thecapitol | (no subject)

Who| The Summoner and Anyone
What| Too big for the Capitol
Where| District 2 Suites and the Training Center
When| Today
Warnings/Notes| None

District 2 Suites

The Summoner had been cleaned up and led to his level and pointed to a room. He had been itching at straps for the fake wings he was wearing that mimicked the real wings he had tied down under his clothes. This was a strange place indeed.

So far in his stay he has left a hole in the wall with one of his horns above the door to his suite. It was an accident, and after that he hadn't attempted to go through the door again. He was currently slumped on one of the couches pondering his next move. He could probably stay where he was and just sleep here until they could do something about his door.

"I wonder if anyone minds me sleeping here for now."

Training Center

Having finally escaped his living quarters the Summoner has come to a place he thinks is somewhat familiar. There are weapons all around but he goes straight for a lance, the sort he's used to using. Of course to get to the lance he has to go past a rack of throwing knives (which he bumps with his horns and knocks over) and an area for practicing camouflage (which he has dragged his fake wings through on the way). Between the mess and the noise, and the generally huge horns he's walking around with it's impossible not to notice he's there.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Signless smiles sadly. It sounds so nice, put like that, and it's clear that the Summoner really believes what he's saying. He isn't sure whether that's a good or bad thing.

"And that's a noble thing to aspire to, a world where no one has to suffer. But do you really think you can bring that about through murder and hate? If the condition for no lowblood to ever have to suffer again is the murder of every highblood on Alternia, do you think that's worth it?"

"They haven't left me any choice!" And he believes that too.

"Besides, it doesn't have to be every highblood. Just the ones who hold us down."

There's at least one highblood he intends to save from death, even if according to her it's useless and her fate is to die at his hands.

He places his hands on the Summoner's shoulders and leans their foreheads together.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I failed you, that I couldn't fix things for you so you didn't have to feel like sinking to their level was the only option left."

"It's not sinking. It's the only thing they understand."

This is crushing him. Why was the Sufferer so sad? He was going to win and make things better for everyone.

"You wish to end the oppression of your fellow lowbloods, using the very same tools the highbloods use to keep them oppressed, and in so doing you must know that all you'll do is create yet another world built on oppression. The only difference is that you'll be in charge, so you can freely say you were right and no one will argue. And you'll be the one with blood of all hues on your hands, then, and things will be exactly the same."

He isn't angry. He isn't trying to be hurtful. But this is something that he can't stay quiet about, not when it's being done in his name, touted as being supported by his message.

"You say they don't understand. Teach them. Every troll is capable of evil, but every troll is also capable of good, if given the chance."

"No, that's not how it ends. I won't let oppression rule Alternia again. Once the war is over we'll be done fighting."

He wants to cry, this is so hard. After everything he's done, to have the troll who inspired it all tell him he was wrong. He's worked so hard and sacrificed so much.

"The Grand Highblood had his chance at doing the right thing and he didn't. There isn't good left in him, I know, I've looked."

He wants to tell him that he'll fail. He wants to tell him that it's for nothing, that it doesn't matter, that Alternia will be just as much of a shithole as it always was when the universe ends. But he knows it would destroy the Summoner, just like finding out about his own failure destroyed him, and he can't.

"If you really believe that, if you really believe that you can build an empire with violence and murder and hate and somehow shape it into something where those things don't exist, then I wish you luck. But I must ask that you not use my name and my message to justify doing something that goes against everything I ever spoke of."

There's no nice way to do this, but he's trying.

He shakes his head shallowly, not enough to hit anyone with his horns but enough to give some kind of physicality to his feelings.

"You talked about freedom and equality for all trolls, and that's what I want. There will always be violence, and there is no way to stop hate. But I will make things fair. And if i have to do it in my own name and not yours then I will."

He wants to cry, or scream, or something. This is just too much.

He feels awful. He wants to hold this troll and shoosh him and pap him and tell him it's okay, he understands, he understands even if he can't condone, he knows what it's like to know that you're going to fail and that everything you believe in doesn't matter. But he's fairly certain that wouldn't be welcome, just now.

"I really am sorry." It feels lame, to say just that, when there's so much unsaid but so heavily implied. I'm sorry that I'm not -- that I can't be -- proud of you. This has gone so much worse than Redglare.