[center Just notes for now.
Don't steal our shit; I'll fucking end you.
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Grey's hands closed on either side of his head, steadying him. He heaved in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Calm. Calm. He could be calm. Grey was--coming with him? Okay. Everything would be okay. Everything was okay as long as Grey was there. But he had to go? Had to leave? He didn't have an option? He wanted to go. Go home, to the place where he lived, even if it was a lifeless little white cube; because he felt like he belonged there, like maybe it would be calm there.
Grey stepped away. It was probably for the best. He needed to calm down, some time to think by himself. But he didn't have long. In no time, Grey had returned, a leather sack in his hand. He took it; it was heavy. But how heavy did it have to be for him to survive in the wastelands on these supplies alone? Why did Grey seem so confident he could do it, while he... he was terrified at the very prospect?
"It's--I'm sure you had a reason," Lawrence managed. After a lifetime of no emotions, of calm and peace and tranquility, all this unrest at once was nearly enough to upset everything he knew. This was more emotional turmoil than he'd ever had to deal with, and it came fast, one emotion after another. All he could do was breathe. Breathe slowly.
He stood, lifting the leather sack. "How long until I leave?" he asked, putting it over his shoulder. Now? He couldn't. But why else would Grey give him the sack? Why else invite him here? He swallowed and ran a hand down his face. "Where do I go?" What did he do now? He'd never lived anywhere but here. He didn't even know how to live outside. And now he had to go.
He looked around as though the way out might be here, in the sanctum of Grey's library. The wall of the city was a long way, though. He'd have a long trek just to get there. "Then I guess this is farewell," he said, looking at Grey one last time. His father. It was almost impossible to believe.
[center "[i Breathe]." Grey murmured. When he had moved to close the space between them was a mystery, but he had grasped Lawrence's face between his hands, attempting to get him to focus. "Just breathe. All of this will be explained." But first, no dying. It didn't make sense that Lawrence should die upon learning the truth. How cliche would that have been?
"In any case, I don't want to further overwhelm you, but just know that you will have help. And when you are safely away from this place, I will finish what I began and meet you beyond the bounds of this world. They tell tales of savages and uncivilised men, but it is [i they] who are the uncivilised lot. You cannot be sustained here for reasons I can yet tell you. But make peace with the fact that you cannot stay here any longer. This will not be the last we see of one another." Far from.
Straightening, Grey peered down at him for several moments before turning to enter his lesser study. It wasn't long before he returned with a leather knapsack. "Here; at the very least, a few things for your travels." It was the only leather he'd possessed beyond decor after everything, and this had seemed the perfect use for it.
"There are basic survival tools in here. Nowadays, of course, this society knows not of such things, but you do remember the books we read? The games we used to play? You're much older now, but I hope some of it stuck." Back when they would pretend to be in the woods or go fishing. He would slip in facts here and there, try to teach him what it was they were reading about.
"You will need some knowledge of all of this for where you are going, but I am sending you into anything but danger. The only one to quarrel with you would be mother nature, and what creatures survived after the initial downfall."
He set it at Lawrence's feet, hands tucked up behind himself. "You'll be where you belong - with others similar to yourself. And you'll be much safer there than you would be here." He couldn't tell Lawrence the horrible truth as he'd suspected it. The [i real] reason his mother was no longer among the living. He wasn't ready.
Until he discovered himself, there was no more that Greyson could tell him.
"And what's more... I am sorry - if ever you felt abandoned.... or hurt. Alone." His expression grew pained, as though he understood to some degree. "But I was always there - though you did not know it - and I am sorry if ever you suffered because of my silence." The sincerity in his words burned in his gaze, Grey knowing very well that his actions could not have been without consequence.]
Law could only blink, reeling at the revelations spilling all at once from Grey's mouth. He was--and Grey was-- and the leader, the grand leader, perfect in all ways, who knew even what his citizens were thinking, who ensured perfect peace and tranquility--that leader was his uncle? Grey was still speaking; Law could barely take any of it in, still struggling to process the very first statement. He gulped and glanced at Grey, suddenly afraid to meet his eyes. Grey was--his childish notion--but it couldn't be! How could Grey be...be his...
"Father?" Law asked, the word spilling out all at once before he could choke it back. He met Grey's eyes for the first time in a long time, in what felt like forever. Tears were forming in his eyes, like they had on that first visit, so many years ago. Why hadn't he ever said? Why had he let Law suffer, think himself abandoned? Why?
Abilities? Leave? He rubbed at his eyes before the tears could fall, forcing his emotions back under the facade where he hid them while he interacted with the rest of the emotionless world. It was all too much, too fast. A green thumb? Grey could grow plants with his mind? But that was ridiculous. His mind had to be going. And yet he said it with such conviction. He didn't know. Nothing made any sense. "L-leave?" he stuttered. Leave and go where? Beyond the city was only wasteland. Savages and man-eaters and unspeakable monsters roamed out there. He couldn't leave. He'd never survive! "Why? How?" No one had ever left the city. It was impossible. Not that anyone would want to, but... but he couldn't leave! What would he do?
The world was spinning before his eyes. He felt like he was on the edge of a cliff, as though the legs of his chair were hanging off the edge and only his weight kept the whole thing perched on the edge--weight that seemed to be growing lighter every second, a strange new fear swirling in his stomach. He felt like he couldn't breathe, his chest tight and heart pounding. This wasn't right. Leave? Why did he have to leave? And he didn't--he didn't want to go! Grey was here! His father was here, his father was here and his father was Grey, and he was light with joy and heavy with fear and weightless with terror. "Grey, I... one second, please, I can't--" He felt like he was about to pass out, light-headed from hyperventilating. He couldn't leave. What? What was Grey talking about? It made no sense. He needed--needed a moment.
[center "Yes..." He nodded a bit, sipping at his tea. Part of him was nervous to broach the subject, but if not now, then when? They only had so much time left...
"Lawrence, when you came to me as a child, it seemed the only way for me to... get close to you. You see, our leader does not take kindly to the sort of ideology those like me have, and much less, to allow his sister... Your mother - my wife - was a lovely woman. She was also, however, the pride and joy of the current ruling family. The only family that has ever ruled here. My 'esteem' was enough. My genetics were... perfect. Yet not. But these were all justifications." He paused to carefully section off his bread, as if searching for the proper words.
"We played by their rules, but we had many of our own. When she had gone - there was no warning. There was no...'why'. She was just gone. And then you were gone. I loved her more than I could possibly try to describe with any amount of vocabulary. And I loved you before you were much larger than this pea..." He explained, plucking it from the salad.
"But your uncle is a cruel man." He said coldly, his gaze lowered. "Because you were ours... hers... he felt he was entitled to decide how you would be reared. And I was to watch. As it turns out, esteem counts for nothing when absolute power is at play."
Grey leant back in his chair, then, fingers laced before him, regarding Lawrence. "So I watched you from afar, year after year, until you were old enough to walk, old enough to speak - but I couldn't stand it. I [i wouldn't]. You were old enough but not so old that I couldn't undo what they had done. I refused to let them [i programme] you the way they did all of the others. That was [i not] what your mother and I wanted for you, and I promised that I would never let you grow to be so cold - so detached - contained."
Taking another small sip of his herbal blend, Greyson took several moments just to consider. "My genetics were perfect, and yet not." He explained, meeting Lawrence's gaze. "You see, there are those that they have done away with. Those like your mother - those like myself - those like you. Who are granted certain abilities beyond what they should be capable of. Your mother never demonstrated her gift, but I had always suspected it to be something immense. I, on the other hand, had more of a... green thumb. Inorganic matter - I can't make anything of it, but organic matter is entirely different. Take the salad you are eating, for instance. The cell processes, the nourishment intake, the efficiency of growth - those are things that can be influenced. But in a world where hardly anything is organic, you can see how such would be... relatively useless."
Was this too much? Was he doing the right thing? It seemed too late now to question. "And I must ask that you really hear me, because before long, you'll have to leave here. And it's for the best."
As always, Grey knew exactly what to say and how to say it. "But it's so annoying," Law sighed, even though he knew Grey was right. Grey was right, he [i was], but it didn't make his classmates any more irritating. But what coudl he do? Nothing. Just take a deep breath and accept it. Because that was his lot in life. Grey had explained that early: that with knowledge and enlightenment came the burden of being misunderstood and exiled, the sadness of being unable to interact with his peers on their level, even if it was a level lower than his. Ugh. Why couldn't they just be as enlightened as him? But then again, they were pretty stupid. It would never work.
He went stiff at Grey's next words. His mother. He knew he had one, of course--had the privilege of having a mother, instead of being decanted like the average ones--but he'd never met her. Unlike the other children with parents, who were usually called for visitation at least once a week, if not daily, he had never once been called, not by either of his parents. At first he was too young to question it; then, when he did, he was simply told, as ever, 'this is the way things are.' He hadn't even thought to be sad about it, not at first, but he'd felt sadness, even before he knew what the word meant; sadness, and abandonment, an extension of sadness.
And all these things were meaningless to his peers, who had never once in their life put a name to, truly felt, all these emotions that he couldn't help but feel.
He had, when he was younger, had a notion that Grey was his father, but that was impossible. Grey was too old. Even if he lied to himself about the white in Grey's hair, they only let those at the prime of their life have children, and Grey... he might want to deny it, but Grey was well past.
And then it was easier to pretend he had no parents, that he was decanted or--orphaned, was the word in the books--and that there was no one to meet; and that helped him sleep at nights, helped him to not think about it, not feel those horrible feelings.
Now he sat here, and Grey mentioned the one person he'd never thought he'd mention. Law swallowed, suddenly solemn. "My... mother," he said, pronouncing the word slow and deliberately. His mother. It felt foreign on his tongue, the word mother, and he wondered if he'd ever said it aloud before. His eyes flashed up at Grey, hazel catching the light and almost shining an amber gold. "You knew her?" .
[center As Lawrence recounted his day's frustrations thus far, Grey couldn't help but smile. In a way it was both tragic but gratifying. After all, though not all would see it as such, they were the enlightened ones, forced to interact with those of a far lesser understanding of how the world was truly supposed to be. It was not their faults, so he could not help but to pity them, and yet they were such infuriating little creatures nevertheless.
Fixing two bowls of their stew, Greyson set the first before Lawrence and the second before himself, taking up seat for their luncheon of sorts. "They are so fast in their ways that I'm afraid anything that strays from protocol is viewed as wrong. Unless, of course, delivered under the guise of a 'revision' or 'amendment'. However, even such things are seen as imperfect. In this world, they'd rather abolish or demolish something altogether to begin anew."
These destructive tendencies would ultimately be their downfall, though. In a world that never progressed, when disaster hit, adaptability was key. None of the others would have been equipped to handle some grand upheaval should it ever come upon them.
"If only... their advancement will come in due time, Lawrence. We must always be patient with them, for they know not their own faults. Perfection is but a notion, perpetually disproved by impending obsolescence." With a grunt, he bit into a buttered slice of bread, calming in a way that he always did when they settled in for one of their meals.
"Lawrence... Today, I'd like to tell you about someone you were only briefly afforded the fortune of meeting. When you were too young, likely, to retain her memory. Your mother - that is, the one who gave birth to you--and left you in my charge."
Grey peered down into the depths of his teacup as he spoke the words, his expression painted with fond remembrance. ]
He perked up a bit as Grey set up tea. Tea was such a mysterious thing. All the things Grey made and ate were so mysterious. They grew out of the ground! Just grew there, and then he ate them! It was so odd, so...uncivilized, and yet... somehow, he found himself craving them, even though he was civilized, even though Grey was doubtlessly civilized--more civilized, he'd argue, than most of the idiots Law had to work with from day to day. He settled down in the chair, getting comfortable. Coming here was always like walking into another world, a calming, comfortable world with just him and Grey.
"No, I'm starving," he complained, taking some tea and some of the tidbits Grey had set out. Grey was the only one he was allowed to complain to; no one else even understood what complaining was. They'd simply say, 'but that is the way things are,' and then he'd just feel stupid for having said anything.
Grey had to be old. He didn't know how old, but he knew the man was old; only the old ones started turning white. But Grey still seemed so lively, unlike the white ones, so he couldn't imagine that Grey was close to death. Surely he was just turning white early; it happened, to some people. His classmate Arwen already had a grey streak in her hair.
"So listen, everyone is so stupid sometimes," he said, shifting in his chair. "I tried to use that theory you showed me to solve the problem--the faster way--and everyone told me I was wrong! Even though I got the same answer faster than everyone else. Isn't that stupid? But I did it the wrong way, so I'm wrong, even though it's better. Sometimes!" He sighed and shook his head, leaning back in the chair. The books that surrounded him were familiar, by now. He'd read nearly half of them, and was looking forward to tackling the second half under Grey's tutelage going forward. Some of them were absurd--giving the uncivilized people civilized traits, claiming there had been such a thing as perfection before this civilization--but they were still fascinating, giving him a view into a world before this one, a world where everything did not move on time and in sync. It was insanity to believe that it could work, and yet--somehow, it had.
[center It seemed that no matter how many days passed in this world, nothing seemed to age. Each day looked like the previous one beyond the glass of the library's reflective wall. No one would have been able to see from without, but from within, Grey marveled at how very much the world seemed to be the same. Well... what he could see of it anyway.
His vision had been going for a very long time, hadn't it? It had been part of the reason that taking Lawrence under his wing at such an early age had been so necessary. It had been better for them both, in the end, at least. On that particular day, he was dressed in white, from head to toe, his long, flowing white robe sweeping the floor as he turned to face Lawrence.
Features lighting up with his arrival, the man beckoned him forward. "Come, come. Surely you'll tell me all of the horrifying details anyway, and the sooner, the better. This day has been painfully slow without your company, my dear boy." Greyson hadn't seemed to age in all of the years that had passed, save for the pallor of his hair-- his eyes.
Just one more disturbing aspect of this society as it was written into their DNA. When you died, you looked the same. You could age any number of decades, until your heart - you organs - ultimately had exhausted themselves and nature won.
What sustained, him, however, was not something manufactured. It was, however, just one of various subjects he had wanted to discuss with Lawrence.
"Have you eaten?" He queried, moving to the prepared tea and the small serving pot that centered a table outfitted with bread, butter, and an array of greenery. It was always just enough for two, but then he was still working with limited resources here, after all.
Greyson's fingertips carefully traced the surface of the teapot, which was surely hot, before he picked it up and began to carefully pour, long fingers trembling lightly.
He set it back into place before settling, waiting patiently for Law to join him. Today was... a very important day. He didn't know it yet, but his time here was limited - as it always had been from the start.
[OOC: yeah, man! I was saying that I was trying to taper it off to set it up a bit for ya, haha.]
"I'm...supposed to be...?" Law asked, sniffing back his tears with some effort, even as the man wiped them away. If he was supposed to be here, then everything was fine. Then nothing would come crashing down, because everything was where it needed to be. He clutched and the hand that held his with tight little fingers, somehow reassured by this man's presence. He was different from the childworkers, the distant caretakers who watched over all the children. Different, the way everything in this strange place was different; the scents, the sensations, the strange things he saw that had no names. For the first time, one of the many first times he'd come to experience in this room, he felt curiosity well up--the need to know more about these things off which he knew nothing.
As the years passed by, he grew to look forward to the room, this strange place where he could feel and be so many things, until he almost dreaded returning to the monotone world. He understood it: why it had to be this way. But he couldn't help but feel that maybe the librarian was right, that they were meant to feel and be, instead of act as emotionless puppets on empty strings. This world, this society was the refuge of civilization, but he found it harder and harder to believe that civilization had to be so empty.
He walked down the blank halfway, his face emotionless. He had an hour of free time, carefully hidden away in his busy schedule, his only respite from the constant push of civilization. He came to the door--the door like so many other doors--and pushed it open primly, then stepped inside. "Grey, ugh, you won't believe how awful this week has been," he sighed, plopping down in the big, lush chair. He had plenty of friends, but the Librarian was the only one he could really talk to.
//ooc: I hope time skip is OK? I tried to ask beforehand but I'm on mobile and it wasn't working. If you don't wanna time skip yet, just let me know and I'll fix it.
[center Patiently, Greyson watched as the boy move through the stages of conflict. This much, he had foreseen. Who wouldn't have been shocked, especially one so young? What more could he have possibly known beyond the existence they had outlined for him? This-- all of this-- was well beyond the protocol. Nothing they had taught him applied here in this absolute anomaly - where it was warm and scented of aged paper, colognes, rich wood, and chocolate. Where warmth radiated from a fireplace, which in itself was a complete mystery. Fire, here, after all, did not exist.
All that could be done with their technology, was done, and all that went against their principles was forbidden-- except, perhaps, to Greyson.
Lawrence struggled through his words, despair seeming to have hit him full force, and for several moments, Grey simply watched, his expression a mirror of calm. He studied the fat tears that rolled over the boy's cheeks and after a moment's consideration, he slid from his place, producing a small handkerchief as he descended onto one knee.
"My dear boy, you are precisely where you are needed," He began, fingers gingerly closing about his hand as he dabbed the tears away. "I'm sure this is all rather confusing, but I promise that all will become quite clear." After all, this was what his mother had wanted for him. Perhaps when he was a bit older - when all of these emotions were under better control, he would tell her about the woman who'd birthed him, but until then, he would have to take good care of him.
Offering him another warm smile, Greyson remained where he was, so that they would be more or less eye to eye. "Everything you have felt today, is immensely important. I'd like for you to remember it all. We are not meant to be shells, but rather, filled with many things-- including sadness." He said, swiping a teardrop from his chin. "You needn't be fearful of me, though - I won't harm you. I mean only to teach you, and there is much to be learned."
Yes, in time, he hoped to teach him many lessons. Most importantly, though, he would need for the boy to come to understand the difference between who he would be in the library, and what was expected of beyond. A small price to pay for enlightenment, he supposed, but in comparison to that which he lacked, was it not [i worth] it?
Lawrence stumbled back, startled by the appearance of the tall man. It didn't occur to him to feel apologetic or guilty about having ate the cookie. Everything belonged to everyone. There was no such thing as stealing, in his world.
A kind of strange sensation burned in his belly as the man crossed to the door and locked it, towering over him, this strange man whom he had never seen before. His world was made up of servants, of childworkers, and of children. Strangers existed, but in another world, one separate and detached from him. To have one so close... he shivered with something that might have been fear, if he'd known the word to put to the sensation. And at the same time, there was a thrill of excitement deep in his belly. This was new. This was something he'd never felt before. It was strange, and he didn't know if it was good, but it was exciting.
Strange, cold hands picked him up, and he found himself set in a tall chair. Law shifted in the chair, a fear of a lesser magnitude settling deep in his gut; nervousness, anxiety. And that same excitement, an excitement he hadn't felt since the day he was born; this was new, this was all so new. He didn't know what to do.
The chair was too big for him. His legs stuck out almost straight. The cookies and milk were moved closer, and he took another, devouring it ravenously. It was warm and sweet, and it tasted so much better than the everyday-food he ate all the time. The cold milk made his teeth feel strange, but it tasted good as well, and he went from one to the other, gulping them down and making a mess of himself with chocolate. He nodded when the strange man--Grey--asked if he liked them, not thinking to wonder why the man knew his name. Everyone knew his name. Everyone knew everyone's name. That was the way things were.
Mid-cookie, Law froze. He wasn't supposed to be here! He was supposed to be waiting in the hallway! He jumped out of the chair, then paused, frozen between the chair and the door. "G-greyson," he said, nervous, that strange new sensation coming out in his voice, "I--I've somewhere to be, sir." Was he one of the uncivilized ones? The ones who didn't know how things had to be? Had he lured Law here to--to eat him alive, the way the uncivilized ones did?
He shivered, feeling the full weight of fear for the first time. What if he couldn't get out of here? The locked door looked like the bars to a dungeon, suddenly, and he felt something strange prickle in his eyes, something that hurt in his nose and throat. Then water was running down his face, warm and strangely salty. "I n-need to be--m-moving along," he repeated, whole body shivering as he tried to recite the right phrases to this strange man. What would they do if he wasn't there? What would they do? There was no waiting. They had to be where they had to be, or society would fall apart. He was going to ruin everything if he was late!
Ahh, so it seemed his plan had worked after all. From the shadows, Greyson watched as the young boy tip-toed his way into the library. It was only when he had closed his hand about one of the still-warm treats that he had emerged - just in time for Lawrence to take his very first bite. Tall and graceful, he strode from the shadows, hands tucked behind himself and expression mildly amused.
"I see you've helped yourself... though I would happily have offered them to you, had you waited." It was by no fault of his own, though. Their society had no concept of patience, for delay was never tolerated. Gratification was so instantaneous that he wondered if 'gratification' still existed at all. What was there to satisfy, if you never experienced that which was supposed to be sated?
Crossing to the french doors, he shut the ensemble and locked them with a skeleton key before turning to his young guest. "Lawrence, won't you have a seat?" He moved closer to him, scooping the boy up easily before setting him down instead in the soft embrace of a high-backed Victorian wing chair.
He fetched a plate, placed a few more of the warm morsels upon it, and poured him a glass of milk. The plate was set in the boy's lap, and Greyson had carefully pressed the cool glass into his hands. Warmth, cold, softness... they were all sensations one was not privilege to. Hardness and anything moderately neutral was the standard.
Seating himself in the nearby matching chair, Greyson crossed one leg over the other, a smile coming to his lips. As much as it saddened him to acknowledge, even this would have been a foreign sight. Emotions... distant vestiges of a past long buried beneath the numbing neutrality of their modern era.
Sadness, pain, fear, happiness, confusion, love... these no longer existed in their little sphere of existence. Children were never taught the words for them and never given reason to acknowledge or experience such sentiments.
"I am Greyson... the Librarian, here. You may call me Grey-- do you like them? It was quite a bit of trouble perfecting those things." He plucked one from the larger plate for himself and tasted, humming with satisfaction. "Mm... what do you think?"]
He was one of the chosen ones.
Lawrence knew this unquestioningly, the way the others knew that they were workers, the way the girls around him knew they had been gifted the privilege of one day bringing new life to this world. Every day, he went to lessons with the other chosen ones, and they learned the truths of this world; the splendor of the PM, the perfection of their society, the dirty, filthy, terribly sad world that had existed before, where man had destroyed the earth haphazardly and waged pointless wars, the pathetic, uninitiated ones who still fought on now, fighting wars even though there were no wars to be fought anymore. If he ever met one of them, he wanted to ask them: what did they want? Why didn't they join with the rest of them, live in peaceful bliss here in the civilized world, where everything was perfect?
Today was no different from any other day. He went to lessons. Came home, with the other children. Played in the approved, safe courtyard. Until, that was, a servant came for him.
It happened, from time to time, in their world. Sometimes their parents wanted to be with them. Sometimes they were so lucky as to be needed already, the only thing they could ever want from life: to be needed, and helpful to the majestic thing called the government. He followed after the servant eagerly, the other children whispering enviously behind him, full of pride. Today he had been chosen. Today he would be helpful. Today was the day.
But rather than be helpful, Lawrence found himself guided to an empty corridor and abandoned, left to wait. He sat on the chair provided and kicked his legs, feeling something he had never felt before in his life, something he didn't have a word for--a strange discontentment, a feeling of abandonment. Boredom, but stronger. Why were they making him wait? Nothing waited. There was only movement.
It didn't occur to him that this was a contradiction, in a world where so much was still.
Something caught his nose, and he paused. What was that? Sweet. It smelled sweet. But not in a way he'd ever smelled before. He looked around, searching for it, and found a door cracked open. No one was in the corridor but him. He checked again, then hopped off the chair. He was just going to look. No one would be hurt if he just looked, right? He'd just look. It would be fine.
Strange disks gave off heat, propped beside a strange cup of white liquid. His stomach grumbled, and Lawrence inched closer. He hadn't gotten to eat, before he'd left. There wasn't time. But now he was starving. Would anyone notice, he wondered, if one of those discs went missing? He slid closer. A step. Another step. There were so many. Surely they wouldn't miss just one. He was beyond the doorway before he noticed it, almost upon the food, a little hand reaching up to steal one away. Just one. He wanted one so badly. In a life where he had barely known want, barely known hunger, it seemed like more than he could bear. His hand closed around the cookie, and he stole it away and bit into it--the first crime in his life.
[center It seemed as though the city had at last gone to sleep. The sun had set over the horizon, the lights that would illuminate the night slowly coming to life to paint the thoroughfares in blue ambiance. There was no movement, as thought the world had come to a complete and utter standstill. Not even the air shifted. As he stood out in the temperate evening air, The Librarian contemplated.
Their city had become this... an automated world ruled by time constraints. Everyone lived at the mercy of the minute hand, but no one ever seemed to stop and question the need for such schedule at all. By what deadline were they meant to work? What possible concept of time could warrant them to slave away, day after day, under the pretense of productivity.
What a sad little existence this civilisation would suffer - if it could even be considered such. Back in the days of old, Savages were defined upon very different grounds. Now, they came with titles and finely fitted garb. Now, with their ignorance to guide them, they had the freedom to change life as they all knew it, as they so pleased. It sickened him to acknowledge, but if not he, then who else?
Glancing to the grandfather clock, he counted down the moments. Soon enough, everything would be set into motion. Today, his real work would begin. Beyond this point, all that was meant to happen would somehow find a way to be. After all, his sole purpose was to impart knowledge and incite change, not to carry it out personally.
Drifting off into his study, located at what seemed to be the belly of their grand library, Greyson awaited the arrival of his guest, knowing perfectly well that this would be the day that they would finally meet.
He set out two places before turning to fetch what he'd been working on for the past hour or so. The strange delicacies were set upon a plate and as they cooled, he went about pouring drinks. It was all he could concoct that would be comparable to 'milk', after all. Had to work with what he had, though, right?
The door to the library, ever so forbidden, had been left slightly ajar, just enough for the scent of warm chocolate and sweet delight to drift out into the hall. His 'superiors' would think it simply another of his experiments. Little did they know how particularly determined he was to fulfil a very different agenda.
"Master Lawrence... won't you come this way, if you please? You are required to be present in to the easy wing at preciselying 1900. We will take the lift." It wasn't a question. There never was one, it seemed. If it was expected, then it would be fulfiled. The concept of questioning anything beyond its functionality would have been unheard of.
Everything about the capitol was son remarkably sterile. All clean white, chrome, and glass. Even the floors were spotless. The recessed lighting of the halls shown a faint blue, much like those of the streets beyond, the air as stagnant as it always seemed to be. It was there, but it was never cold, never hot, and never truly felt like anything beyond mild resistance if one moved beyond a certain speed.
Save the shuffling of feet or the whirring of some system, for the most part, all was still. It was a stillness that one was required to become accustomed to. A stillness that, despite its guise of ultimate serenity, was far more comparable to death than it was to any state of existential contentment.]
So basically, one of us would be playing the PM's relative, who comes from a long line of the cities rulers. They're the only ones who are actually 'born' anymore, and that makes them inherently different in a way. The bloodline is also kept relatively pure, but... there is also a very serious issue here because on top of EVERYTHING, anyone who was perceived as 'gifted' was pretty much either eradicated or... made useless in some other form. However, this relative is psionic, and this is one of the main reasons they are kept under lock and key.
Like, the destructive capacity, if not used to the PMs benefit, could go horribly wrong for him, and the character wouldn't know exactly what the fuck is wrong with them. They're also low-key under the study of the Librarian but don't know about the resistance.
The other main char would be one of the head peeps in the resistance trying to smuggle people out of the city that have been marked for termination as well as making inside plans to wreck shit.
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