08-12-2015, 05:26 PM
The drama of Eighteen’s return had cinched a tight knot in Sinestro’s gut, frustration and anger surging through him. Every part of the impromptu meeting had gone so well and yet, in the fledgling moments of the organization he so desperately needed to bring peace and order, the cracks had already formed.
It was in that moment that he was vividly reminded that he was without his ring, powerless to bring the clarity that the situation deserved. Eighteen’s display was a snag, a burr that protruded into the fabric of society and tore loose its threads. Her every action was an attempted rebellion against authority, against him. She rebelled against his strength, his power that he held over her. She reacted against it in the only way she knew how: violence.
With a deep breath, he let his fingers unfurl. The cracks would be smoothed, the disinters would be quieted, the chaos would be quelled. Authority would be established over those who would not cooperate, as it had before, as it would be again.
Ganondorf bowed at the waist to the other members of the newly formed group, his hand at his waist and a faint smile on his lips. “It would seem that I have a discussion to attend,” he said, his deep voice thick with gentle sarcasm.
Now only Sinestro and Strazio remained in the dingy diner, the overturned table sitting on the other side of the room, every slack-jawed patron staring at them with worried and emotive expressions. The white mage rolled his eyes and crossed his arms; the heavy mental chains with which he contained his fury were obviously becoming strained.
“Strazio,” the korugaran planted a hand on the man’s shoulder, “I hope you aren’t too worried by that interruption.”
The gruff arcanist shook his head, “I must say that it wasn’t a very good place to start.”
Sinestro rose to his feet and grabbed the lip of the heavy wooden table with both hands. He placed his boot on the protruding legs, and with a grunt he righted it. “Chaos will always be the enemy of order, my friend. There will always be those that seek to destroy what we create, those who attack what we defend.” He offered a smile to his new compatriot, “That we already have people attempting to undermine us is a good sign.”
Strazio rose to his feet and adjusted his clothing, adjusting for some unseen object. “I don’t know why she thought she could just come in here and slap him though, in front of his allies. She couldn’t possibly think she could win. Why do it?”
“In their relationship, she must.” The man lifted his hat from the table and pushed it firmly onto his mussed, dirty hair. “In many ways, it is the same reason that we fight. We show force because force, violence, is the ultimate authority. The ability to control, physically,” he tightened his fist in front of himself, his worn skin creaking against itself under his grip, “that is what it all boils down to. What can you make another person do. The ability to physically control the reality we live in is the authority from which all other authorities are derived.”
Tugging at his cloak, the mage ruffled his snow-white hair and began making his way towards the door. “And she’s trying to assert her authority over him and, in a way, gain her own freedom,” the man deducted.
Sinestro nodded and allowed the man to exit the building first. “Their relationship is a distillation of that truth: they fought the first time they met, and they fight again now. Eighteen’s understanding of that truth is… an interesting one, certainly, but it is not inaccurate. Her ritual of combat and subservience tells us much about the world she used to live in, and how she thinks.” He stepped out into the sweltering heat of the sun, sweat already forming on his brow. “She acts as though the authority that can be derived from violence is inevitable. By bowing her head to those who have proven themselves stronger, she avoids the possibility of struggle, and the despair that those conflicts can bring.”
Strazio scoffed as he began to walk after Ganondorf, who purposefully strode about a block ahead of them. “If she isn’t willing to struggle, to fight, she misses out on the opportunity to win. Fighting you opponent at their best, on their terms, isn’t a good way to ‘control their physical reality.’ There are a million better ways to win a conflict other than a duel.”
Grinning in earnest, the deputy was genuinely happy with the sentiment, “I would tend to agree, but at times even I see the allure of a one-on-one duel. To try proving that you are, unquestionably, their better, is tempting.” Flashes of green and yellow danced in his memories and a sour expression washed over his face, “I don’t suggest it.”
“Is that what this promises to be? Violence, asserting authority over each other? I don’t know if I really want to be a part of that,” Strazio said, his tone calm but firm.
“I understand that concern, my friend,” the alien said as they followed after the red-haired goliath, “but no. For those that do not wish to lock themselves into the eternal struggle of force, authority and violence, there is another option: cooperation. We do not need to show each other force, because there is no cause to do so. I do not wish to hold authority over you, because I do not need to control you. You are intelligent, reasonable, and we share the same goals, trying to force you to do anything would create an antagonistic relationship between us. Struggle, in this case, would only be to both of our downfalls. Instead, cooperation and alliance serves both of us better.”
The man furrowed his brows, apprehensively nodding, “I suppose so, yeah.”
The two men stood at the edge of town, the red mesas towering above the lazy curvature of the dunes. The woman stood, arms crossed over each other, her body huddled inward as she condemned herself to the suffering that she had created. He stood behind her, legs in a wide stance, his hands at his sides. The wild wind cut across them, carrying the sand and detritus of the desert, blowing their hair along with it.
Sinestro’s hazel eyes narrowed, and he quietly stared at the spectacle. “So let them have their squabble. Let Enel go and fight his gods. When you need us, we will be there.”
It was in that moment that he was vividly reminded that he was without his ring, powerless to bring the clarity that the situation deserved. Eighteen’s display was a snag, a burr that protruded into the fabric of society and tore loose its threads. Her every action was an attempted rebellion against authority, against him. She rebelled against his strength, his power that he held over her. She reacted against it in the only way she knew how: violence.
With a deep breath, he let his fingers unfurl. The cracks would be smoothed, the disinters would be quieted, the chaos would be quelled. Authority would be established over those who would not cooperate, as it had before, as it would be again.
Ganondorf bowed at the waist to the other members of the newly formed group, his hand at his waist and a faint smile on his lips. “It would seem that I have a discussion to attend,” he said, his deep voice thick with gentle sarcasm.
Now only Sinestro and Strazio remained in the dingy diner, the overturned table sitting on the other side of the room, every slack-jawed patron staring at them with worried and emotive expressions. The white mage rolled his eyes and crossed his arms; the heavy mental chains with which he contained his fury were obviously becoming strained.
“Strazio,” the korugaran planted a hand on the man’s shoulder, “I hope you aren’t too worried by that interruption.”
The gruff arcanist shook his head, “I must say that it wasn’t a very good place to start.”
Sinestro rose to his feet and grabbed the lip of the heavy wooden table with both hands. He placed his boot on the protruding legs, and with a grunt he righted it. “Chaos will always be the enemy of order, my friend. There will always be those that seek to destroy what we create, those who attack what we defend.” He offered a smile to his new compatriot, “That we already have people attempting to undermine us is a good sign.”
Strazio rose to his feet and adjusted his clothing, adjusting for some unseen object. “I don’t know why she thought she could just come in here and slap him though, in front of his allies. She couldn’t possibly think she could win. Why do it?”
“In their relationship, she must.” The man lifted his hat from the table and pushed it firmly onto his mussed, dirty hair. “In many ways, it is the same reason that we fight. We show force because force, violence, is the ultimate authority. The ability to control, physically,” he tightened his fist in front of himself, his worn skin creaking against itself under his grip, “that is what it all boils down to. What can you make another person do. The ability to physically control the reality we live in is the authority from which all other authorities are derived.”
Tugging at his cloak, the mage ruffled his snow-white hair and began making his way towards the door. “And she’s trying to assert her authority over him and, in a way, gain her own freedom,” the man deducted.
Sinestro nodded and allowed the man to exit the building first. “Their relationship is a distillation of that truth: they fought the first time they met, and they fight again now. Eighteen’s understanding of that truth is… an interesting one, certainly, but it is not inaccurate. Her ritual of combat and subservience tells us much about the world she used to live in, and how she thinks.” He stepped out into the sweltering heat of the sun, sweat already forming on his brow. “She acts as though the authority that can be derived from violence is inevitable. By bowing her head to those who have proven themselves stronger, she avoids the possibility of struggle, and the despair that those conflicts can bring.”
Strazio scoffed as he began to walk after Ganondorf, who purposefully strode about a block ahead of them. “If she isn’t willing to struggle, to fight, she misses out on the opportunity to win. Fighting you opponent at their best, on their terms, isn’t a good way to ‘control their physical reality.’ There are a million better ways to win a conflict other than a duel.”
Grinning in earnest, the deputy was genuinely happy with the sentiment, “I would tend to agree, but at times even I see the allure of a one-on-one duel. To try proving that you are, unquestionably, their better, is tempting.” Flashes of green and yellow danced in his memories and a sour expression washed over his face, “I don’t suggest it.”
“Is that what this promises to be? Violence, asserting authority over each other? I don’t know if I really want to be a part of that,” Strazio said, his tone calm but firm.
“I understand that concern, my friend,” the alien said as they followed after the red-haired goliath, “but no. For those that do not wish to lock themselves into the eternal struggle of force, authority and violence, there is another option: cooperation. We do not need to show each other force, because there is no cause to do so. I do not wish to hold authority over you, because I do not need to control you. You are intelligent, reasonable, and we share the same goals, trying to force you to do anything would create an antagonistic relationship between us. Struggle, in this case, would only be to both of our downfalls. Instead, cooperation and alliance serves both of us better.”
The man furrowed his brows, apprehensively nodding, “I suppose so, yeah.”
The two men stood at the edge of town, the red mesas towering above the lazy curvature of the dunes. The woman stood, arms crossed over each other, her body huddled inward as she condemned herself to the suffering that she had created. He stood behind her, legs in a wide stance, his hands at his sides. The wild wind cut across them, carrying the sand and detritus of the desert, blowing their hair along with it.
Sinestro’s hazel eyes narrowed, and he quietly stared at the spectacle. “So let them have their squabble. Let Enel go and fight his gods. When you need us, we will be there.”
![[Image: sig2.jpg]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/KrimTheUnsettler/sig2.jpg)