silversnowfall | 74. [voice/written]

[Some say too much deep thought begets deeper problems.]

I've been thinking.

[Nephry has a piece of paper in front of her, as well as a book open to a marked page.]

Mm, I should say that reading has been making me think. Indulge me for a moment, if you will: there is a relatively small portion of our population living in this village that arrived more than three Luceti years ago. It's an easy number for me to choose, because I fall into that category as well. I don't know many of those sharing a 'cycle year' with me as personally as I might, but-

[Here she stops, taps the page of the other book, and tries a new direction. Included in her explanation is a description of the formula she mentions.]

Something I read about and didn't understand prompted a bit more research on my part. I'm interested in testing whether this...theory, I suppose, of mine happens to prove true. In another world, there is a kind of formula for determining how ready one is to accept the inevitable. I believe that, with some exceptions of course, one 'step' in this formula enacts itself in the space of one Luceti cycle year. [Then she illustrates what the heck she means by that, expanding upon a chart she found in her research.]

[A half-laugh. Actually it's quite a sad sound.] Doesn't that sound strange? And yet I remember being in complete disbelief that such things were possible, and then worrying about my friends and hating the Malnosso for what they do to us, and then wanting nothing more than to use our limited knowledge as some kind of wager for the chance to change-

And now...to a degree, I still feel all of these other things, and yet- [No. Perhaps it's best not to go into that so publicly. It's unbecoming of a governor for certain.] Well, now I'm asking the rest of you. No matter how long you have been here. Does this hold true for you?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You seem content with the way things are, for the most part.

[Others might affect their speech with enough pleasantness to be irritating, on purpose. Nephry just stays calm: these are the facts, as he has displayed them. He doesn't seem too ruffled.]

I am not here to start an argument with anyone.

[ and yet, the woman seemed intent on countering his every comment with some vexing point in opposition. he's beginning to doubt that many people in this town understand the give and take of conversation; they always want to prove each other wrong or right.

alas, though, sharpe isn't as good as restraining himself as the calm-voiced woman: ] I bloody well am not content. [ for he is a soldier; war is what he's good at. ] But seeing as how I've gone nearly a year without walking into a tavern and seeing scenes such as a poor dead lass nailed to the pub tables, I've chosen to count my bloody blessings.

[ one. two. three. regret. he shouldn't have said that. nevermind how uncouth the imagery was, it also conjures the memory in his mind. his stomach turns.

quieter: ] M-my apologies, ma'am.

[And here she is on the other side, hearing only (mostly) men who want to prove that they are in the right, this one included. It's a splatter painting of different opinions, and each one has chosen rough or pointed words to convey how sure he is of his rightness.

Even this one.

Still. She is not here to have an argument and while that image is one that would give most opponents second thoughts about the conversation...well, she isn't his opponent here, either. Luceti is peaceful by some standards and some of its residents are left alone.]

Suppose we did "win" this war, whatever that entails. [Nephry isn't whispering, but her tone dips further into contemplative.] What would we do?

[ what richard sharpe fails to convey in his rough words and rougher accent is that he's never cared about being right or wrong. he isn't paid to be right or wrong. he's paid to be the king's thug. he's paid to be whatever the hell the king needs him to be. and thugs didn't always learn how to duck and weave through their words. ]

You're asking the wrong man. [ and, indeed, he begins to chart some passably strategic exit from the conversation even as he bungles his way through this question. ] For any war I've seen to the end only led to another one beginning.

[ indeed, the end of a war frightens the man who can't understand his value outside of violence and death and combat. he's good at what he does, but what will he do when the war dries up? where will he go? who will have him? ]

And it may be that I'm asking the wrong questions, too.

[She has a feeling he wouldn't want acknowledgement of his earlier words - to bring them up again even to express sympathy, or tell him an apology isn't necessary.]

As far as I can tell, you can only plan so much. You can know the arithmetic involved when so many troops face so many others. The number of men by the number of bullets by the rate of fire. The spread of the line; the arc of the shot. But you can win battles and lose wars all in the same stroke. What any of you lot do when the war's done isn't a thing you can decide now.

[ you lot. either he doesn't plan to be here, or he's preemptively excusing himself from the politics of an ended dispute. he'll fight until his last breath but he won't get involved in the grander structure. that, as ever, was for diplomats and politicians. ]

You know what you will do? [Not a challenge - she's just curious. "You lot" means he has some ideas for himself.]

Rest, like as not. Catch my breath while the politicians bicker.

Oh, we're not all bicker and bother, you know.

Bah. You never know when you're going to endanger an entire cause by using the wrong spoon. Everyone's better off when I leave myself out of politics.