Scene #9020: The Helix King

Owner	Pose
Einar	TEPPELIN, ZORA Lilian Rook requested an audience with the Spiral King, a request that was accepted and routed through the flying fortress of Cathedral Luna, the personal flagship of Divine General Einar. This vessel, previously visited, takes the form of a multi-walled fortress-city situated atop a flying island; one exterior wall separates refugee processing and housing from long-term and guest housing, while the next interior wall separates out Little Teppelin, the city from which the Divine General conducts his work. It is, as-is known seemingly only to Lilian Rook, the only place in this world that is completely safe from an extremely unstable fabric that could see this universe torn apart at the seams with a few more solid pushes. It is at a warpgate -- along the same island that the world of Zora was visited previously -- that Cathedral Luna receives its guests. The numerous gardens and their unending edibles are open to you, and some amount of restricted access is permitted to Little Teppelin in the center. It is shortly after departure that a red-and-black rip in the sky engulfs Cathedral Luna; deep within its halls a spiral-shaped engine spins up, eerie red light emanating from beneath the heart-chamber in which the Divine General and Princess of Teppelin could be found, were they entertaining and not working at that particular moment. The change of location becomes apparent an instant later-- though it would take looking out an exterior port to be certain of it. The true city of Teppelin is Russia. Not a particular city within Russia as might be understood in a 21st-century world, but the whole of Russia. It sprawls out onto the horizon, a glittering metropolis of buildings with subtly-concealed faces and seams that would permit them to unfold, stand up in humanoid shape, and relocate if the need were there. There is a central spire rising up, up, up towards the clouds, not quite an orbital elevator but just shy of the same, towards which Cathedral Luna drifts. Lilian: Your premonitions continue to come. If you were to pick a third place in this universe that seemed safe, that spire and its surroundings would be it. It is not protected in the manner that Cathedral Luna or the distant jewel of the Giants of Light are. Rather, there is a being here that could hold back any tide, for a little while. If the whole world began to unravel and the biology-incompatible physics that asserted themselves in the wake of that calamity were to come rushing mercilessly towards you, standing in the shadow of the Spiral King would buy you time. You are equally sure that that is a fact which this world has relied on more than once. It is only recently that the final redoubt was more than this one individual. Cathedral Luna settles into a docking position with the central spire near its middle -- where it is broadest, like the wide point of a spinning top. It is only then -- along the outer edge of Cathedral Luna where a bridge has been extended to a receiving arm -- that Divine General Einar rejoins you among the group, accompanied by Princess Nia. The one leading the way isn't the General, though-- he's hovering at Nia's side with a tea tray full of miscellaneous drinks and snacks that have all been nibbled at. They don't have a consistent flavor profile-- there's a lot of sour stuff there, a few sweet, some savory. Some actual tea, some juice, a large water. The towering knight has certainly been fussing over the Princess for whatever reason. "I feel I ought to warn you that there will be little by way of ceremony. His Highness is an unusual ruler," Divine General Einar rumbles, gesturing with his empty, gauntleted hand as he does so. "In fact, if you are wearing layers that are uncomfortable for you--" Unlikely. It's cool enough, even indoors here. "I would suggest that you relieve yourself of them before we go." Everyone is given a moment to adjust their appearance as they will.
Einar	The mooring area leads in to a long, broad sloping stair that spirals a short while upwards along the exterior of the spire -- interior-facing doors line the stair at regular intervals, and broad exterior windows look out on the city below; there are few grand structures like this one, though four smaller spires of greater stature than is normal stand each in a cardinal direction -- before emerging into a broad, circular chamber. The throne room is surprisingly bare, with white floors and ceilings, and windows ringing the room. The seat itself is not elevated but there is a curiously-shaped separator that surrounds the man, forming a dark ring around him that also characterizes the floor. Those with some amount of mechanical experience who have previously observed the gunmen mecha that characterize the Empire's forces will realize that the 'throne' is an open cockpit that happens to have no clear control apparati. The polymorphic metal of which gunmen are composed would be well-suited to 'growing' up over the pilot. Lord Genome himself is ten feet tall, dark-skinned, and bald with a dark beard flecked faintly with unusual colors that are the only hint he's related to Nia. He is dressed only in a white poncho and simple cloth pants. Even with the poncho in the way it's not hard to tell that he's built like a piece of industrial equipment, and his one visible hand -- rested against the dark edge of the "throne" -- is big enough to envelop an ordinary human's head and then some. His eyes are closed, and he breathes slowly. There are beastmen scattered around the room, and a couple of human women with them. No bodyguards are evidenced among them, and most are reading or working on something on the side. The throne room is not an exciting place to be, on the whole. As visitors enter, Lord Genome opens his eyes. His pupils are dark, but the whites of his eyes are interrupted by a series of dark rings. He regards the group only for a few steps before he shuts his eyes again. This seems to be what Einar meant by an absence of ceremony-- the king himself is not even dressed, and neither introductions or greetings are exchanged. He is the type who will hear you, but he won't engage you pointlessly, either. This isn't an honor, and he won't make it feel like it is one.
Lilian Rook	The outskirts of the Cathedral Luna were a lot to take in the very first time. Lilian had spent the bulk of the visit gracefully staggering from wonder to wonder, narrowly dodging voicing her most nonsense thoughts, and generally trying to present a more serious front to the new Chevalier joining the Paladins-- a clearly big deal of one-- than the various rabble gawking and falling over themselves. She was fairly sure this time, as a second visit, would have her braced and ready to engage with the local representatives on comfortable terms. Even if she had somehow lucked into meeting with the throne, she is prepared to escalate her expectations along the axis of wealth and power, and should be spending all of her time making a strong shower rather than trying to process. She is wrong. The Cathedral Luna taking off is something she can handle; she was already aware that it was a ship of some sort, no matter how boggling the scale of it is. The red-out of the sky is something that reads intuitively hostile to her, given it can only mean one thing. She gets halfway to arming herself, verging only on sheerest caution, before it stops. And then she has to deal with Teppelin itself. She murmurs to herself, "I suppose this must be where every single solitary bit of luck of good sense went from The City." . . . . . . 'I feel I ought to warn you that there will be little by way of ceremony. His Highness is an unusual ruler' "I feel as thought I've been told that more often than not, but upon reflection, I can't actually name a time." Lilian says. "It's hardly any trouble to have ceremony to stand on, you know. If anything, it keeps the lines clear and the exchange consistent." She only looks a touch uneasy afterwards. "But I suppose I won't complain; I can't imagine any ordinary ruler being able to look after all of this." That isn't the reason. 'In fact, if you are wearing layers that are uncomfortable for you, I would suggest that you relieve yourself of them before we go.' "Um." Lilian looks down at herself, attempts to take some sort of completely inscrutable hint, and hesitantly removes her fancy jacket. And then the premonitions are one thing, hair-raising as they are, but the Spiral King is another. Standing in that spartan throne room tells Lilian plenty enough without knowing a thing about gunmen. The electric thrill of standing in a king's chamber without guards or soldiers passes through her in one solid wave, and then the imp of the perverse is rebuked. The casual state of his undress backfills critical information for her. His sheer size raises thirty questions and answers two. The silence bothers her. The Spiral King's disinterest does, to a greater, sideways extent. Standing in a white room before a towering authority who seems to barely tolerate looking at her raises her tension for reasons various. But when she reaches for what she'd planned to say on this half-baked overreach of an occasion, Lilian's metaphorical hands grasp at the wrong place, and what comes back down on her is --whole world began to unravel and the biology-incompatible physics that-- something she has no business thinking here at all. What comes from her mouth, in a voice that is more her own than hers, is too quick to hold back. "Why save them? They did this, didn't they? I couldn't ask that . . . that 'light', but you're human. So why?" "This is their fault. Don't you hate them?"
Kale Hearthward	Kale joins Lilian's retinue. He doesn't have pressing questions for the Spiral King - not out of incuriosity, but honestly because all of the questions he has or has had could be answered or had been answered already, through other channels that don't involve bugging the person at the top. Asking Divine General Einar, or whatever ambassadors got sent to the Commonwealth, or just going out and seeing the Empire with his own two eyes. Besides, the man at the top has to be incredibly constantly busy, right? That's been Kale's experience. So the Spiral King sitting there listlessly turns out to be a bit of a culture shock. Kale fights hard to keep his expression neutral, and largely succeeds. Little by way of ceremony, indeed... "... I feel like the ice cream social we got was more ceremonious than this," he whispers, just out of the sheer need to say something, and then regrets that he gave into the impulse. Anyway. It's time for whatever question Lilian has that's important enough to take it right to the top... Whatever it is, Kale's eager to hear it, and hear whatever answer is forthcoming. > Why save them? Kale doesn't have quite as much success keeping his expression neutral, this time.
James Bond	Previously... Bond peruses through a stack of paper reports, laid one overtop the other in a manila bed. At the opposite end of the conference room, a Paladins analyst gives a presentation. Every so often, blue eyes flick upwards fromk lines of neatly ordered print. I. FOUNDATION: DISAPPEARANCE OF THE EARTH FEDERATION a. GENOME TAKES POWER b. BIRTH OF SPIRAL EMPIRE The presentation moves from 'background information' to 'present day.' An eyebrow arches. He raises a hand. "Yes, Chevalier Bond?" "We're talking about thousands of years of history. You're certain it's the same Genome?" "As certain as we can be. Now, if you'll review the figures on page twelve..." II. ECONOMY a. EXPORTS/IMPORTS III. IDEOLOGY a. THE 'CAPITOL TERRITORY' --- Now... Bond arrives through the warpgate by way of his usual 'company car,' the black Aston Martin V8 Vantage. ID and other credentials are on hand and presented with an air of consummate, rote professionalism. For meeting heads of state, he's chosen a sensible navy windowpane suit, pure wool, with a navy check design, notched lapels, a chest pocket and a single vented hem, alongside a matching necktie and white business shirt. Personalized cufflinks bearing his initials in polished lapis lazuli complement the suit and tie, while a pair of black calf leather shoes completes the ensemble. The Aston is only the prelude to a longer voyage--the one that takes the flying fortress to its rendezvous with the spire which pierces the heavens. "Princess," Bond greets cordially. "General," he adds. Each of them gets a respectful inclination of his head. "I'm Chevalier Bond, with the Paladins. It's a pleasure to meet you both." If anything, it keeps the lines clear and the exchange consistent. Bond nods, in a wordless gesture of approval and agreement. In fact, if you are wearing layers that are uncomfortable for you--I would suggest that you relieve yourself of them before we go. Bond straightens his tie. Immediately, upon entry into the throne room, he's taken by the austerity of the place. It's bare--even the throne is level with the rest of the ground. The way Genome's massive hand rests upon it, he could imagine it's as much a control apparatus as it is a figurative seat of power. Maybe it even is one--taken out of the mechanized armor the Empire uses, or the progenitor thereof. This is their fault. Don't you hate them? Bond glances over at Lilian. His eyes ask what his mouth doesn't. Do you? Bond clears his throat. "I understand there's a... disparity in the enforcement of technological advancement, between the capitol area and the rest of the Empire. Why is that?"
Ein	The last time the Cathedral Luna had been deployed, the situation had both been more frivolous and more fraught. The surrounds of an island that had been inflicted with bleak castles and portraitframe ruin, and the subject of sweet treats and diplomatic smiles. The atmosphere then had the social air be a little seeking, a little restrained - fainted for practice, present for preparation. People meeting and being met, leaders leading and being led. First impressions, cast as dice, cast in metals. If the first impression of the Spiral Empire, and that of the Spiral Empire outward to the Multiverse as a whole was one of considered restraint, this second motion was of a different sort than the diplomatic roll-out that had sprawled across beach and garden-walk. It was not the trees of the garden or the fruits of the field that was to be seen. The spatial distortion - an envelope of red that seams open with a minimum of effort, surgical as a slice, the opening outside and a vacuum relief of everything, everywhere, no-thing all at once. As the pinch seal of the teardrop containing the Cathedral is closed, and nonexistance is complete -- the envelope opens again, yawning red that shifts in hue down from brightest red to a kind of fainted neon green, and then -- cloudcover, starfields, gravity, the pressure of every-thing all at once. The Cathedral Luna's arrival over Teppelin - the City - is as a beautiful jewel returning to the center seat of a crown, like to like. No beach gives way to polymorphic expanse - as above it is below, glittering metal interspersed and interleaved with vibrant natural green. Gardens and blooming life of all kinds, hang and sprawl from public gardens and walks and congresses between mecha-buildings. The very lines of the Teppelin seem to gather and soften light around a bright expanse of the gleaming metropolis. This audience is calmed in its circumstance even before arrival, though, the months between first appearance and second coinciding in some false starts and skirmishes without pinning down the Dull-Eyed Man and the Cathedral Luna operating in a touring schedule for a time before it took on Multiversal supplies and looped back around to its home port. Disembarkment happens alongside a great migration of boxes and crates and shipping-supplies borne by a mix of physical labor and light gunmen use. Trucks with faces and trolleys with grins merrily move items to the great land of Teppelin. Princess Teppelin joins the group on their arrival, leaves shortly before departure, and then is not part of the group when they approach the throne. Einar, alone from general-and-princess pair, guide the group to the throne. It is not until the audience proper that the Princess Teppelin appears, herself dressed in a light white mantle over a pale purple wrap top, backless but for her floating cloud of hair that keeps tight to her in her slight movements. And 'appear' is operative - she is not there, and then she is, carrying a large silver tray heaped with exotic fruits that all who had passed through the Cathedral would have seen fruiting among the outer gardens - examples of the latest or most novel treats and fruits produced from the wandering castle in the sky. But a question is posed, and this meeting is not hung upon circumstance. Nia looks, turns from the enormous man whom she is completely dwarfed by and the silver plate that takes up most of Nia's wingspan but to the Lordgenome would be one 'generous' handful at most and place a cross-marked eye on Lilian.
Ein	"If you could have asked that light, you might know already." Nia zu Teppelin answers, her voice just a little soft in the vastly austere throne room, empty of circumstance, and full of its ruler above all else. Nia turns back to her father in offering, though when he is complete, she shifts to bring the bounty next to everyone else - including Einar. A rainbow of fruits with strange shapes and flavors ranging from refreshingly cucumber with a sour crunch, to brightly sweet with a doughy-bready softness, and every kind of tropically bright and vibrantly fruity flavor. More of her words are withheld behind the veil of not jumping ahead of Genome for the answer they had all come to call for.
Einar	"It simply isn't in his nature, Dame Commander," Einar explains, and though his face is concealed by his helmet, his voice betrays a smile. "If you were meeting any of the other Divine Generals, some amount of ceremony would be called for. His Highness is many years beyond having the attention for it. You will understand, I think. His response to Bond is a little more amused. Einar exchanges greetings and titles -- not rote, but probably not far off, either, in a practiced manner that mirrors Bond's rather closely -- and adds, "I hope that you will find Teppelin to be comfortable." Lord Genome opens his eyes when he is addressed, gazing down on Lilian with an expression only minutely changed. He breathes in more deeply, his outward presentation shifting from barely-not-asleep to something more... awake. Spun up. It will strike anyone who is watching him that he was not disinterested. There was little by way of active decision-making going into the momentary attention and the following lapse thereof. He is actually simply tired in a way that is reflected in no clear element of his physiology. "I could name thousands who warranted my hatred and despair," Lord Genome speaks, his voice a deep rumble that covers the room with ease. "But they have who received it, are gone. The names are no longer of any import, their designs less than a memory. Not one in one hundred thousand could tell you who Nanai Miguel was, or why she deserved to perish alongside Zoltan Akkanen-- and not one in fifty thousand could tell you who he was, either. The infractions of humanity have gone, and come, and gone again." A tiny spark of attention rises, his consciousness bubbling visibly farther back to the surface. His concealed hand shifts to rest against the edge of the mecha-head in which he sits, a single enormous finger tapping a slow rhythm against presently-solidified liquid metal. Although there is a familiar quality to his voice, it is not the same one that Lilian heard. There is a shared spirit... and more. Both the mysterious voice and this man have been stretched dreadfully, grotesquely thin. Lilian: A Giant of Darkness stands assembled among dozens of other shadows, on the palm of a colossal claw-like vessel. At its center there is a device of brilliant emerald green. This object is the most dangerous thing in the universe. A multitude of giants of light stand before the Giant of Darkness and his shadows. Among them is a light too similar by degrees to the giant of darkness-- ominous, difficult to trust at a glance. But when the brilliant green device goes off and bursts the seams of the universe it is a single-horned of sunlight-absorbing polyalloy and combining red-and-green light that spirals together into yellow streamers and stretches himself out into infinity. A living stitch that winds itself through the unraveling fabric of everything and pulls it back together. Herakles taking the burden of the sky on his shoulders. For a while. Lord Genome is not the presence that whispered to you, and remains too weak and thin to answer. But he is the one who rose from his throne and took the world on his shoulders for long enough-- and it cost him. He is not sitting here in this sort of silence because he is well. He was spent. Is spent. If he had to rise in defiance again he could, and would-- but he would not be so steady as he was then. Twenty four years, and he is still tired. "My works will not be undone by the destructive envy of Ultraman Belial," he concludes.
Einar	"Things were busy that week, or I would have made it a little more formal. Dressing up is fun, at times," Einar asides to Kale, quietly enough not to get in the way of the ongoing explanation. Given that he has worn powered armor, however-- he might only just wear a different set, or put a cape on it, or something. Actually, wasn't he wearing one before? He's not this time... did he dress DOWN for this? Lord Genome does not turn his head, but his eyes slide from Lilian to Bond. "Guilt," he explains. Divine General Einar elaborates, "The Capitol is made up of self-exiles from the Federation era. They were affiliated with the early Spiral Empire, but developed a religious practice surrounding the careful moderation of scientific examination and progress. It's a problem, because they apply it to things that have nothing to do with what caused the problems to begin with. The imperial core isn't interested in halting progress by that much, but de-escalating the cultural taboos they've erected is a long-term project." Longer term than a single human lifetime, seems to be implied. The movement of Nia draws Lord Genome's gaze more directly. He doesn't seem like the type who is particularly friendly to being fawned over, but he does lift an enormous hand to take something that looks like a cross between a cucumber and a cantaloupe. He holds it length-wise and splits it in two, messily drinking the juice that gushes out until it ceases to do so. It leaves his beard a little bit of a mess, and he wipes away his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he crunches on an entire quarter of the fruit, rind and all, swallowing heavily as he does so. A little more animation seems to seep back into him. "To what Giant of Light have you spoken?" he extrapolates from Nia's comment, his gaze boring back into Lilian. Nearby, Einar takes something that looks like a dramatically oversized blueberry but doesn't eat it because he's wearing a helmet. He does seem to shift to remain in close orbit of Nia though. One of the beastmen on the peripheries of the room slings his tongue across the room and snags a piece of fruit as Nia passes by, waving genially as his tongue and the fruit retracts back to him. A frog-rhino, from the looks of him.
James Bond	Bond takes a colorful fruit with an alien shape, offering a soft 'thank-you' to the Princess. She and Einar alike can see, with effort, that he doesn't find Teppelin comfortable. He hides it well, but not perfectly. His politeness is the kind of strained that one displays when keenly aware of social custom. He should find it comfortable, he feels; and that makes it mildly worse in a way. The discomfort hadn't begun until the throne room. Commenting on the austerity here, on being served food by a princess directly, not by some attendant, would mark him out as the odd one. It's unusual. The infractions of humanity have gone, and come, and gone again. That sentiment, in particular, piques his interest enough to push his mild discomfort to the back of his mind. Guilt. The imperial core isn't interested in halting progress by that much, but de-escalating the cultural taboos they've erected is a long-term project. "Guilt is a powerful motivator. At times, even a productive force. It can also be... difficult to see past. Instilling that particular sort of cultural shift isn't my forte. I wish you the best of luck in dealing with it." A thoughtful frown, between chaste, measured bites of fruit. "I studied your history," he says. "I know the broad strokes of the transition from the remnants of the Federation to the Empire as it is today. Reading about it is one thing--looking at it is quite another." "Obviously, you had enemies. You don't... establish an empire at all, much less one with aims like yours, without making them." Another pause, another measured bite. "The oldest person with even remotely similar aims and any degree of success from my world is... sixty-one, as of about four days ago. He's survived God knows how many assassination attempts, but even he should probably only live to be eighty or ninety or so, at the oldest." "I don't imagine the attempts would have slowed down for you, until you started to outlive anyone who'd bother sending someone. How did you manage?"
Lilian Rook	Lilian exchanges glances with Bond, and the thought communicated in the silence between them, carried only in the meeting of her eyes with his, says enough. §Haven't you been listening?§ 'If you could have asked that light, you might know already.' "My apologies, but I understood that it could only spare its attention for a moment." Lilian says, stiffly. "I haven't the benefit of so much context." 'The infractions of humanity have gone, and come, and gone again.' Lilian almost seems surprised that she received an answer at all. The weight of the king's apathy-- no, she's starting to grasp the shape of it better; the outline of the immensity of his exhaustion-- had already filled the space after her asking so thoroughly that the embarrasment of asking at all had begun to sink in. The coarse and desperate tone she'd used; the leaky-resentful unburdening way of her asking; makes her want to flinch. The answer stuns her with its casual weight, then it disturbs her; slowly, by degrees, sinking in like cold. "That's . . ." A proverb comes to mind, and is discarded. The pithy words of someone else feel too convenient for this, and thus too shallow. "But you didn't. Even if no one remembers them, you do. Everything they ever did is still something you have to carry. Am I wrong?" she says. "If they come and go, over and over and over again, no one ever remembers them, no one ever learns from them, and no one has to bear it but you, how does 'humanity' amount to anything else?" She wants to leave it there. This already feels like a mistake. But Lilian shifts her weight contrapposto, then back again, and then forces out, "Please tell me it gets easier. I want to know that the way you are now is because of something else." 'To what Giant of Light have you spoken?' Lilian hesitates. "Someone holding everything together for no reason at all. I don't know why it was me. But I know they were someone I wanted to help, somehow. If but for a moment."
Kale Hearthward	Oh, more new and strange foods! Kale samples a bit of everything he can, and almost forgets he's in front of one of the most powerful people in - well, definitely this world, possibly all of sector zero, if everything he's been told is to be believed. "Thank you," he says to Nia. "The seeds you and the Divine General provided earlier are doing quite well, I meant to thank you for those." > "The infractions of humanity have gone, and come, and gone again." Kale has to think on that. Written history in his world hasn't been around for very long. His Empire's outlived a few enemies, but has ones that are still older than- - 'His' Empire. He's not part of it anymore. He needs to stop thinking about it that way. He goes over the response mentally again, and realizes something. "Yeah, they are gone..." He has to ask, now that the question is on his mind. "If they weren't. If they were still around, if they were stripped of their potential to cause harm but remorseless for their past actions... Would you still save them?" >"Please tell me it gets easier." This gets another look from Kale. And this time a question along with it. A short one. "Do you think you're him?" he asks Lilian.
Lilian Rook	'Do you think you're him?" he asks Lilian.' Lilian stares at Kale in the way he'd least like to be stared at. She looks at Genome, then back, with slow and deliberate emphasis. "Did you suffer a head injury recently, Chevalier Hearthward?"
Ein	Princess Teppelin is dressed down as well, wearing a comfortable if 'space princess'-y outfit for the occasion of guests unmarked by particular luxury or jewel. Of course, she herself is exotified from human standard and her retuine is almost exclusively beyond-human, or, Well, it's hard to tell. The Divine General is encased in armor and takes his fruit without revealing any eating feature to continue the mystery. Nia is as warm to Genome's enjoyment of the cucumbermelon as she is when a frog tongue reaches across the room and grabs a morselous collection of sweet natural treats off her broad tray, returning the wave with a cheered nod but lacking the ability to escape her wide wingspan'ed tray. James's reaction is not reacted to if it's noticed, the tray of fruit very much brought about to be enjoyed broadly and Nia personally bearing a ritual-of-return she personally enjoyed to commemorate herself. She gives back a quiet 'you're welcome' with pleased-acknowledging tone to his thanks as she moves on. After her orbit of the room to offer out fruit, Einar settles besides her and Nia must move off the broad tray to his steady claw. The Capital Area is brought up, and she has need of her hands to talk for a moment. "The people of the Capital Tower consider the tower to be more than a tether that binds more than heaven and earth together and revere the Photon Battery." As Princess Teppelin speaks, she brings up and presenting both arms, crossing them at the forearms with fingers outstretched. From the bends in elbow and wrist to the cross in her arms it's clear she's signing something that isn't a tower, but a helix. "It's almost the right shape, their SU-Cordism." Nia's smile around her arms, lifted to show so her raised palms frame her face, is brushed with a glaze of exasperation. "Their hopes are in the right place, and they're willing to accept an answer thankfully, but, not all 'people that want an answer' want it for the same reasons." Some people ask God to know so they can finally rest. Others linger in the house of God to see what the offering-basket might buy. Princess Nia zu Teppelin had seen both sides of the parables, and more, letting her hands drop and accepting back claw-gauntlet balanced tray with turn and step and wide-grasp of arms to hold lower and more comfortably. Lilian's response to her observation about the Giant of Light - offering apologies and stifflipped deflections on context's grounds, draws at first a slow considerance of unblinking eyes, and then a brief bow of the head and faint smile. "There is no apology needed. If anything, you really should be commended."
Ein	Nia looks to Einar, then bends just a bit at the knees, down, and the elbows, up, and her cheeks, apart into a grin. Like she - or someone close - had won a prize. "Isn't that right? Because, she asked the next best person." Back to the Paladins contingent, Lilian centered, Princess Teppelin moves back her expression, General-warmed but falling back to serenity as metal might warm and cool from palm-warmth. "'I must help, if only for a moment.' is a powerful urge, Chevalier. I'm quite interested you know it," Bond and Lilian and Kale, in no particular order, equally understand the tone and syllabic lingering on 'interesting' is almost strictly the good sort. "strongly enough to ask the right questions." 'Do you think that you're him?' hangs in the air. "A long time ago, my father started a long journey towards hope by asking questions. I would hope to be like him, too." The princess laughs gently. "But I have Einar to remember to answer for me. He's very good at remembering."
Einar	//Guilt is a powerful motivator.// Lord Genome surveys James Bond silently. He understands, but does not answer. This is deliberate, and unconcealed. //I don't imagine the attempts would have slowed down for you, until you started to outlive anyone who'd bother sending someone. How did you manage?// He rests his cutaloupe on the edge of his cockpit-throne, and from within the flesh plucks a seed. Still dripping with the sugared, watery juices of the fruit, he flicks it out into the middle of the throne room and gestures to it-- as if asking for it to 'come here'. The spirals in his eyes turn a distinct, visible green as the seed sprouts in fast-forward into a full and healthy cutaloupe tree. Comically enormous, ripe fruits hang from branches that moments ago were not a wisp of thought in anyone's mind. The Helix King finishes his remaining fruit in two hearty bites, then reaches up and seizes one of the new fruits from among the leaves, biting it in half as he reclines in his seat. The coloration of his eyes shifts from green to red, the tree cycling through the wholeness of its lifespan and withering away within a few moments. For a few bare instants his eyes have a yellow tint, before they return to their original dark coloration. No verbal response is given. It is not until Lilian presses the issue in a very particular way that Lord Genome seems to grasp the specific shape of her problem. He inhales deeply and closes his eyes, weariness creeping back in. "Outside of those windows, is the city of Teppelin. When I was young, the buildings were small, and crude, and broken. Beastman did not exist, and at times even men had to scrounge for their next meals. That was a world... which I always hoped to extinguish. The beast-folk I made because I often felt alone among other humans, and the fruits and animals that now populate this world I made so that the hungry nights of my childhood would greet no other soul that trailed my footsteps. There was a hero, some while before my time, who watched over the Earth and its people long before they had a means to contend with the predators that sailed from all the stars in the sky." Again, his eyes open. "Ultraman. The Giant of Light. He had left Earth long before my birth, and I set off into the stars in search of other Giants," he stops there, surveying Lilian. His gaze slides from Lilian, to Nia, and back again. Lord Genome is tired, but he isn't hopeless. He doesn't know how to convey this, though. What few figures were large enough in his life to force him to see a therapist are long gone. He slides off of the topic, "You spoke to Ultraman King. The eldest of the Giants of Light. When he came to me, in that final hour, and relieved me of my burden, all he said was that it could not be helped. That is how the Giants of Light are." But it isn't quite how he is-- and he regrets that, a little. //If they were still around, if they were stripped of their potential to cause harm but remorseless for their past actions... Would you still save them?// "Had I thought that I could save them, I would not have killed them," says the Spiral King. It seems he has an easier time bluntly stating that he just killed everyone causing problems than talking about whatever guilt he feels about it. Einar accepts the tray from Nia for the few moments she needs, though he has so far seemed disinclined to interject on... almost any of this, so far. "That is so," he says, "there is no one else on Zora with as much personal contact with the Giants of Light."
Kale Hearthward	> "Had I thought that I could save them, I would not have killed them." Kale takes this at face value and doesn't feel the need to comment or ask further about it. > "Did you suffer a head injury recently, Chevalier Hearthward?" The stare makes Kale flinch. He presses forward anyway. "Do you think, that'll be you, in however many years?" he explains. "Decades, centuries, whatever." "I don't have a lot to ask him," he says, putting voice to his thoughts earlier. "Not that I can't ask the Divine General, or the Princess, or a hundred others. You had things you wanted to ask, and ask him specifically. I thought, it must be something of great import. Something world-shattering - no, world-defining." "And you asked him... about forgiveness and hate and guilt and if things get easier. Things personal to his situation." "It's nice to know more about the Spiral King's struggles and feelings, but everyone's made it no secret that anyone's empathy towards him is largely below his concern. That wasn't it. This isn't about filling in historical accounts or making gestures of diplomacy. This was about, is Dame Commander Lilian Rook going to look out over whatever people have done unspeakable unforgivable things, and be able to find it in her heart to save them?" "That's what I mean. Do you think you're him. Do you think your aspirations - whether they're internal or what the world's forcing upon you - are such that the person you're looking to for life advice is on lived or about-to-be-lived experiences is, as I understand it..." He gestures back at the Spiral King. "... essentially, for lack of a better descriptor, god?" "I'm not trying to poke fun or chastise you. Honestly if you can tell me, with a straight face, that you think you're on that path, then I'd believe it. But I want to know."
Lilian Rook	'There is no apology needed. If anything, you really should be commended.' "I wouldn't necessarily go that far." Lilian says, a little less forced-neutrally. "I'm only reciprocating the interest . . . perhaps the 'faith' shown in me?" she says, then pauses. "I just couldn't imagine experiencing that and not saying anything. If someone like that saw fit to notice me, then I couldn't go wandering off in disinterest." 'Outside of those windows, is the city of Teppelin. When I was young, the buildings were small, and crude, and broken. Beastman did not exist, and at times even men had to scrounge for their next meals. That was a world... which I always hoped to extinguish.' Lilian is seldom the type to interject when someone is telling her what she asked, but the quiet that comes over her when Lord Genome begins speaking is Different. The way she looks at him somehow aches. She clutches at her upper arm and squeezes; subtly, but without knowing why. Something in his countenance pulls at something in her that has stiffened and atrophied to the point of feeling painful to use. 'You spoke to Ultraman King. The eldest of the Giants of Light. When he came to me, in that final hour, and relieved me of my burden, all he said was that it could not be helped. That is how the Giants of Light are.' "And it isn't how humans are meant to be. That kind of nature is . . . trying to inherit that sort of wish . . ." Lilian thinks of someone very specific, makes a quietly strained noise, and falls silent. 'Had I thought that I could save them, I would not have killed them' "I see." It wasn't an answer to her question, but it answers one all the same. "I'm relieved. That it's for you, for him, then I'd understand. If it were for them, I'd wonder if you were mad." 'there is no one else on Zora with as much personal contact with the Giants of Light.' "I'll admit that part of my pushing was that I saw nothing to lose, and there was much to gain by leading by example." Lilian says to Einar. "I had no intent to scrape and bow and earn my way up to an audience in the first place; assuming someone is too important to speak to me just isn't my style." Her finger taps against her upper arm, less clenched in their fold. Now she just feels chilly without her jacket. "I don't quite know what to say to you. The . . . premonitions, I've been getting-- perhaps 'moments of clarity'-- since coming here, have been frequent and intense. Vividly informative in a way that they usually aren't." Realizing she's speaking on something vague, Lilian elaborates only a little. "I don't usually see anything that has nothing to do with me." 'Do you think, that'll be you, in however many years?" he explains. "Decades, centuries, whatever.' The urge to blow Kale off rises and falls. The gears turn behind Lilian's eyes, the words to dismiss him as an intellectual invalid form at the back of her tongue, and dissolve. "Don't get your hopes up. If it's a matter of decades, I'll manage as I always have. Better, actually. With more practice. But if we're speaking of centuries . . ." Something about the occasion-- about standing in the presence of the Spiral King's malaise-- prickles an unwilling sort of honesty out of her. Lilian sighs, and the touch-and-go quality of smoky un-tension creeps back in.
Lilian Rook	"No. Never 'like that'." says Lilian. "I don't love them enough, nor do I pity them. No one would entrust anything so grand to me. If saving them can't make me into what I want to be, then there's no use clinging to humanity at all. I don't want to be a hero more than I want my turn. I'd give up and quit being human first." 'Do you think your aspirations - whether they're internal or what the world's forcing upon you - are such that the person you're looking to for life advice is on lived or about-to-be-lived experiences is, as I understand it... essentially, for lack of a better descriptor, god?' "None of this was what I meant to ask anyways. Don't think that I planned it." says Lilian. "But some days, I feel a little like god."
Kale Hearthward	Kale can't read Lilian's mind. He does try to read Lilian's face, as much as he can manage, the years they've been working together providing some much needed grease to the rusty machinery of his mirror neurons. 'This is a level of an answer I wouldn't normally get out of her', is what he comes away with. > If saving them can't make me into what I want to be, then there's no use clinging to humanity at all. I don't want to be a hero more than I want my turn. I'd give up and quit being human first. Kale gives this serious consideration. "Honestly..." "... I don't blame you." "But I also think a Lilian Rook not bound by her definition of humanity? Is something I hope I never get to see." He almost adds 'again'. "However I can try to keep that from happening, you have my full support. Or my promise that I'll die trying to stop you." He turns back to focus on the Spiral King. > None of this was what I meant to ask anyways. Don't think that I planned it. Oh, okay. This makes sense. > But some days, I feel a little like god. Oh, okay. This also makes sense.
James Bond	Their hopes are in the right place, and they're willing to accept an answer thankfully, but, not all 'people that want an answer' want it for the same reasons. "I wouldn't know much about looking for that sort of answer," Bond says. "I don't tend to look towards anything larger than 'people' or what they've built for any of my own." Asked and answered Bond watches Genome's display quietly. The withering--command over death--hadn't surprised him nearly so much as the command over life. More than that, it's command over abundance. Past a certain point, past the audacity imagined by fiction, past daydreams of attacks in broad daylight, past the quaint, imagined and mostly-false innocence of bygone eras, any would-be assassin is ultimately let in. Snipers perched in darkened hotel rooms, supporters with knives up the sleeves, new additions to the culinary staff and members of the crowd with palm pistols, be it by negligence or overt permission, are all allowed in. Lord Genome has beaten inertia. Difficult, but not impossible. Maybe, like vanishingly rare few leaders throughout history, he's beaten apathy, too. That was a world... which I always hoped to extinguish. "That's hard to argue with," Bond says. If saving them can't make me into what I want to be, then there's no use clinging to humanity at all. I don't want to be a hero more than I want my turn. I'd give up and quit being human first. Bond glances sidewards at Lilian, but doesn't speak whatever he's thinking. 'Her turn' for what? I almost think I know. "A name came up, in passing, during my briefing. 'William Will Woo.' 'The Ravine,' they call him. He's supposed to be far less restrained with that gift than you are," he says, nodding towards Lord Genome. "Or your people." "What's so important to him that he'd sprint straight towards it?"
Einar	Lord Genome turns his head slightly towards Kale, but he says nothing. It's long before he's described as a god that he has visibly checked out, his interest in the exchange waning to a low point that causes his eyes to droop faintly. The topic of Ultraman King draws him back up into attention though, and he says, "It is unlikely that anyone has spoken to him in the last twenty four years. Many attempts have been made by the Giants of Light to establish contact, but none have succeeded. A particular peculiarity of their physiology is the ability to 'possess' a life form that is biologically deceased or badly injured, and to form a symbiotic co-habitation of the self in which they mend the host's body. Humans... there have been more humans who have been merged with a Giant of Light than any other species. An unlikely circumstance. It is, I think, the opposite. Humans are uniquely suited to being Giants of Light." "Ultraman King is not merged with an individual. He is merged with the universe. Holding it together. Healing it. But even for a presence such as him, it is an extraordinary thinning of existence," he explains. //If it were for them, I'd wonder if you were mad.// "A little." It may be a joke. It's probably not. A person probably can't be what Lord Genome is without losing something along the way, at least a little. It doesn't seem to have been anything fundamental that was lost, though. Probably just certain perspectives that don't apply to him anymore-- things that Lilian herself would just regard as a normality, within the scope of expanded ability.
Einar	//I'll admit that part of my pushing was that I saw nothing to lose, and there was much to gain by leading by example.// "You seemed purposeful. His Highness handles purposeful well. I thought that there was a... compatibility," Einar admits, with a loose gesture of his left hand. "But it has also been a long time since I felt bound by ceremony, either. Coming before His Highness has been a... relaxed... interaction for me for some time. It probably helps that I am usually interested in learning something." Implicitly, that means that Lord Genome responds well to the opportunity to teach things. That probably explains a little bit of his openness here. As well as the general atmosphere of the throne room. It's not really a throne room, exactly. It's an old man's workshop where he happens to have put down a recliner.
Einar	//I don't want to be a hero more than I want my turn. I'd give up and quit being human first.// Lord Genome sits up in his chair at that. A low, thoughtful rumble rolls off of him. "There is a planet," he says, "on the very edges of what humanity considered to be its stellar neighborhood. Planet O-50. On that planet is a mountain, where it is said that a great Presence of Light lingers, and tests those who come to it. Those who pass the Presence's test, become new Giants of Light. When I was a young man, long after I extinguished the hunger of the city before Teppelin, I journeyed to this planet in search of that test. I climbed the mountain, and I stood in the Presence, and I asked to become like my heroes." "It said no. It said that my mind contained power equal to what it might grant, had I the inclination to seek a teacher and develop it. I was angry, and for a short time I understood the envy of Ultraman Belial, who nearly brought ruin to the Giants of Light. I roamed O-50 until my anger left me, and I found myself not longer after in a most wondrous place. Capsules the size of bullets into which intergalactic beasts had been imprisoned, blades that could condense photons into your blood and turn you into a giant for a short while, and many other wonders. I stayed there for some time, long enough that the owner returned. He was astounded that I took nothing from him," he continues his tale, the corners of his lips quirking faintly upwards. "There I spent a thousand years apprenticed to Ultraman Hikari... before I was called back home." The ghost of a smile slips from his features quite abruptly. He was not called back home for anything good. "You require Generals," Lord Genome concludes, without elaboration. //That's hard to argue with.// Lord Genome rumbles in agreement. He relaxes into his seat, and closes his eyes. "His father destroyed him. The sprint is all that he is." The Helix King inhales deeply, and exhales slowly. "Cathedral Luna can take you to Planet O-50. The being who can help you lives on the equator, in the shadow of the planet's only orbital elevator." That, it seems, is the audience.