This next bit should answer CD's question from a few pages back. I'll explain what I was trying for next post- we'll see how close it is to what I wrote.
ECS: I sort of figure there's a law of conservation of pain when it comes to gaining power. Most people just space it out a good bit more.
Going to JS was simultaneously insanely brilliant and insanely stupid, all at once. This is the stupid part. It'll be worth it, we think.
Rob: Indeed. Pain means you're still alive, right? It's useful until/unless you need your testmonkey to do anything delicate.
Dartz: Things might've been easier if I snagged the Book, but think of the butterflies!
Besides, I like Hayate. She deserves awesome power, a devoted family, good friends, and the cutest Device ever.
CD: First, your dog has my sympathies. Hope the pooch gets better! Second, I don't need them, so that's just fine.
Third, my version of JS is more of a sociopathic realist. What happened was precisely calculated to cause a specific effect, and so what if it hurt?
Fourth, it wasn't training. I was attempting to make that fairly obvious.
**********
I was not looking forward to this.
Insolent fool. How dare he?
As I walked towards my objective, most of my attention was focused inward. Were I in a better mood, I'd enjoy that rare luxury. At the time, I was too busy being offended.
That trash should've been killed where he stood. Using blackmail like that... he clearly has no honor, and yet the Doctor allows him to live? Why?It must somehow advance the Doctor's purpose- OUR purpose- but how? What use could he have for someone like that?
All I can do is follow my orders, and trust that he's right. Still, it rankles...
It wasn't a productive line of thought. Still, it haunted me, even as I entered the quarters of the trash in question.
From the instant he had first spoken to the Doctor, I'd known the man was a wretch. Looking at him now- barely able to sit up, poking at the keys on his computer with shaking hands- he looked it. Trash finally got what he deserved.
"You are needed. Come along."
My message delivered, I spun on my heel, and marched out of the room... only to hear a loud thump in the room I'd just left. I just sighed, and head right back the way I'd come. Of course he'd make it as difficult as possible.
The Doctor's unwelcome guest had managed to knock his own chair over, with himself in it. He was sprawled out on the floor when I reentered the room; even as I watched, he slowly, shakily rolled onto his back, put his hands on the floor, and attempted to push himself back up... only for something in his back to spasm violently, landing him on his side again.
The trash looked up at me. I saw the pain in his eyes, the frustration at how it had crippled his pathetic body. He had tried to get up once; he wouldn't do so again- I was sure of it.
I hadn't finished thinking that thought when he closed his eyes, shifted his body, and took a few deep breaths. He held the last breath in, wincing as something in his chest complained, for a second- then his eyes snapped open. In one move, he pushed his body up off the floor, forcing that last breath out as he forced himself up to a sitting position.
It didn't last, of course. The weakling tried to get his legs back under him, only to end up right back where he started... on the floor, trying not to scream.
In the end, I had to help him reach the Doctor's lab... just not in the way I'd expected. In defiance of sense, the guy just kept trying to stand, time after time. Even when it was clearly getting more and more difficult to keep trying, he didn't stop.
After maybe a dozen tries, I finally had to ask. "Why?"
He collapsed to the ground, wheezing. He was barely able to speak, but managed to get out a reply.
"Doesn't matter... ...how many times... ...I fall. ...Only care... ...how many... ...how many times... ...I stand up again."
After catching his breath, the man forced himself back up off the ground- again?!- and started shifting his weight, preparing to try and stand once more. Before he made that attempt, he took the time to say one thing more.
"If I die... I die standing. If I can't stand... I die trying. That's... who I am."
Then he forced himself to his feet... took a slow, hesitant step... another... and collapsed again, right in front of me.
The next time he stood up, I was there to keep him from falling.
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.
I've been writing a bit.
ECS: I sort of figure there's a law of conservation of pain when it comes to gaining power. Most people just space it out a good bit more.
Going to JS was simultaneously insanely brilliant and insanely stupid, all at once. This is the stupid part. It'll be worth it, we think.
Rob: Indeed. Pain means you're still alive, right? It's useful until/unless you need your testmonkey to do anything delicate.
Dartz: Things might've been easier if I snagged the Book, but think of the butterflies!
Besides, I like Hayate. She deserves awesome power, a devoted family, good friends, and the cutest Device ever.
CD: First, your dog has my sympathies. Hope the pooch gets better! Second, I don't need them, so that's just fine.
Third, my version of JS is more of a sociopathic realist. What happened was precisely calculated to cause a specific effect, and so what if it hurt?
Fourth, it wasn't training. I was attempting to make that fairly obvious.
**********
I was not looking forward to this.
Insolent fool. How dare he?
As I walked towards my objective, most of my attention was focused inward. Were I in a better mood, I'd enjoy that rare luxury. At the time, I was too busy being offended.
That trash should've been killed where he stood. Using blackmail like that... he clearly has no honor, and yet the Doctor allows him to live? Why?It must somehow advance the Doctor's purpose- OUR purpose- but how? What use could he have for someone like that?
All I can do is follow my orders, and trust that he's right. Still, it rankles...
It wasn't a productive line of thought. Still, it haunted me, even as I entered the quarters of the trash in question.
From the instant he had first spoken to the Doctor, I'd known the man was a wretch. Looking at him now- barely able to sit up, poking at the keys on his computer with shaking hands- he looked it. Trash finally got what he deserved.
"You are needed. Come along."
My message delivered, I spun on my heel, and marched out of the room... only to hear a loud thump in the room I'd just left. I just sighed, and head right back the way I'd come. Of course he'd make it as difficult as possible.
The Doctor's unwelcome guest had managed to knock his own chair over, with himself in it. He was sprawled out on the floor when I reentered the room; even as I watched, he slowly, shakily rolled onto his back, put his hands on the floor, and attempted to push himself back up... only for something in his back to spasm violently, landing him on his side again.
The trash looked up at me. I saw the pain in his eyes, the frustration at how it had crippled his pathetic body. He had tried to get up once; he wouldn't do so again- I was sure of it.
I hadn't finished thinking that thought when he closed his eyes, shifted his body, and took a few deep breaths. He held the last breath in, wincing as something in his chest complained, for a second- then his eyes snapped open. In one move, he pushed his body up off the floor, forcing that last breath out as he forced himself up to a sitting position.
It didn't last, of course. The weakling tried to get his legs back under him, only to end up right back where he started... on the floor, trying not to scream.
In the end, I had to help him reach the Doctor's lab... just not in the way I'd expected. In defiance of sense, the guy just kept trying to stand, time after time. Even when it was clearly getting more and more difficult to keep trying, he didn't stop.
After maybe a dozen tries, I finally had to ask. "Why?"
He collapsed to the ground, wheezing. He was barely able to speak, but managed to get out a reply.
"Doesn't matter... ...how many times... ...I fall. ...Only care... ...how many... ...how many times... ...I stand up again."
After catching his breath, the man forced himself back up off the ground- again?!- and started shifting his weight, preparing to try and stand once more. Before he made that attempt, he took the time to say one thing more.
"If I die... I die standing. If I can't stand... I die trying. That's... who I am."
Then he forced himself to his feet... took a slow, hesitant step... another... and collapsed again, right in front of me.
The next time he stood up, I was there to keep him from falling.
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.
I've been writing a bit.