explosivecombat | NIETZSCHE; DEAD PHILOSOPHERS' INBOX

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NIETZSCHE; DEAD PHILOSOPHERS' INBOX

[TEXT; LOCKED TO doitrockapella]

The offer for conversation is always open, should you desire to take me up on it; I can't guarantee that I'll respond immediately, nor will it necessarily be the response you want, but I'll always respond in some way.

In the name of enlightened discourse.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That's why I aim to keep people like that on my payroll, as opposed to the other way around.

Would you be so kind? And if you wouldn't, then at least give me an idea of what I'd owe you in equivalent exchange, teacher.

Oh, believe me, you're going to owe me. I don't like dealing with either of them.

Give me a short while to get in contact with them, and I'll see what I can tell you; tell me a story in the meantime, as you seem fond of that sort of thing.

I want to know what I'm owing first.

You'll owe me a favor eventually, that's all.

I won't compromise your morals, don't worry.

And you won't call it in at an inconvenient time?

I'll do my best not to.

I reserve the right to postpone fulfillment if necessary, let's put it that way.

What kind of story do you want?

Anything at all, but my one condition is that it has to be something you're fond of.

In a sentimental mood, are we?

When I was about ten years old, I stayed at a boarding school for girls. The headmistress was strict but kind, and always devoted herself to the notion of bringing us up properly — good food, good manners, a thorough education. Looking back on it now, I can appreciate how much she really did for us; some of the lengths she went to were probably...unprecedented. I suppose she was a role model of sorts, in that. I was never given the impression that anything was outside the realm of possibility, so long as I...wanted it enough.

I wasn't the most social of pupils; I tended to spend my days with my nose in a book. It wasn't that I disliked the other girls, just that the things that fascinated them couldn't hold my interest. Skipping rope and playing jacks were all well and good, but I wanted to learn and to travel, and books and my imagination were able to take me to all the places that I couldn't visit firsthand. Day in and day out, I spent most every bit of free time I had on the window seat of a bay window that faced out over the back of the property; the cushion was faded ivory with pink embroidered roses, and the view was of a magnificent bay beneath a wide-open sky and bordered by the silhouettes of buildings along the shoreline.

They liked to scare each other, those girls, and most of the time when they set to it, someone eventually posed the idea of seeking me out to see if whatever they'd come up with was enough to scare me, too. So my stories were fairly frequently interrupted by excursions into the garden cellar or the attic, and I was fetched to contend with all sorts of spiders and snakes and other things that never seem to fail to terrify little girls. It wasn't the adventures that bothered me, usually; it was the fact that they had a knack for doing it right as the protagonist of my story was about to unveil some great revelation, and I was annoyed at being delayed from seeing if my own conclusions matched his.

I gave up sitting in that window seat when I was eleven. But for the time I had it, it was mine and everyone knew it.

Not so much sentimental as I am curious; I'm interested in hearing about you, and you've heard more than enough of my own stories about this sort of thing by now.

You were the sort of person I would have gotten along with as a child, I think, assuming you interpreted "getting along" as "spending time reading in the same general vicinity, and once in a while swapping books to see if you were as fond of this particular novel as I was."

I admit I'd been wondering if you'd ever get around to asking.

More likely than not, I would've been annoyed with you for somehow managing to always have the book I wanted at precisely the time I wanted it, and making me wait to have it.

Oh, that wouldn't surprise me in the least.

And I think I may have found your mad scientist.

Does that mean you're going to let me go?

For the time being.

I'll send the Gear ID number to you; her name is Caroline. I've never worked with her directly myself, but from what I hear she's a piece of work.

I'm sure you can handle her, however.

Is it going to raise eyebrows among anyone along the grapevine if it's Lisa opening negotiations? I'd like to have my story straight before I make the call.

Somehow I doubt she'll care.

She's not the one I'm thinking about.

There's a reason that I say talking to her is an inconvenience for me. That reason is "No one talks to Caroline if they can help it."

My superior has no sway over her, anyway; he's not connected to the Legion's science department in any meaningful way.

It's more that I'd imagine your superior might wonder why it is your throwaway girlfriend is apparently cutting deals with one of your coworkers, if word should happen to get around.

But now I'm really looking forward to meeting her.