[ despite himself, a smile creeps in; he expected nothing less. ]
Of course... There is no place for regrets. Not this far into it anyway. Regardless of what's been left unsaid and all that we've failed to enjoy during our time of minimal leisure, I suppose, in the promised new world, it's something to make up for, if it's what any of us desires.
[ there's an edge of — something, like he isn't wholly satisfied with the inevitable finale that's to come. what a way to dishonor the parting words of his professor, harboring the little reservations that he does. phainon prefers being a man of his word than a coward, still; he'll feel it, the hopeless wondering, the rise of questions left unattended, the sacrifices his fellow chrysos heirs have made, enduring and suffering all the same, but he'll do what he must as he should and always have. ( even then: he's tired of the farewells, the hollow absence each departure leaves in their wake. if their predecessors are anything to go by: whatever reunion everyone speaks of with optimism, phainon sees an endless parting. )
phainon hadn't realized he was lost in thought — not until he notices a flicker of motion: the serviton attempting to make its way back to mydeimos, moth to a flame sort of thing. he reaches, unhurried, for its mechanical hand, preventing it from floating any closer towards the other man. perhaps the question he once yearned to ask may do the trick; he's been through this song and dance, knows what these little robots want. the answer has long since been drilled into him, however; everybody suggests the same thing, and mydeimos, even more noble, resolve staunch and unfaltering, may reiterate what has already been conveyed several times over.
but, for the sake of ridding mydeimos of this serviton, he'll do him this one solid: ]
... Say, Mydei, what convinced you to rise to divinity? ... The price everyone is expected to pay, it's greater than all of us combined, you know. Even then, what makes this entire journey worth it to you?
no subject
Of course... There is no place for regrets. Not this far into it anyway. Regardless of what's been left unsaid and all that we've failed to enjoy during our time of minimal leisure, I suppose, in the promised new world, it's something to make up for, if it's what any of us desires.
[ there's an edge of — something, like he isn't wholly satisfied with the inevitable finale that's to come. what a way to dishonor the parting words of his professor, harboring the little reservations that he does. phainon prefers being a man of his word than a coward, still; he'll feel it, the hopeless wondering, the rise of questions left unattended, the sacrifices his fellow chrysos heirs have made, enduring and suffering all the same, but he'll do what he must as he should and always have. ( even then: he's tired of the farewells, the hollow absence each departure leaves in their wake. if their predecessors are anything to go by: whatever reunion everyone speaks of with optimism, phainon sees an endless parting. )
phainon hadn't realized he was lost in thought — not until he notices a flicker of motion: the serviton attempting to make its way back to mydeimos, moth to a flame sort of thing. he reaches, unhurried, for its mechanical hand, preventing it from floating any closer towards the other man. perhaps the question he once yearned to ask may do the trick; he's been through this song and dance, knows what these little robots want. the answer has long since been drilled into him, however; everybody suggests the same thing, and mydeimos, even more noble, resolve staunch and unfaltering, may reiterate what has already been conveyed several times over.
but, for the sake of ridding mydeimos of this serviton, he'll do him this one solid: ]
... Say, Mydei, what convinced you to rise to divinity? ... The price everyone is expected to pay, it's greater than all of us combined, you know. Even then, what makes this entire journey worth it to you?