powersthatbe | Conversation Space III.

"A terrible risk to take," the man hums, amused, waving his hand again and making the chair disappear. He does, however, remove the goblet from the stool, setting it on the floor before settling comfortably into his electric chair.

"Tell me, Matthew - feel free to chime in too, sirs - what are you expecting out of this conversation?"

There's something deeply unsettling about a man being so comfortable sitting in an electric chair.

"What do I expect?" he says, a little surprised at the question. "I don't know what to expect. You have power over us, power that we do not understand. Power that is beyond anything we have ever seen before. You gave me a mark. And not the kind that you get after deciding to make a drunken visit to a tattoo parlour one night. And this -" he holds up his left hand, covered by fingerless gloves, but Matthew doesn't doubt that Death already knows all about the ravens tattoo hidden on the palm underneath. "- isn't just ink and colour. Marks like this don't come without strings attached. They come with conditions, and a price. A price which, mind you, is usually too high. You've yet to tell us yours."

"My conditions... my price... are actually quite simple. I would have you represent me in Jaunts, from here until the end of phase three. I believe you exemplify me well enough to help me achieve victory."

There is a pause, and then he adds, "This isn't just one-sided in my favor. With that Mark, I can grant you power befitting my aspect. And if I win, I intend on sending you all home... unless, of course, some would rather stay in Liminal Space. But it would be a fitting end if everyone went their separate ways."

"I exemplify you," he says flatly. He doesn't want to exemplify bloody Death.

Then he falls silent for a moment. If I win, I intend on sending you all home... It's the one thing he desperately, unequivocally wants. Just to be back in his own city, his own world. Except he can't forget that there's more than just whether or not they get to go home on the line here.

"I never asked you for power," he says. "And I sure as help ain't going to help you just because you decided to dangle a few shiny bribes in front of my face. We already do not understand the power all of you hold, and whichever one of you wins this game you're playing is going to have more. Why should I help you? Why should anyone want you to win?"

Death sighs, then, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sixteen cycles," he mutters. "And still I must deal with false presumptions..."

His hand drops and he glances back over at Matthew, now looking remarkably bored. "I can tell by your tone you seem to think different of me than what I actually am. You do not exemplify me as you would know the concept of death. My principles deal less with fatality and more with finality. I suggest you read up on us before you dismiss me as your enemy."

But Death doesn't seem to believe that Matthew will do that. He drops the subject, instead, to address the other complaint against him. "I do not ask you to understand my power. I do not even ask you to wield the power I offer if you don't want to. What I ask is that you put two and two together. Let me start again: some Arcana would prefer Synodiporia continue in perpetuity, and some would not. Knowing what I just told you, and my promise to send you all to your home worlds, why do you think I should win?"

Sixteen cycles? Was that counting jaunts, or how many times they'd played the game?

And to tell the truth, finally didn't sound all that better to Matthew. It all sounded very, well, final. All things ended. But it didn't make the ending pleasant.

"That's not enough. We would love nothing more than to see this game end, yes. We would go home. But if what your...colleagues...have been telling the others is true, one of you is going to get to reflect themselves throughout reality. Which is, mind you, still a pretty vague statement, because what does a reality with more of Empress or Tower reflected in it actually look like? What does a universe with more finality look like? Maybe the answer to that question is simple to you, but sorry, I've still just got a fleshy lump of brain cells to work with, and imagining and a potentially completely altered reality is just a bit beyond me."

"You want this to end? Fine. But what comes after? That's what we want to know. Because whatever you do is going to have consequences beyond just all of us going home."

"Well I can certainly tell you what a reality with more of Tower in it would look like." He almost seems irritable, angry even, as he leans forward, his jaw setting before he settles on a somber expression. "Lightning. Wildfire. The sudden impact of a car hitting a crumbling building, which crashes into the roaring, tumultuous sea. Crisis. Downfall. Ruination. A burst of chaos you Travelers could hardly comprehend, let alone experience. And then you would have to deal with the aftermath."

He slowly sinks against the back of the electric chair, looking for all the world like the very thought of such a future drains him. "Though it might be described as the truth of things... theirs is a painful truth. And I would not wish such pain on any of you."

Death pauses, considering, then answers the Angels' last question. "I do not intend to interfere with your worlds, if I win. My... 'end', as it were, would not extend so far. Nor would it in any way injure or alter the state of your home worlds. You would simply return, in your present states. No fuss, no mess. Just a conclusive ending."

Matthew stills, just for a moment, when that flash of anger crosses Death's face. He wonders for a moment if he's pushed him too far, but no - it's not Matthew Death is angry with, it's Tower.

Still, it's a reminder. For all the promises of being sent home, of non-interference, they are not the one in the room with all the power. They are not the one who can make life very, very difficult for the other if they want to.

"I never had any intention of letting Tower win," he says quietly. "But who shouldn't win is a different question from who should. So if you don't want to interfere with our worlds, what do you want to interfere with? Worlds that we don't happen to live in? Something else entirely? If it's just this game that you're ending, what are you lot all going to do afterwards?"

"I've never much liked interfering in anything. It's not in my own particular... idiom." He gives the smallest hint of a smirk, but it fades quickly. "I assure you that I do not want to interfere in any way with any worlds, except to send you where you consider home. I merely want to ensure things end smoothly. I don't give a damn what the others do, as long as they don't interfere with sentient beings again. And as to what I'm going to do afterwards..."

The man thinks for a moment, his bony fingers tapping against the arm of the electric chair. "I think I would like to take up horticulture. Cultivating bushes and the like."

For a moment, they just stand there, perplexed.

"...Bushes. You want to cultivate bushes."

"Indeed. I suppose it is a better living than lying in ponds, distributing swords as a basis for a system of government."

Matthew might have missed the first reference. After all, it wasn't like 'idiom' wasn't a word that could come up normally. But he could no more miss that reference than he could miss a bloody freight train.

"...You did not just quote Monty Python at me," he says, as they stare incredulously.

"Would you prefer another movie?" Mortimer asks, giving the slightest of smiles. "Jurassic Park, perhaps?"

"When do you watch movies?" they ask, still feeling baffled by this revelation.

Even if it was, perhaps, a little hypocritical of them. After all, they liked movies too. But it was alright for them. They were mortal, now. Watching movies was just part of the whole Life experience, just like eating fish and chips and finding out what going up and down escalators felt like.

Edited 2017-01-21 09:49 (UTC)

"Liminal spaces can grow rather boring when I'm not involved in their creation," he answers with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. "I fill the time studying your respective cultures. I've recently found human cinema to be quite interesting."

"...Right," he says, before falling into an awkward silence. There are other questions that they should be asking. Other things he should be finding out.

But honestly after the revelation that Death watched not only movies, but Monty Python movies, Matthew didn't have a clue what to say.

"Well, this has all been very lovely, but unless you have further questions or demands of me, I believe I should return you to your Traveler friends."

Matthew doesn't say anything.

It'd be a lie, really, to say that he doesn't have more questions. Doesn't have more that he could ask.

But they also don't want to be stuck in here, in this place, with Death any longer.

"Very well. I'll see you around, I'm sure. Farewell."

With a gentle dismissive wave of Mortimer's hand, Matthew suddenly finds himself out of this space and into the Media Room in Liminal Space - standing right in fromt of the simple metal chair from before.

In case his legs get tired.

Conversation Space III.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject