... So you say you would defend them even if they spit in the face of your faith in them and drag the world to hell. Because even if you don't have faith in them, you hope that they will still find some way to be better.
[ an echo, perhaps; grima's tone matches solomon's in volume, but is neutral, weighed, empty. no judgment, no accusation, no derision.
he keeps his expression closed off as he glances forward and away, hands folding behind him instead. ]
It's a pretty picture your words paint. It is the like of that which I've heard before.
... They will not learn from the mistakes of their forebears. It's cyclical, these patterns of pain and strife, rebuilding, and arrogance and indolence. Individuals may shine, but corruption threads through the heart of any society, and it's sickening to see the suffering left in its wake. Kindness— desperate, persisting, wholehearted, sincere, small, large— has not saved the ones I've seen, nevermind the multitudes for whom it's nothing but lip service.
But they cannot be shepherded either. You cannot guide them on a larger scale when the difference between the two of you is so great, for then they come to rely on you and your words, whether twisted beyond their original meaning or not, and that breeds both dependency and resentment. People will look to deify anything that promises them something better, and that breeds both sycophants and those who cannot live without being told what to do— neither of those any better than if guidance had never been offered at all.
[ he stops. turns back to solomon and states, simply, hands in front of him, palms facing upwards. ]
I am Grima. I am Despair. I do not hope against hope. I deal in certainties and absolutes. Fertilize the ground, and it will improve the soil. Perhaps the fruits that may one day grow there will ripen sweeter than what preceded them, [ and maybe they will not, ] but that is not my domain.
Everything falls to ruin. Everything dies. At the end of the day, the worms will sup from the fallen all the same. Death is the one true equalizer— the only one sure to leave everything the same in the aftermath. But ... you would argue that such is not equitable, wouldn't you?
no subject
[ an echo, perhaps; grima's tone matches solomon's in volume, but is neutral, weighed, empty. no judgment, no accusation, no derision.
he keeps his expression closed off as he glances forward and away, hands folding behind him instead. ]
It's a pretty picture your words paint. It is the like of that which I've heard before.
... They will not learn from the mistakes of their forebears. It's cyclical, these patterns of pain and strife, rebuilding, and arrogance and indolence. Individuals may shine, but corruption threads through the heart of any society, and it's sickening to see the suffering left in its wake. Kindness— desperate, persisting, wholehearted, sincere, small, large— has not saved the ones I've seen, nevermind the multitudes for whom it's nothing but lip service.
But they cannot be shepherded either. You cannot guide them on a larger scale when the difference between the two of you is so great, for then they come to rely on you and your words, whether twisted beyond their original meaning or not, and that breeds both dependency and resentment. People will look to deify anything that promises them something better, and that breeds both sycophants and those who cannot live without being told what to do— neither of those any better than if guidance had never been offered at all.
[ he stops. turns back to solomon and states, simply, hands in front of him, palms facing upwards. ]
I am Grima. I am Despair. I do not hope against hope. I deal in certainties and absolutes. Fertilize the ground, and it will improve the soil. Perhaps the fruits that may one day grow there will ripen sweeter than what preceded them, [ and maybe they will not, ] but that is not my domain.
Everything falls to ruin. Everything dies. At the end of the day, the worms will sup from the fallen all the same. Death is the one true equalizer— the only one sure to leave everything the same in the aftermath. But ... you would argue that such is not equitable, wouldn't you?