1847/Judge, Jury, and Executioners

Judge, Jury, and Executioners
Date of Scene:	21 March 2015
Location:	A Quiet World
Synopsis:	Faruja and Mizuki have a little talk on the roof, like old times.
Cast of Characters:	152, 183

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Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Faruja would arrive to a rather peculiar sight this evening.

    Rather than remaining inside the Clock Tower's redroom as she usually does, she's on its roof. As she was when she dueled with Faruja. As she was when she drawing this world into existence. As she will be when she watches the curtain fall upon its parable.

    She's alone. Neither Palora nor Callia are here right now. She has Aelinos raised as though it were a conductor's baton - and indeed, it does still look like one - and as he draws closer, he would see an illusory easel that she has imagined into existence. She would gingerly tap the tip of her sword against it, calling into being an orchestra of stars which fashion themselves into a long score of lines and spaces. Notes line up there as if the entirety of the sky were a composer's paper, wrapping a half-circle around Mizuki. Then she would guide them in song:

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbRmFSQYeac

    Though there are no instruments, the chimes of a piano's keys can be heard resonating throughout this condensed reality, and the gentle strums of a violin's heartstrings likewise bounce off the corners of the night sky. In a way, it seems as though they strike out in defiance of the white nothing that encroaches upon the tower now. It seems they urge the boundary of Creation's remnants to stand fast against the onslaught of nothingness, and in some small way, they might be successful; the white advance does seem to stop. Everything seems to stop. A sort of warmth might wash over Faruja as he enters as a sort of concerted effect of all these happenings, and all at once that general discomfort he's so accustomed to feeling in this world might vanish. Rather than further from his Lord, he would feel closer; instead of darkened, purified.

    Mizuki would glance to Faruja as he passes by her, if he passes by her. But she would not smile nor breathe a word; only continue in her performance for some time longer until the final sound is spelled. And at that point her sword would erupt into a contortion of light as it has so many times before, and she would fall to the ground at once. She's breathing rather heavily. Her skin is so pale.

    It would seem a bit ironic, then, that only -now- does she smile. Her countenance would turn upwards in greeting, and her eyes would glimmer in the spirit of welcome. She would scramble to find her way back to her feet before Faruja can offer her a hand, and when she eventually does rise, she would dust her dress and regard him with a small bow.

    "Good evening, Faruja." She would pause, her eyelids eventually seeing fit to close. "... it's been far too long since it's been just the two of us here like this. It's good to see you. The tea has not been set out for you as it might've been then, but I trust you know where you may find it." Her grin would widen meaningfully, and a finger would tap against the side of her head. 'Your imagination,' she's likely trying to say.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Ahh, nostalgia. The Inquisitor arrives with a distinct lack of fanfaire, having hunted down Mizuki after some wandering. Teleportation makes searching so much easier. Faruja is dressed in his usual robes and cane, watching as the lone conductress works her sword against the non-existance that is her current canvas.

He's certainly ill inclined to interrupt, a gentlerat as ever, simply taking in the work of his dear friend. As the power of her working over her world slowly washes over the rat, he visibly relaxes and lets out a tiny little squeak, perhaps one of the first indications of his presence. His eye closes, simply basking in a moment of pious faith mixed with the enjoyment of being with a dear friend. The rat's on his knees silently praying the entire time.

Faruja is certainly predictable, as when Mizuki is back on the roof, he's back on his feet and walking over to try to help her up. There's a smile tinged with the worry that's so plagued him the past month and a half for his dear compatriot. She's up before he gets there.

The bow surely isn't forgotten, once more trying to outdo Mizuki with his own. Burmecians are flexible, it might not be a fair manners fight.

"Lady Mizuki. Lord's blessings, my friend." Comes the rat softly, voice formal but eye full of warmth. No matter

"Bloody right mine dear, ye and I art entirely too busy these days!" A glance and a squint at the white nothingness.

"And on matters of near-equal import I wouldst say. Still, I shan't stoop so low as to not make time for a well-mannered Lady." Then he just laughs. A flick of the hand, and a table and tea fade into existance. The teacups seem to be made of solid gold, as do the table itself.

"...I may hath been making an expedition or two here to practice. Whom knows if it shall come in handy." Even Faruja can feel they're at the climax of this little play.

Then he's pulling out a chair for Mizuki, and pouring her tea, true to form as ever.

"Right, this might be a bit cliche to ask now of all times, but how art ye holding up? And kindly skip deflections or...never thought I would say /this/...formalities overmuch. I am not the only one, but I am bloody worried for ye."

Hands wave about, indicating the skyline.

"Having we lot root through thine memories, creation, and past canst hardly be enjoyable. God keep ye." A sigh.

Then that single red eye begins to bore straight into Mizuki's own, head tilt downwards. He might be slightly below her height, but his time as an Inquisitor has given him one damn good stare. He's pulling no punches tonight, seemingly willing to force the matter for the girl's sake.

Inquisitor's, unfortunately, aren't known for being gentle.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki would close her eyes and holy her position for a long, long while, but she does not surrender her smile. It lingers, but she would incline her head somewhat, and she would almost cinematically turn to face the sky. For her own comfort, she would resummon her sword, staking its slender, shimmering form into the surface of the roof. Her hands would grip its pommel as a child might hug a pillow for comfort.

    "Where did I go wrong?" She would ask, but her grin still does not budge. "... I... thought to present myself as a disconnected, deific presence. I thought I might project all my arrogance upon this 'Multiverse', and that it would not come as such a surprise when people started to see the depths of it. I meant to accrue enemies -- people to loathe me and cast my soul unto oblivion when I sought to change the nature of the world." Her eyes would raise, now, to regard the moon. Her symbol. Her becaon. "And yet here I seem to have found instead people like you instead; people who would pleasantly ask 'how I am', as friends are wont to do, and to... share themselves with me." She would shake her head. "I don't understand it."

    She would finally turn around to face Faruja more fully again, sword held off to her side under one hand as though it were some sort of cane. "... I will spare you the 'deflections', though, as you call them. If you earnestly wish to know what I am feeling now, I am feeling... a stirring sort of ambivalence about my involvement in this place. This 'Multiverse', as you call it -- was I right to involve myself with it? Was I right to... demand your help in my affairs? Or would it been better if I had remained 'outside', where I could have watched things?" She would pause a moment. "I... feel as though I've made a mistake in allowing myself to become so familiar with you. I have infiltrated in your life. I have interrupted a story which I should have remained separate from. It is not at all that I regret your company, but I hope..." She would lower her head again, glancing off to the side. "I hope that, if the time ever comes for me to do... what I trust you've assumed I will do given all you've seen, that it will not hurt you."

    She would hesitate a while before reaching out to the sky again with an open palm. She would close her fingers once her hand has reached as far as it can, as if grasping something invisible. "I was never meant to participate in the affairs of the living, Faruja. It is not because I have some grander purpose, but because it is simply not my place. I have taken an oath to preserve the stories of people, but that is something I can only do if I do not first sully them with my presence. Those people whom I have taken on to this ark that sails through time - my Seekers - are people who would have otherwise lost the will to continue to Be. They are people whose suffering I was obligated to cure. Aside from them, however, there should never have been any other life to traipse upon this ground."

    "I am meant to be lonely," She would continue, "because I am a ghost. I do not know where I've come from, and all I do know is that my future will never amount to anything of substance. This is not a thing I say out of lamentation, but out of knowing; I have no God, and so there is no higher essence to substantiate or reward anything I may do. It will likely seem a terrible sacrilege to you that I question this, but Faruja," She would turn back again, her smile finally gone. "Have you ever wondered what hopes your God has? What dreams? Have you ever considered why they saw fit to give your world life to begin with? Because if they are anything like me..." She would close her eyes.

    "... they are flawed, too. They are flawed, and because they are incomplete of themselves, they must seek to make something that may console them. And they lack purpose, that they can only ever seem to give to others rather than themselves..." She would quietly trail off.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    And, after some time, sigh again. "... that is my winded way of saying that I am 'contemplative' -- perhaps existential. When I am with all of you -- that is, my 'friends' -- I can forget things. I forget the melancholy of existence, and the reasons which originally ushered me on to the path which I now find myself walking. It's momentary, of course, and I remember those things the moment I return to my solitude... but I fear that forgetfulness. I worry that I've become so wholly absorbed in these stories of worlds and people that I may... put their precedent above the mission I initially had. The mission to not only end their collective suffering, but also to release the whole of Creation from its plight of ambivalence. To let us all think and feel as those Gods people used to fathom in the oldest parables; to achieve Nirvana, but then never to become complacent. To ascend to the next chapter of our lives... for surely, we cannot remain in this interstice of flux forever. Surely, that is not our fate." For a final time, her eyelids squeeze shut. "Surely..."

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja listens like a good priest, quite silent at first. He lets the poor woman get her soul out, Inquisitorial glare only softening after some time. A clawed digit goes to his chin as he finally sits down and sips his tea. One pinky out, of course.

"My dear, for such an intelligent woman ye canst be quite a fool at times." He lifts his teacup.

"Trying to play thineself off as some sort of God is insanity. And at the risk of insult, methinks ye were toeing that line most dangerously. If ye wished to create enemies and seek some martyrdom, well, mayhaps ye aught hath less thought to play the part of the arrogant playwright and more the part of a pious believer." Laughs the rat bitterly. Then he waves his tail dismissively.

"Point being that ye simply hath the 'misfortune' of meeting those with keen eyes and ears. That arrogance was enough to draw us all in, thine world's plight intriguing to we far-too-curious souls, and when we sat down to tea with ye? Bloody captivating. Simply put, ye art a damn good host, and that gave mineself at least all the more reason to peer beneath that mask ye wear."

He huffs briefly. "Only recently hath I truly began to understand thee, I think, Mizuki. There is so much beneath prim manners and arrogance. And I wouldst quite like to learn more about ye as ye are, and what ye seek to become." Affirms the rat.

Then he literally rolls his eye.

"Oh bloody abyss Mizuki, 'tis as though we art honest-to-God friends! Doth not make me swat ye on the back of the head like some dolt acolyte!"

Then he smirks.

Faruja sighs a touch, however. "I hath been in the Multiverse a touch longer than ye, and so i shall simply say this: whether ye wanted to or nay, the Multiverse shall visit ye regardless. That ye came to it? Well, so much the better. Doth ye really think thine realm wouldst hath gone unnoticed? Our meeting, mine dear, was the will of God. And Holy Faram giveth His servants the task of meddling in the affairs of others for their own bloody good, be they political, temporal, or in day to day affairs. Or in things like this. That is, a well-mannered 'mysterious' woman in such an odd realm wouldst hath drawn mine own attentions before long. The way it happened?"

Faruja sets down his tea and leans his head on a hand.

"Wouldst ye hath preferred me beating down thine Clocktower's door with a pack of Templar behind me? Ye art a living, breathing /PERSON/, Mizuki. That ye try to equate thineself to some type of ghost is laughable. I can respect an oath, but 'tis utterly impossible to observe events without being caught up in them. Ask any of mine spies, or the historians of the Church. They shall tell ye the same bloody thing."

Cue the rat wetting his throat. His face is full of equal amounts irritation and concern, half looking like he still wants to swat the woman for her 'foolishness' in his eyes.

"Point being that, yes, methinks we /both/ know where we stand on that little issue. Didst not our clash already prove that? Ye hath an oath, a desire to save others from reality and chuck them nicely into a dream. I hath an oath to make all of reality into a dream of Heaven on Earth. Mizuki. I love ye like family. Like the little sister I never had. Remember, hmm? I still say a dream is nothing, nay matter how pleasant, until one makes it into reality with their own blood, sweat, and tears. If we must point blades at each other's throat for such, then God forgive us both. We art similar in that. We live and die by our honor and desire for something /better/."

Then Faruja laughs again, so zealous, so bitter and a little manic.

"Every time that I come across a frozen body of some poor orphan dead from cold, or starvation, or any other number of maladies in Ivalice I ask mineself that question. 'Tis not one mine mind can answer. But if I wouldst hazard a guest, 'twould be that His flawed, broken children stop being such pissers and try to cooperate instead of killing each other. Nay, the good Lord is beyond mine mere mortal mind. I

Faruja (152) has posed:
"Nay, the good Lord is beyond mine mere mortal mind. I take nay offense, 'tis a question I often ask, and one that is thrown at me by half the 'guests' in mine cells."

Mizuki at least isn't spitting at him.

"'Tis we whom art flawed. Not Him." States the rat with absolute pious faith, staring Mizuki in the eyes.

Once more, he softens.

A hand reaches out, trying to grip hers. There's a sad little smile on his face.

"What ye say wouldst mean the end of everything Mizuki. Sorry, mine dear, but I cannot believe in something like that. Mortals shall ever be flawed. The best we can hope for is a miracle as we strive to better ourselves. Friends exist to comfort, to lift up, to help each other. Even /if/ that means occasionally letting ye forget thien troubles."

Then the rat lets go.

"Ye and I art very alike, and yet our philosophy in life couldst not be more different. Apologies, mine dear. I hath few answers to give ye in truth. Only what I believe, mine friendship, and an oath that I shall knock some bloody sense into ye if ye truly try to walk a path that shall end in the lot of us fighting each other."

Then he winks.

"I far prefer sharing tea with ye than trying to toss a meteor down thine gullet. Far more tasty!" Ends the rat dramatically, if nothing else, trying to lift her spirits just a bit with black humor. It seems appropriate.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki would should her head faintly to her friend. "... you see, this is the trouble. I fear we've both become friends due to a... a sort of perfection of circumstance. I needed people to help ease me into this world when I met you, and so I grew to like you. And then we went on many sojourns together, which allowed us to build a relationship without you ever knowing... the depths of our difference where our faiths are concerned." She would shake her head. "This does not invalidate anything. Quite the opposite -- it's a miracle that we've grown as close as we have, and that is a miracle I will always cherish. But even so..." She studies the ground a moment. Her fists clench.

    "We're both horribly stubborn. You... will convince me to swear fealty to your God no sooner than I will convince you of their..." She stops to contemplate her word choice. "... of their frality. We are the philosophical anathemas of one another in this way -- you believe in some higher purpose. You believe... in a God you serve, and love without reservation or discirimination. You follow His laws as though they are immutable principles worked into the fabric of time and space, and I could never do this myself. I could never invest myself so completely in anything."

    Her eyes rise to his again, slowly. "But you see, this is where our beliefs parallel one another. Because I feel this absence, and because in all my time of life I've never found anything I could so wholly convince myself of, I have resolved instead to change the world. I have resolved to write an immutable law of goodness and virtue upon the tapestry of Creation, and to carve into its face a sort of... tangible karma. This is why I call myself a God, Faruja -- apotheosis is my goal."

    She links her hands again, squeezing them together. "I do not know if you are familiar with Christianity, but you and I are as that religion and its relative, Judaism. Christians believe that the messiah has already visited the world in the form of Jesus, and that He will one day return to Earth to judge the living and the dead. However, Jewish people believe that the messiah has not yet come and still diligently await his arrival. In this, I am the Jewish one: I believe that there is not yet law to subscribe to whilst you, the Christian, believe it already exists." Her expression would dip faintly. "This... this is why I so often feel that I must do what I've set out to do, Faruja. I seek not to create a true Heaven as what you've seen might have suggested, but a world of balance. A world where no being is given more than they have the capacity to shoulder, and where people are never required to satisfy the biological needs that drive them to conflict. That drive them to fear."

    "Yes," She would continue, "this world would have its flaws. I embrace this. People would still suffer, but they would be guaranteed a graceful, sweet end to their stories. Never would their be a truly evil or 'greedy' being because there would be no biological basis for them to develop such depravity in their minds." Her clenched hands release, falling to her sides. "Does... does this make sense? I will never be able to believe as you do. Because of this, I lack humility. And because I lack that humility, I... I lack the ability to inhibit myself from improving the world. If I see the potential for betterment, I will seize it. Always. It seems unjustly complacent to do otherwise."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Finally, her expression would ease somewhat. She would smile again, and bow. She would hold this bow for some time before rising. "... I'm sorry if I have spoken in any way that might have offended you, or that might have tarnished your view of me. I would seek to do neither of this things, but be that as it may," Her eyes close again, "I am a monk on their own sort of sojourn. I am... a pious devotee of a very different stripe from yours. I do not swear allegiance to any singular presence, but to my own principles. And by those principles, I pledge my loyalty to humanity -- that is, conscious awareness, sapience, and sentience combined -- itself. I see no reason for us to be 'tested'. I see no reason for us to be kept from a place of higher plane of thought. As many times as someone might tell me that there are things that are simply not intended for mortal consumption, I will always tell them that they are wrong."

    "All that said," She speaks further still, "I would never ask you to change from your current course of thought. Never are my words intended to convince, but rather, to convey; if - and I do insist, 'if' - this time I keep warning of ever comes, I want you to understand me. I want you, if no one else, to know that my intentions were good. Misguided, perhaps, but always executed in the interest of your happiness, and the happiness of every being that draws breath. I do what I do even for those Gods I've yet to meet, for it is my earnest feeling that they, too, will benefit from soulful liberation."

    "My goal," She finally concludes, "is the construction of a world free from boredom, yet simultaneously free of complacence; a world free of strife, yet rife in knowledge; a person free of biological inclination, but whose essence is filled with emotion. I have a plan for how I would structure things so that this could be feasible, but it is necessarily something that neither of us could comprehend in this lifetime. What I seek... is something we cannot understand, because it would be based on a fundamentally different form of thought from that which we utilize."

    She would exhale, finally, clutching her chest. Though she doesn't necessarily look it, Faruja would likely be able to tell: she is absolutely exhausted. "... but I thank you for your understanding. I thank you ever the more for your friendship. It is comforting. It is something I will always appreciate. But... but..." She would ressurect her smile once more, her eyes... gleaming, somewhat, in the light of the moon. "On this, we will never see as one. I am sorry."

Faruja (152) has posed:
"Circumstance?" A brow rises. Faruja, ever seizing the opportunity, smiles.

"Or a work of the divine mine dear? The good Lord merely sought to reveal all in due time. At a time where I couldst /accept/ the fact that we art so possessing of fervently held believes of utter opposites." Time and what he's seen certainly hasn't dulled the very root of their conflict in the rat.

The fact she calls it a miracle only has the rat's tail swishing despite the circumstances. Seems he's come to terms, at least in part, with the whole affair.

Then his features do droop a bit.

"As I said before, God help the both of us. Well put. Ye hath seen the cracks in thine own world, as I hath in mine. Methinks hath either of us been born upon the other's world?"

A shrug. "Mayhaps not entirely the same cloth, but circumstance may weave far different patterns despite we being so similar at our core. Oh, come now, give me a touch of credit mine dear. Still, 'tis an apt comparison I suppose." His eye narrows a bit, clearly displeased at something. But he lets it go quickly enough.

"A Heaven of thine own making? Mmm, so /that/ is what form thine perfect world wouldst take shape." Ponders the rat. Then, he leans in.

"...But I ask ye this much. Let us assume ye succeed. That ye create this world where everyone struggles only to their abilities, never develop the idea to war, never become 'evil'. Where, mine dear, wouldst creativity and the love of life come from? I perfectly understand what ye art thinking, at least to a degree. Nay, at the risk of insult, I wouldst say that such a world wouldst be as much a prison as the state of Ivalice itself offers its residents as things stand. Admittedly without the nobility twisting the whole affair, but that is hardly the matter at hand."

"Gilded cages mine dear. Law is all well and good, trust me I quite like it mineself, but chaos too is built into each and every one of us. /That/ I think is a grand bloody gift from the Lord. Freedom. The ability to tackle more than ye art capable of. What ye propose wouldst take that away. Nay, methinks working together and /using/ that inherent chaos to reach out for God's help, to prove ourselves worthy of such a Kingdom of Heaven, is far superior. Temper our own failures, and God shall smile upon us when His Children art capable of living with Him."

Faruja snaps his fingers. The tea-table and tea are gone. Instead, the rat has summoned about half of a bar here. Should Mizuki have ever visited Lindblum, it'll distinctly resemble a rather famous local pub there. Faruja downs a mug of spiced rum with indecent haste.

"Perfection cannot be achieved by mortals alone. It shall take God. Ye art the least humble person I hath met. But I fear ye shall fail in the end. Nay offense, but...well, but one God, et cetera." A weak shrug.

Faruja slowly smiles however. "I get it, Mizuki. Please, so far as I am concerned, this is a Confession. What passes between us this day is between us and God. Nay offense taken. Rather, I am glad we canst truly be so frank with each other. 'Tis almost...relaxing in a morbid sense. Oh, what is that human term? 'Like watching a train wreck'? Though God willing someone more sensible than either of us will stop this whole mess. Stubborn, as ye said, too stubborn."

Then he'll reach over, trying to wrap an arm around Mizuki's shoulders in a half-hug.

"Oh, please. I know ye intend good for the world. I am hardly known for being gentle with those whom I think nefarious. Nay. Ye and I hath different views of what is best for each other in our unending care and arrogance towards each other. I am a person who seeks true perfection despite believing I cannot achieve it without a true Miracle. I wonder whom amongst us hath the greater amount of arrogance here, that they wouldst bend God's immutable will to their own dreams?" Poses the rat.

"And I think thine goal is utter insanity. The result of a soul too untethered, likely by her own isolation and will to escape that much, with nothi

Faruja (152) has posed:
.

"And I think thine goal is utter insanity. The result of a soul too untethered, likely by her own isolation and will to escape that much, with nothing but books and companions partially linked to thine own head. Nay offense to thine handmaidens, but 'tis true, mm? If anything I hath failed in here, 'tis that I hath not dragged ye kicking and screaming out into more worlds than thine own...a failure I am rectifying soon mind ye!"

Squint! Glug glug glug.

"Ye art friend and /family/, Mizuki. And I shall save thee from thineself if it kills me. So pray someone wiser than either of us gets in the way. Mine nose itches whenever I think about it, and the last time that happened is when I got to face down a bloody Lucavi in Mullonde of all places."

"So talk to Ainsley, Psyber, maybe even Dame Riv..." He pauses at that last bit, then shrugs.

"Oh bloody abyss, why not? Riva too, good girl, if not exactly brimming with traditional knightly virtues."

"And I too shall ever cherish thine friendship. Honestly? If ye and I didst /not/ hath this great conflict before us, methinks things wouldst be far less interesting as a story, mmm? Conflict, mine dear, is what /all/ great partnerships art made out of. Maybe Lord Avon shall make a play for the pair of us! HAH!" Despite it all, the chance to enjoy time with his best friend and be so honest with her has put him in a great mood. Then he's sliding over a glass.

"To friendship, stubborn fools, and the philosophies that drive us!"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki would seize the moment herself to do something that may surprise her priestly companion: she would pull him from that half hug into a full one, squeezing him tightly for a moment before finally letting him go. By that time, she's brushing a finger past her eye; to oust a tear? Perhaps. Perhaps that was the motive behind the entirety of the gesture, even, but the sheer vehemence inherent in the strength of her grip would have said otherwise. Either way, though, her smile is back to stay by the end of that exchange - awkward though it might have been - and this she most certainly would not hide. Still, her countenance would straighten with another deep breath, and she would hold the glass in her hands a moment before raising it to his. Seems there's still a bit more for her to say.

    "... I would, if you allow me to, clarify a final thing before we allow this conversation to pass with the churning tides of that thing we chronomancers seek to control. May I?" She would look to him for a response and wait for one, only continuing once she has been given clear indication that she should be allowed to do so. Then, though: "... what I seek is more than just the world itself. Do you recall my saying that the full ramifications of my aspirations could only be understood by a mind removed from ours? ... well. The point of all this is, the development of a -new mind- would be equally integral to the success of my plan. The creation of something not human -- a consciousness that thrives on something that at its core-est elements is made of different stuff from ours. It is a mind that could only be born in the world of which I speak. And because it will have been born there, it will be different."

    "What I mean to say is," She continues, "I recognize that this world of mine would make people feel... unchallenged. I know that the world itself would be as a stagnant pool, where the dredges of the biological pyramid would birth and fester, and where all our creativity and wilfulness would waste away. But consider you a moment the condition of so many stories told throughout time. Consider the children's fairytales where the people within those stories, even they are so obviously rote and devoid of any struggle, are able to be completely satisfied in and of themselves. I would create a mind like theirs that could feel that satisfaction in the world I create. I would fashion a mind that could derive of its experiences in Wonderland the very same complexity that we do here with our suffering. I would change the nature of the world, that things other than pain might inspire creativity."

    She would look to Faruja very seriously a moment. "We are flawed, Faruja, because our worlds are flawed. Our worlds are built on systems wherein the only way one may live is in the consumption of other life. I question the rightness of these machinations, and would seek to correct them by rending the soul of its mortal cage. Likewise, freedom from this cage would introduce a new malleability where the mind may perceive its world differently. But essentially, I ask this: why must repeated exposure to sameness inspire boredom? Why must one's favorite song inevitably lose its luster if one is wont to listen to it continuously? And why, most of all, must all things lose the gleam of beauty that they have when we are young and innocent? Why can that magnificence be more lasting?"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    "I -recognize- that this reality drives us to seek new heights. I have also gone so far as to author a book with the title 'The Wisdom of Suffering'. I know very well what you speak of, but I still degree with the necessity of pain. I disagree with it, because I would craft a new mind that lacks a need for pain to grow." After another, deep breath, she exhales, allowing some of the tension in her shoulders to release. "I... I hope that I may be better understood now. I do -not- intend to build a world like that which you saw in that book. I mean to make a world far more cohesive and far more reasoned than that. It will not be that frail. It will not depend on deception, but on the purest understanding of one another by all those who live in this place. That," She would lay her hand down on the table Faruja has conjured with some force, tempered though it may be, "is my Heaven. There can be no other."

    And after that? Her heated expression would abate. Her smile would return, and she would lift that glass to the air. "To friendship," She would say, "and to the flames that fuel our eternal disagreement. Though it is antithetical to everything I have yet spoken of, and though I never thought I would breathe the words, I am almost glad to have a 'rival'. May we always measure eachother's zealotry, and may we ever be the wind in eachother's sails when we must." She would gingerly hit her glass against his. "Cheers, Faruja. My friend. My... my dear, dear friend."

    And then she drinks.