ataraxion | 003

Entry tags:

003 | voice

[ No video this time, because Erik is paranoid as fuck in the aftermath of pretty much everything. And hearing from the smiley face thing Stark pointed out initially does nothing to cure that paranoia. It takes him a while to put together the list, but it's the poem itself, that Erik recognized as familiar. Being from the sixties means he doesn't quite manage off to solve the technology aspect just yet, but he'll get there in due time. ]

Cliched poetry, [ He says, sarcastically as possible. ] like our stay here wasn't any more pleasant than it was initially.

No doubt our friends are hinting at a means of cooperation amongst us. Its implication is not one I'm fond of.

text: private/filtered to mutants/allies
I think it's about time someone else steps up.

[ ooc: ICly shortly before Neal's post because I'm slow. Also filter is open to basically anyone with positive/decent experiences with Erik; if you've talked to him, you're on it. ]

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Surely there is a full text here. [ ... There's the sound of footsteps. Is he going to look for a library? Yep. Someone tell him that the library might be on his comm.

But he hasn't forgotten what Erik actually said either. ]

No one can help you die. [ Murmured very quietly. ] A warning, perhaps, against gathering.

There's a library on the ship. I don't recall the full text, except this portion:

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.

[ The words are spoken smoothly, as if Erik had them memorized. ]

The poem itself speaks in favor of unity, despite the warning in that line. Though I concur, gathering may be inadvisable to anyone here. Large droves means we're vulnerable.

Like soldiers gathered under walls, with archers aiming overhead. [ Softly, as if to himself. ]

There are many here who cannot fight.

And there are still many here who can.

[ Pause. ]

The factions formed here prove that whoever can’t fight are still well protected.

[ There's a quiet pause. ]

You can guarantee so?

I can at least, speak for my own kind. I trust them enough to take care of those who can't.

Your own kind?

Mutants. Non-humans. They were endangered where I came from and I worry they may be endangered again.

'Tis the first I have heard of other races than that of Men. [ Gods don't count. Demons don't count. ]

Will you tell me of your people?

Can I ask why? [ Not that he minds, but Erik's suspicions are fairly high in the first place. ]

I wish simply to know.

[ There's really no other reason. Aside from Aragorn feeling that it's strange, that he knows so little of the world when he knows almost every tree in Middle Earth. ]

Hmm. [ Erik makes a soft sound of discontent, trying to determine just whether or not Aragorn deserved as much truth as he would offer someone he trusted. But he's not one to keep modest over his own kind that eventually the silence gives way to Erik speaking up, the enthusiasm and pride he has for them audible in his tone. ]

My kind are special. Non humans, all of us gifted with an ability that men don't have in my own world. For example, I can manipulate metal in most forms, others can shift into different forms, the possibilities are near endless.

[ Aragorn listens, and the pride is obvious enough that he cannot help but smile. His arms, empty of leather vembraces, ache.

When he speaks again, there is genuine curiosity in his voice. ]

Do you still look of Men, stranger?

I do, though not of us look human.

[ Angel, Azazeal to name a few. ] Some of us have abilities that change our appearances.

[ There's a pause, then he hums quietly. ]

'Tis strange, to have another race that is so similar and yet so different from men that my unknowing eyes tell you apart not.

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