I understand that. [All of that. That the militia is made up of Karterians (hence his approval of teaching them to defend themselves) and also that the outposts weren't intended to be combat forces.] But... mm. There's no guarantee that that's how things will be perceived. If someone is looking for an excuse to spark conflict—
[He pauses, and shakes his head.] I don't need to tell you this.
[If Set is indeed a god of war, he already knows. Felwinter half wonders if he's counting on it.
Carefully, cautiously, he wraps his fingers round that errant hand, drawing it around so that he can press the seam of his metal mouth against Set's knuckles.]
I had thought to offer myself to train them, but I am... not good with people. Especially here, being what I am. You're right, it's difficult.
[ In a way, Set is counting on it, Felwinter isn't wrong about that. In another way, he's hoping it does not come to that — the Augmented are not prepared to go against the restrictions Patho-Gen has embedded within them. There's a fine line to walk between being perceived as allies and being perceived as threats, and his pride is on the line as a god of war — wielder of might and strategy both. ]
My efforts are not designed to be palatable, they are designed to be effective. If I hinged everything on being liked by people, I would get nothing done. Instead, I accept my role as a wicked, difficult thing and I accomplish my goals.
[ There's a mild hurt in his tone, as his posture and voice stiffen. Prideful, resolute. He's known since the day he took on the mantle of war that his was the worst lot, the most hated and reviled of duties — his blade the sharpest, and also the one that choked him with the responsibility of bearing it alone. Felwinter's mouth across his knuckles is — not unwanted, but it is surprising. He startles like a cat that's heard a stray noise, nostrils flaring and eyes widening.
It's difficult. ]
It alienates you, does it not. Before even your Natural Soul, you are who you are — [ Not "what". Appearances rarely cause Set to judge, being that his kin are skies and lands, formless entities and giant forces all alike. ] It is unlike those of flesh and blood. A man of metal. As I am of sand.
[A wicked, difficult thing. Those words twist something in Felwinter's chest, because they're so terribly familiar. A student on his mountain. A lover here, in this world. People who have resigned themselves to never being seen for who they are beneath their challenging personalities.
Not something he expected from Set, oddly enough.]
I happen to be fond of difficult things.
[The kiss (such as it was) against Set's knuckles seems to have been enough of an apology, or enough of a distraction, that his irritation has softened. Felwinter lowers the hand slowly away from his face... but he keeps hold of it, for now.]
People have their own notion of what I am and what role I should play, the citizens of Karteria more than most. They assume I'm as dull as their ServiTrons, and expect me to be subservient. I've found it easier to avoid them.
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[He pauses, and shakes his head.] I don't need to tell you this.
[If Set is indeed a god of war, he already knows. Felwinter half wonders if he's counting on it.
Carefully, cautiously, he wraps his fingers round that errant hand, drawing it around so that he can press the seam of his metal mouth against Set's knuckles.]
I had thought to offer myself to train them, but I am... not good with people. Especially here, being what I am. You're right, it's difficult.
no subject
[ In a way, Set is counting on it, Felwinter isn't wrong about that. In another way, he's hoping it does not come to that — the Augmented are not prepared to go against the restrictions Patho-Gen has embedded within them. There's a fine line to walk between being perceived as allies and being perceived as threats, and his pride is on the line as a god of war — wielder of might and strategy both. ]
My efforts are not designed to be palatable, they are designed to be effective. If I hinged everything on being liked by people, I would get nothing done. Instead, I accept my role as a wicked, difficult thing and I accomplish my goals.
[ There's a mild hurt in his tone, as his posture and voice stiffen. Prideful, resolute. He's known since the day he took on the mantle of war that his was the worst lot, the most hated and reviled of duties — his blade the sharpest, and also the one that choked him with the responsibility of bearing it alone. Felwinter's mouth across his knuckles is — not unwanted, but it is surprising. He startles like a cat that's heard a stray noise, nostrils flaring and eyes widening.
It's difficult. ]
It alienates you, does it not. Before even your Natural Soul, you are who you are — [ Not "what". Appearances rarely cause Set to judge, being that his kin are skies and lands, formless entities and giant forces all alike. ] It is unlike those of flesh and blood. A man of metal. As I am of sand.
no subject
Not something he expected from Set, oddly enough.]
I happen to be fond of difficult things.
[The kiss (such as it was) against Set's knuckles seems to have been enough of an apology, or enough of a distraction, that his irritation has softened. Felwinter lowers the hand slowly away from his face... but he keeps hold of it, for now.]
People have their own notion of what I am and what role I should play, the citizens of Karteria more than most. They assume I'm as dull as their ServiTrons, and expect me to be subservient. I've found it easier to avoid them.