I suppose Hux started another, but I try not to hold that against him.
[Most of that response he can't even follow, mostly because he has a feeling the conclusions and points she took away from what he said are not at all the ones he was trying to make. He also disagrees with her last statements about being here, and about why having someone who stopped a war matters--not that it's a bad thing--but the comment about Hux is what he decides to actually respond to because yeah, about that--]
He also apparently destroyed five planets, but I presume you don't hold that against him either.
[As utterly ridiculous as the concept sounds, Lance could tell that Hux was being completely truthful about it. And if he'd told Lance, surely Maketh knows as well.]
Yes, he did that. He violated every code of combat and he slaughtered civilians without giving them the chance to surrender.
[There's no getting around that fact. It just is.]
He's also one of the best engineers in any world, and we need that far more than we need moral righteousness for events that cannot be changed or atoned for.
[Lance rarely finds himself at a loss for what to say, but he does for several seconds at that; no only can he not find words, but he can't even sort out exactly how he feels. It's not exactly the hazy mental shock he's more familiar with, but like everything he feels has gone so intense that it's circled back around to zero.]
So if someone's useful enough it doesn't matter what else they do. Right. Great priorities, especially for someone claiming to be concerned with the well-being of people here; is there anything you wouldn't be willing to ignore if you thought it might benefit you?
[His fingers are trembling slightly against the sides of his glass, but he doesn't notice.]
I don't care what anyone has done before they came to this place, so long as they keep these people alive. I would include Kallus and the Inquisitor among my Guardsmen if they appeared here today and I would do it gladly because they are useful, Doctor Sweets. Their efforts would save lives and prevent suffering.
[Even though the Inquisitor smiled while he killed her men. Even though Kallus killed her. It's a simple philosophy. What's been done in the past cannot possibly be changed and so there is no use agonizing over what might have been. People are what they are right now, standing next to her. That's the only thing that could ever matter.
Maketh lifts her chin, eyes narrowed.]
Survive or die. The only thing I won't ignore is slavers, Doctor Sweets. They breathe this air and they'll die choking on it.
[His response comes immediately, tone scathing and unhesitating; he isn't thinking about what he says before he says it, but he means every word.]
That makes no sense. Ignoring minor crimes, sure, but murder? And not just murder, but murder in numbers that are incomprehensible? That isn't the sort of thing you ignore and put in the past.
[He can't believe he has to explain this. That sort of thing is not like being a thief or evading taxes or doing drugs; pretending like being willing to kill people is the kind of thing that comes from who someone is. It doesn't just turn off because they're in another setting. Not only is it morally reprehensible to just ignore it, he finds it incredibly stupid.
He only finds it even more so at her last comment, on several accounts.]
Why is that any different? And, considering you've already established that you have no problem with controlling people by fear and violence, I'm not exactly sure where you're drawing the line.
[What exactly is the distinction, besides what you call it?]
[How can anyone possibly be this foolish? Maketh shakes her head, fighting the urge to either throw the shot glass at the wall or smash it into Doctor Sweets' face. Grind the shard in until he stopped being stupid and accepted reality for what it was.]
Because there are things worse than dying, you stupid child.
[The shot glass breaks in her hand. She lets the shards fall, noting vaguely that she's bleeding. It doesn't hurt. It probably should.]
[He flinches when the glass shatters in her hand, a brief flash of concern cutting through the anger, but it's not enough to offer help. Not when he's heard pretty much of all of what she said before, more times than he can count, and he finally gets to give an answer he never could before.]
No.
[She can leave if she wants--he's not stopping her--but he doesn't have to listen to her, and he's not going to. Instead he watches her, eyes dark and narrowed in a combination of anger and wariness as he waits to see how she takes the simple response.]
[How someone like Sweets - so stupid, so lacking in self-preservation - has survived this long, Maketh cannot fathom. Clearly he's relied upon stronger, smarter allies to keep him breathing and fancies he can do the same for them. For a person like Doctor Brennan, who Maketh almost respects.
No one has taught him this lesson before. Or if they have, it never took.
That will have to be rectified.
She brings her bleeding hand up to the light, examining it. There's a jagged shard of glass stuck in her palm, bleeding slowly.
Then, without changing her expression, she moves. Grabs him by the hair and yanks his head down hard to the bar. She moves in to pin his arm and hold him there, even as the glass shard digs its way deeper into her palm. It's going to scar, Maketh thinks.
It still doesn't hurt.
Calmly, she takes her bleeding hand off his neck.]
You are weak.
[She removes the shard of glass with her teeth and then smears hot blood across his cheek. An abject lesson.]
cw for vague allusions to child abuse, fighting, etc etc just in case
[Lance is prepared for her to take a swing at him, or maybe pull one of her knives and make a threat or something, but he isn't expecting to be grabbed by the hair and pinned against the bar. The whole thing causes him to freeze immediately, but only while he gets a read on the situation; she isn't actually hurting him, at least not more than some pulled hair and the grip on his arm, so other than making sure his feet are on the floor instead of the rungs of the barstool he doesn't make any immediate move to resist.
It's not like this is the first time this has ever happened to him, because Maketh's right on one thing; the lesson never took.
He could fight back, but he chooses not to for the moment; he will if it seems necessary, but right now what she's doing is essentially just posturing. Although he's aware he should be afraid, and on some level he is, it's still buried under anger and defiance and exhaustion and the stress of the last several months. He just doesn't feel like being afraid right now.
Although he cringes a little when she wipes the blood on his face, his tone is just as venomous as it was before when he actually responds.]
And you're a coward.
[Because that's the only fitting word for people who look out for their own desires and wants above all else.]
[Maketh has to laugh at that, high and almost wild as she lets him go, stepping back with blood on her hands. She's getting that feeling again where the world goes sharp and very bright, the one that makes her wonder what's crazy; her or the people around her.
[As soon as she lets go he's on his feet, backing away to put distance between them, not interested in a physical fight; he's even less so at that laugh and response, and the gesturing. They all set off warning bells, cutting through the anger enough for other emotions to begin tempering it.
So he shakes his head, backing up further, one hand trailing on the bar although even he's not sure if it's to keep him steady or just to make sure it's the only thing behind him.]
I wish I could help you.
[It comes out before he thinks about it, almost surprising himself with it, but it's true. There's so much wrong, and the part of him that wants to help people--the part of him that's much stronger than the temporary flash of rage and hurt--feels for her and wants to do something. But it's just not possible, for so many reasons.]
[It's not an attack. It should be. She's given him an opening, given him motivation, given him everything he needs to strike and that includes an excuse. She struck first, he'd be within his rights to retaliate.
Only he doesn't.
That's worse, somehow.
Maketh twitches, lowering her hands. He's supposed to fight back. One of them will win - probably her - and then it'll be over.]
[It's the same simple response that started that fight, and it's only fitting that this time it's to refuse to continue it. It's just as important to be able to say it now as it was then; it's one of the most meaningful acts of defiance he can manage, toward anyone who's ever raised a hand to him, to say he won't participate in violence himself unless he has absolutely no other choice.
And right now, he has a choice. This isn't a fight for his life, or to protect people he loves; it's a clash between two damaged people, whose convictions are too different for them to be able to even hold a conversation. It doesn't need to come down to this.
So he continues to back up, bringing up an arm to scrub at the blood on his face with the sleeve of his hoodie; his anger is fading fast, and now it is being replaced with the shocked daze he's more familiar with as it settles in and drains everything else he feels too. His hands are still shaking, but now for a different reason than before.]
This is pointless.
[And underneath the numbness he's starting to feel guilt for letting it get to this place to begin with; he knew better, and should've walked away the moment things got heated. Although he firmly reminds himself nothing he did warranted things turning physical, he does bear responsibility for how the conversation turned. Even though he didn't say anything with the sole purpose of hurting her, except for calling her a coward and the comment about reading people, he knew things were deteriorating and didn't stop it.]
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mismanagement) wrote2016-01-25 02:02 pm
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[That makes no sense to him; he gets the idea conceptually just fine, and it certainly is the case for some people, but--]
Do you really think squeamishness would be the problem, instead of it being a moral issue?
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[Most people would, given the option. Maketh just looks at him, annoyance clear. He's being obstinate. Trying to threaten her, failing at it, and then failing yet again when she offers him suggestions.]
It would be a necessary evil, wouldn't it? And one you'd have to commit to fully or it wouldn't matter at all.
[She smiles at him, not kindly.]
I'll make another assumption. I assume I could survive almost anything you could think to do with your own two hands. You're not nearly as clever as the men I served with.
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So instead he scoffs, taking a sip of his drink.]
Wow, I'm actually amazed you can be this bad at reading people.
[Especially with her world being how it is.]
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Am I? Perhaps. But I think you could do it in the moment, if you really had to. Most people would.
[She taps her shot glass against the bar.]
Don't threaten me with nothing, Doctor Sweets. It's bad form. If you're going to bother, make it good.
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I prefer to call it warning. Or even just giving advice.
[Or threatening. Whatever.]
Although I did make the mistake of thinking you might consider that there are options other than resorting to violence.
[Which she's right on; he'd only do so in extreme circumstances. But he has no problem dealing with issues in more social and political ways, and has a whole array of options on how to do that if necessary.]
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[Oh, there are certainly other things he can try. But none, Maketh thinks, that would ring quite as true as a blunt object to her extremities. Doctor Sweets can read people, certainly, but he doesn't have enough political pull to be truly dangerous.
Not yet, at least.]
Was there anything else, Doctor Sweets?
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[He ignores her question entirely in favor of one of his own, tone clearly incredulous, because there's something about this that bothers him--besides the obvious--and he can't quite make it out just yet. Maybe it's that people with that attitude cause his skin to crawl, or maybe that he can't believe that the effectiveness wouldn't have worn off in a world seemingly centered around it. Maybe something else, or multiple things.]
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It generally is. I don't know why this surprises you.
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[The emotional and mental damage can be long lasting, but violence itself--or the threat of it--is an unreliable, short-term 'solution' at the very best. He's never really understood why anyone would use it unless they enjoy it, but maybe that's just it.]
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That compliance lasts exactly as long as the threat does. And, if that threat goes on for too long, people get tired of living in fear.
[Whether individuals or groups, intimidation only lasts so long.]
Even if it works infallibly--which I doubt--in your world, why would you assume it would here? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but most of the people in this place don't scare easily.
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[She laughs again. Softer than before.]
Because it already has. The gods are still in control. And we are not stronger.
[She bares her teeth.]
But we are clever, Doctor Sweets, and we have conquerors on our side. General Skywalker ended a war in my world. Did you know that? I suppose Hux started another, but I try not to hold that against him.
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He also apparently destroyed five planets, but I presume you don't hold that against him either.
[As utterly ridiculous as the concept sounds, Lance could tell that Hux was being completely truthful about it. And if he'd told Lance, surely Maketh knows as well.]
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[There's no getting around that fact. It just is.]
He's also one of the best engineers in any world, and we need that far more than we need moral righteousness for events that cannot be changed or atoned for.
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So if someone's useful enough it doesn't matter what else they do. Right. Great priorities, especially for someone claiming to be concerned with the well-being of people here; is there anything you wouldn't be willing to ignore if you thought it might benefit you?
[His fingers are trembling slightly against the sides of his glass, but he doesn't notice.]
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[Even though the Inquisitor smiled while he killed her men. Even though Kallus killed her. It's a simple philosophy. What's been done in the past cannot possibly be changed and so there is no use agonizing over what might have been. People are what they are right now, standing next to her. That's the only thing that could ever matter.
Maketh lifts her chin, eyes narrowed.]
Survive or die. The only thing I won't ignore is slavers, Doctor Sweets. They breathe this air and they'll die choking on it.
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That makes no sense. Ignoring minor crimes, sure, but murder? And not just murder, but murder in numbers that are incomprehensible? That isn't the sort of thing you ignore and put in the past.
[He can't believe he has to explain this. That sort of thing is not like being a thief or evading taxes or doing drugs; pretending like being willing to kill people is the kind of thing that comes from who someone is. It doesn't just turn off because they're in another setting. Not only is it morally reprehensible to just ignore it, he finds it incredibly stupid.
He only finds it even more so at her last comment, on several accounts.]
Why is that any different? And, considering you've already established that you have no problem with controlling people by fear and violence, I'm not exactly sure where you're drawing the line.
[What exactly is the distinction, besides what you call it?]
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Because there are things worse than dying, you stupid child.
[The shot glass breaks in her hand. She lets the shards fall, noting vaguely that she's bleeding. It doesn't hurt. It probably should.]
Get out of my sight.
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No.
[She can leave if she wants--he's not stopping her--but he doesn't have to listen to her, and he's not going to. Instead he watches her, eyes dark and narrowed in a combination of anger and wariness as he waits to see how she takes the simple response.]
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No one has taught him this lesson before. Or if they have, it never took.
That will have to be rectified.
She brings her bleeding hand up to the light, examining it. There's a jagged shard of glass stuck in her palm, bleeding slowly.
Then, without changing her expression, she moves. Grabs him by the hair and yanks his head down hard to the bar. She moves in to pin his arm and hold him there, even as the glass shard digs its way deeper into her palm. It's going to scar, Maketh thinks.
It still doesn't hurt.
Calmly, she takes her bleeding hand off his neck.]
You are weak.
[She removes the shard of glass with her teeth and then smears hot blood across his cheek. An abject lesson.]
cw for vague allusions to child abuse, fighting, etc etc just in case
It's not like this is the first time this has ever happened to him, because Maketh's right on one thing; the lesson never took.
He could fight back, but he chooses not to for the moment; he will if it seems necessary, but right now what she's doing is essentially just posturing. Although he's aware he should be afraid, and on some level he is, it's still buried under anger and defiance and exhaustion and the stress of the last several months. He just doesn't feel like being afraid right now.
Although he cringes a little when she wipes the blood on his face, his tone is just as venomous as it was before when he actually responds.]
And you're a coward.
[Because that's the only fitting word for people who look out for their own desires and wants above all else.]
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Both, probably.
She spreads her arms wide, laughing.]
Better, Doctor Sweets!
[Much better.]
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So he shakes his head, backing up further, one hand trailing on the bar although even he's not sure if it's to keep him steady or just to make sure it's the only thing behind him.]
I wish I could help you.
[It comes out before he thinks about it, almost surprising himself with it, but it's true. There's so much wrong, and the part of him that wants to help people--the part of him that's much stronger than the temporary flash of rage and hurt--feels for her and wants to do something. But it's just not possible, for so many reasons.]
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Only he doesn't.
That's worse, somehow.
Maketh twitches, lowering her hands. He's supposed to fight back. One of them will win - probably her - and then it'll be over.]
What are you doing? Fight back!
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[It's the same simple response that started that fight, and it's only fitting that this time it's to refuse to continue it. It's just as important to be able to say it now as it was then; it's one of the most meaningful acts of defiance he can manage, toward anyone who's ever raised a hand to him, to say he won't participate in violence himself unless he has absolutely no other choice.
And right now, he has a choice. This isn't a fight for his life, or to protect people he loves; it's a clash between two damaged people, whose convictions are too different for them to be able to even hold a conversation. It doesn't need to come down to this.
So he continues to back up, bringing up an arm to scrub at the blood on his face with the sleeve of his hoodie; his anger is fading fast, and now it is being replaced with the shocked daze he's more familiar with as it settles in and drains everything else he feels too. His hands are still shaking, but now for a different reason than before.]
This is pointless.
[And underneath the numbness he's starting to feel guilt for letting it get to this place to begin with; he knew better, and should've walked away the moment things got heated. Although he firmly reminds himself nothing he did warranted things turning physical, he does bear responsibility for how the conversation turned. Even though he didn't say anything with the sole purpose of hurting her, except for calling her a coward and the comment about reading people, he knew things were deteriorating and didn't stop it.]
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