pike | nigel's mobile;

[ There's a distance in his voice when he speaks, as if he's thinking of something else when he talks. ]

They can hardly help it, can they? They're barbarians. [ The corner of Nigel's mouth crooks very slightly. As if he's just told some sort of joke. ]

Uneducated, without a doubt.

[She leans so she's almost against his ear when she speaks]

Would you like to be in there?

[ Nigel doesn't have to consider it very long to answer, though his attention turns again towards her. Close enough that his breath is on her face. ]

Too frenetic, too much impulse. And no near enough deliberation for my tastes. I'm afraid I would make a very poor barbarian, Saya. [ He blinks at her slowly. Like a cat eying the canary. ] Would you?

[She doesn't seem to mind.]

I would survive. But you've seen my workspace. I would not like it very much.

[ He would be a hypocrite if it bothered him as well. Nigel had no sense of other's personal space, why should he suddenly have one of his own. ]

You'd prefer something more deliberate?

[Her smile widens]

Yes. Thought out.

[ Silence as he stares at her for a while. He has no illusions to know what she's thinking, though he imagines whatever is happening in that mind of hers, he'd be able to appreciate on some level. ]

Is there something about the mess in particular that you can't stand?

The waste of blood.

[She tilts her head and looks back at the screen]

[ This close, Nigel is both confused and intrigued by the lack of smell to Saya. All people had it, an odor or a scent -- proof of their biological processes usually masked by soap and perfume and deoderant. That she's entirely neutral holds his attention.

He lifts a hand and absently pinches a bit of her hair between his fingertips, studying it the way one might analyze a forensic sample. ]

And what's so important about the blood, Saya?

[It's black and silky and smooth, and perfectly natural. Her hair is not dyed that color.]

If these people can't serve any purpose but to die, they can at least assist the rest of us to live.

I suppose their organs are equally valuable.

[ He doesn't bring himself to smell it, dropping the lock again as he settles back into the chair more naturally, lifting the device again to see who was next upon the slab. ]

How very pragmatic of you. Many would sacrifice practicality for the sake of compassion.

It's not compassion. It's simply practicality. If you're going to die, at least leave something for the people who can use it.

[ There's something in the phrase 'people who can use it' that gets Nigel to smile fleetingly as he flips idly through channels. ]

Tell me. What happens to the dead here?

They come back dead.

[ Hm. Problematic. ]

All of them?

[She thinks of the bodies, cocooned in her sylie upstairs]

No, not all of them.

[ Nigel's perusal of the channels halts, but only for a moment. ]

And how does one tell the difference?

Between who will come back and who won't?

It's a bit of a mystery.

[ Nigel makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat. The dead needed to stay dead or else how could the measure of true sacrifice be made? ]

[One hand goes in his hair]

You dislike it.

[ Again that gets him to turn to look at her, though his expression remains blank this time. He's not looking to protest, just observing this behavior of hers. ]

It disturbs the natural order of things.

And what's the natural order of things?

[Her fingers roll his hair about, confidently]

The dead die for a reason. To rise again, to be given new life, invalidates those reasons. [ His lip curls to form a sneer. ] The dead should stay dead.

Yes. You're right. The dead should stay dead.

[That includes, in Saya's opinion, vampires]

[ The disgust slides off Nigel's face, falling away the way rainwater slicks down a window. He glances back to his device. ]

It loses some of its charm, doesn't it? [ Nigel was not a sadistic person by nature, nor inherently violent. He simply enjoyed the cycles of life and death, the rise and fall of natural selection, observing all the ways that society was flawed and passing judgment on them from his much more lofty and destined station. To know that those that died in the arena would be walking around tomorrow made the exercise seem hollow. ]

Baby doll I recognize, you're a hideous thing inside;

synanthrope - 2010-12-08 18:13 (UTC) - Expand