It's like if you moved on from worshipping your goddess, and then reasonably moved on to a new, better, worthwhile god that actually answers your prayers.
But then you get summoned by a murder cult and forgot, so you're running around still praising the cold deity that never did anything for you.
[ well this is a lot, not withstanding the dog comparison, but also he has only seen the mathis driving memory on thursday, so. he doesn't know these weirdos all know each other at this point.]
In another life, he is mine. I am his god. [ not romantically, not platonically, but a third worse thing ] The Claude is also in my care, though more tangentially.
but scien's response to this takes just a few moments longer. he finds that he can't disagree, and yet he also can't agree. his immense sense of responsibility refuses to allow him to believe that he's powerless. surely, if he just worked harder then...
he runs a hand through his hair and sighs. ]
.... It is why I cannot comprehend your goddess. Why I take issue with her abandonment of you. [ god on goddess beef ]
It would be more convenient to cut off my ties. My dog does not remember what I've done for him, and the Claude brat is more acquaintance than directly mine. Technically, they're not even the ones I know.
[ a glance over to gale ]
But to choose someone is to allow yourself to be inconvenienced. I do not particularly care for my feelings, however strange they might be. If you see someone who has earned your attention and they're trapped in a hell of their own making, how can you ignore them?
In a world without gods, I am the closest thing to the concept. What I consider science, others will call miracles. I consider myself more of a sinner than a savior, but I cannot deny that my work often aligns with the practice of salvation.
[ arrogant. but also a memory can answer most of this.
Sorrowful wails trail after you. They are in despair in the way that only people working their daily 9 to 5s can be. Even still, they are not enough to stop your long strides that take you further and further away from the center of the city.
“After him!!” one aide screams. “Lord Scien escaped from the meeting again!”
“Someone, call his bodyguard!” Another cries out. “He's the only one who can detain Scien...!”
(Well. That one does get you to walk a bit faster. You’re not intimidated.)
The first aid whines again. “We need him to look through and approve the backlog of papers, and... ugh... My head...”
Their head? Please. All they do is bring the papers to you. You’re the one who actually has to think about the fate of the wretched country.
Well, less wretched these days.
“Unbelievable...” You complain, even as your path takes you towards the outskirts of the island. You meander through the commoner streets of Coene without concern. Even all these years later, people don’t know what their god walking among them even looks like. You pass through the streets, unknown, even though you’re in all their history books. “They’re not even giving me time to pay my respects. I already told them I had plans, and still they were brazen enough to schedule yet another meeting...”
You, the genius scientist, Scien Brofiise, who freed the country from the curse, breezed through the streets of your domain with a bottle of wine in hand.
“As soon as I opened the country, they buried me in politics and legislation... I miss my days at the Institute.”
Peace and quiet, uninterrupted for years at a time. Only you, your research, and the occasional basket of food left by your assistant. Where you are now, forcibly elected to the highest position of power by a Parliament you structured but never intended to run—you can only call it a necessary evil. One you’d like to escape from soon.
Still, that fades into the background now as you approach a small grave by a familiar orphanage.
You think to yourself: ‘I know it’s too late for regret, but I lost a promising successor and the only person who I would call my equal... Maybe I could have avoided their demise if I had focused my research on retaining personalities... Then again, they’re both together now as mother and son in the same grave...’
“You two have as many quarrels as you want in Hades like any normal family. You may not have noticed, but you two are just like each other in your extreme, two-sided personalities.”
You pour the wine you randomly chose over the grave where the two of them slept. Immediately after, you take out a letter from your pocket. You know what it is, based purely on its return address. Another research facility across the sea.
A letter requesting your presence in another country to collaborate in research on time travel. You know certainly that if you participate it would be very likely that the technology could be realized within a few years, but...
You don’t read the letter. You tear up their plea for help, sent under the guise of collaboration. It is but one of many invitations that you’ve received since opening the country, as the globe has become aware of the scope of what you’ve accomplished. Without the guidance of the genius beloved by God, time travel would likely fade into mere fantasy. But that was fine.
You frown, thinking of the words of a botched time traveler who came to you from a different timeline. The version of you that stopped aging at 18 was far more out of control. You used an innocent man as a test subject, and killed another that you swore to protect in your desperation. And still, that Scien Brofiise could not find a way to get rid of the curse with those sacrifices.
You cannot accept another existence of yourself foolish enough to accomplish nothing. You could never tread that same path.
The torn letter gets carried with the wind, and you regard the grave once more.
The resting place of the only two friends you’ve had in your near hundred years of living. Irreplaceable people who you failed to save. A foreign feeling makes a home in your chest, and you wonder if this is what people call loneliness. Remorse.
“Now then, I should be going.” You shake off the feeling, and declare your next steps. “I’m off to see your son and daughter start a new beginning... It’s out of character for me, but it’s my duty as the oldest.”
Fortunately, you’ve decided to pursue a new research topic—genetic disorders—which had no shortage of cases to explore. If you are indeed a god, you could be selfish and arrogant. As long as your work saves those who suffered in despair, who would judge you?
Following the new emotions in your modified heart, you—the man who became god—set out on a path that would lead you to even greater heights. ]
You've likely heard of it, though it's not truly a curse. People born on our island were doomed to die by the age of 23. I developed my technology [ he points to his eyes, the way the pupils glow, before hooking a finger on the high collar of his cult robes to reveal the tattoo on his throat ] to buy people time if they didn't want to die.
Over the past three years, I've used the assistance of others to dispel the symptoms so now everyone lives a full, normal human lifespan and Relivers can't be distinguished from normal people.
[ quite the achievement. so he's giving it a gosh. he did think the tattoo was simply a pretty cool fashion statement, but then again he also has a weird neck tattoo from some fucked up shit he did to his body so. matchies? ]
This is why you've offered assistance to Karlach, yes? With her heart?
Yes. [ a beat ] Though she needn't become a Reliver. It is the most straightforward way from my experience, but I understand these days how it might appear unsettling to those who don't want to have their consciousness moved into a clone body.
Open heart surgery is also something I ought to be able to assist with, though it will be riskier as I will need to do research both on tiefling anatomy as well as the engine. However, [ he pats his own chest ] my own heart is made of technology and mahcinery, and so I do not consider it entirely out of my realm of understanding.
[ he looks thoughtful, tilting his head ]
Of course, it's not necessarily an 'either-or' answer. She can make a memory back-up to become a Reliver at any time, and if the surgery to replace her heart back into her goes well, I'll simply delete the data. If it doesn't, it could be a back-up plan to ensure she lives no matter what. When I've done surgeries on myself, that was always my failsafe.
[ now it's scien's turn to yap, but he does take matters of medicine, surgery, and consent fairly seriously ]
... well, this is all if she doesn't find an answer herself. My offer has no expiration date.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
he makes such a face ]
Don't remind me of what my stupid dog is up to. What a headache.
[ your what, scien ]
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[ help. ]
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But then you get summoned by a murder cult and forgot, so you're running around still praising the cold deity that never did anything for you.
That's what my ungrateful dog is doing.
[ (scien voice) you're seeing other gods? ]
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Wait, wait-- You know Lucas?
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In another life, he is mine. I am his god. [ not romantically, not platonically, but a third worse thing ] The Claude is also in my care, though more tangentially.
I guess I've semi-adopted him here...
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That must be a strange feeling, to know you are here in this position, and yet ...
[ well. if they die, it does not seem as if scien has much control over that. ]
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but scien's response to this takes just a few moments longer. he finds that he can't disagree, and yet he also can't agree. his immense sense of responsibility refuses to allow him to believe that he's powerless. surely, if he just worked harder then...
he runs a hand through his hair and sighs. ]
.... It is why I cannot comprehend your goddess. Why I take issue with her abandonment of you. [ god on goddess beef ]
It would be more convenient to cut off my ties. My dog does not remember what I've done for him, and the Claude brat is more acquaintance than directly mine. Technically, they're not even the ones I know.
[ a glance over to gale ]
But to choose someone is to allow yourself to be inconvenienced. I do not particularly care for my feelings, however strange they might be. If you see someone who has earned your attention and they're trapped in a hell of their own making, how can you ignore them?
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[ honestly? (complimentary) ]
What is it exactly - for someone who declares themselves to be an atheist - that makes you consider yourself to be a god?
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[ arrogant. but also a memory can answer most of this.
Sorrowful wails trail after you. They are in despair in the way that only people working their daily 9 to 5s can be. Even still, they are not enough to stop your long strides that take you further and further away from the center of the city.
“After him!!” one aide screams. “Lord Scien escaped from the meeting again!”
“Someone, call his bodyguard!” Another cries out. “He's the only one who can detain Scien...!”
(Well. That one does get you to walk a bit faster. You’re not intimidated.)
The first aid whines again. “We need him to look through and approve the backlog of papers, and... ugh... My head...”
Their head? Please. All they do is bring the papers to you. You’re the one who actually has to think about the fate of the wretched country.
Well, less wretched these days.
“Unbelievable...” You complain, even as your path takes you towards the outskirts of the island. You meander through the commoner streets of Coene without concern. Even all these years later, people don’t know what their god walking among them even looks like. You pass through the streets, unknown, even though you’re in all their history books. “They’re not even giving me time to pay my respects. I already told them I had plans, and still they were brazen enough to schedule yet another meeting...”
You, the genius scientist, Scien Brofiise, who freed the country from the curse, breezed through the streets of your domain with a bottle of wine in hand.
“As soon as I opened the country, they buried me in politics and legislation... I miss my days at the Institute.”
Peace and quiet, uninterrupted for years at a time. Only you, your research, and the occasional basket of food left by your assistant. Where you are now, forcibly elected to the highest position of power by a Parliament you structured but never intended to run—you can only call it a necessary evil. One you’d like to escape from soon.
Still, that fades into the background now as you approach a small grave by a familiar orphanage.
You think to yourself: ‘I know it’s too late for regret, but I lost a promising successor and the only person who I would call my equal... Maybe I could have avoided their demise if I had focused my research on retaining personalities... Then again, they’re both together now as mother and son in the same grave...’
“You two have as many quarrels as you want in Hades like any normal family. You may not have noticed, but you two are just like each other in your extreme, two-sided personalities.”
You pour the wine you randomly chose over the grave where the two of them slept. Immediately after, you take out a letter from your pocket. You know what it is, based purely on its return address. Another research facility across the sea.
A letter requesting your presence in another country to collaborate in research on time travel. You know certainly that if you participate it would be very likely that the technology could be realized within a few years, but...
You don’t read the letter. You tear up their plea for help, sent under the guise of collaboration. It is but one of many invitations that you’ve received since opening the country, as the globe has become aware of the scope of what you’ve accomplished. Without the guidance of the genius beloved by God, time travel would likely fade into mere fantasy. But that was fine.
You frown, thinking of the words of a botched time traveler who came to you from a different timeline. The version of you that stopped aging at 18 was far more out of control. You used an innocent man as a test subject, and killed another that you swore to protect in your desperation. And still, that Scien Brofiise could not find a way to get rid of the curse with those sacrifices.
You cannot accept another existence of yourself foolish enough to accomplish nothing. You could never tread that same path.
The torn letter gets carried with the wind, and you regard the grave once more.
The resting place of the only two friends you’ve had in your near hundred years of living. Irreplaceable people who you failed to save. A foreign feeling makes a home in your chest, and you wonder if this is what people call loneliness. Remorse.
“Now then, I should be going.” You shake off the feeling, and declare your next steps. “I’m off to see your son and daughter start a new beginning... It’s out of character for me, but it’s my duty as the oldest.”
Fortunately, you’ve decided to pursue a new research topic—genetic disorders—which had no shortage of cases to explore. If you are indeed a god, you could be selfish and arrogant. As long as your work saves those who suffered in despair, who would judge you?
Following the new emotions in your modified heart, you—the man who became god—set out on a path that would lead you to even greater heights. ]
no subject
he is honestly silent for a long minute, which is very unusual for gale, but he has to sort out some feelings on all of this first. ]
Scien, then?
[ we'll start there. ]
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he nods ]
Just calling me by name when it's the two of us is fine.
[ he actually hates being addressed by lord ]
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And this curse?
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Over the past three years, I've used the assistance of others to dispel the symptoms so now everyone lives a full, normal human lifespan and Relivers can't be distinguished from normal people.
no subject
[ quite the achievement. so he's giving it a gosh. he did think the tattoo was simply a pretty cool fashion statement, but then again he also has a weird neck tattoo from some fucked up shit he did to his body so. matchies? ]
This is why you've offered assistance to Karlach, yes? With her heart?
no subject
Open heart surgery is also something I ought to be able to assist with, though it will be riskier as I will need to do research both on tiefling anatomy as well as the engine. However, [ he pats his own chest ] my own heart is made of technology and mahcinery, and so I do not consider it entirely out of my realm of understanding.
[ he looks thoughtful, tilting his head ]
Of course, it's not necessarily an 'either-or' answer. She can make a memory back-up to become a Reliver at any time, and if the surgery to replace her heart back into her goes well, I'll simply delete the data. If it doesn't, it could be a back-up plan to ensure she lives no matter what. When I've done surgeries on myself, that was always my failsafe.
[ now it's scien's turn to yap, but he does take matters of medicine, surgery, and consent fairly seriously ]
... well, this is all if she doesn't find an answer herself. My offer has no expiration date.