Longevity, oui, is no guarantee of wisdom. Some live centuries and never once dare to peel back even a corner of themselves... yet you speak of your own mind without trembling. That is rare, Monsieur. Rare enough to earn my interest, and rarer still to earn my respect.
You are correct, of course. People fear the unknown, but the fear of being known runs far deeper. To be seen clearly, to be stripped of prétexte and laid bare, is a terror most would sooner swallow their own tongues than confront.
But you?
You wear your truth like armor. And you wield it like a blade.
[Anaxagoras is a deeply complex man, and as such, Lobelia can't help but be fascinated by him. It's a delight to speak with him, to peel back the layers of that razor-sharp mind.]
As for holding my own against an expert of the psyche... you give me too much credit, Monsieur. I merely find the human mind — your mind in particular — an endlessly fascinating instrument.
And I've always had a fondness for instruments that sing when pressed.
[ Anaxagoras is quiet for a moment. He can't level his gaze at Lobelia at this point in time, but if he had been, it'd be with a searching one to try to pick apart his expression as he is wont to do.
He realizes that even for what he has been thinking, he's simply a little surprised as they continue to speak. ]
...Hmph, you do know, you speak of my own mind - of my own fortitude, and the rarity of earning respect from you in of itself. In cultivating your it already...
[ He clears his throat. ]
Though, I can't say I've ever really found myself at the forefront of much praise before - all at once.
Tsk. It has not gone without notice. It's as if you put your mind to hardly wasting a single sound with far too much ease...I wonder if you're the type to even have a preference for performances. Or the stage, perhaps.
[ He places such thought into his words that they sound like a musical in of themselves; like songs. He shakes his head for a moment. Is it because he's used to condemnations instead? But...even though this is their second conversation, a change of pace is vastly preferable to the old, and... ]
...That being said, as much as I'm inclined to wield truth like a blade, I hope to also use it to blow obstacles to smithereens. I wonder if you have ever imagined a sword that can change into a weapon that blows away all delusion.
Can you picture that in your mind's eye, Lobelia?
It will be exactly what I will use to put to rest the enemy.
[There it is again: that razor-bright mind cutting through its own hesitation. Fascinating. Truly fascinating.]
Mon ami... you speak as though I have showered you in praise, when all I have done is name what is plainly before me. If it surprises you, perhaps that says more of your past company than of yourself.
You ask if I have a taste for the stage? Mais bien sûr. A performer lives for a keen audience, someone who listens so closely that even the quietest note resonates. You listen too well not to enjoy performance in turn.
As for your sword... mm. A blade that becomes truth incarnate, that cuts through delusion and blasts obstacles to dust... Oui. I can picture it clearly. Because you already wield such a weapon.
You speak of forging a sword, Monsieur, but I suspect you have been carrying it all along.
[ Correct. His previous experiences colored his view; enough that he considers the words, smiling ruefully - yet...maybe that's why he needs to hear it as well.
But also, Anaxagoras the Great Performer...that is another title that existed (exists) for him. Just as Anaxagoras read Lobelia well, it seems in turn the man read him.
Performances are glorious things, they set alight the soul, and uplift the spirit. ]
It's ironic. Though, I'm certain that they wouldn't take well to your whimsical attitude all that much, you sometimes speak as of you hail from Kremnos.
It all has relation. Figurative blades forged in words, and one forged from the soul...I wonder what you believe it would look like. I'll leave myself purposefully in suspense for now.
Yet, be it as it may, you're also right about performances. There is much to be found in a good stage, a keen and attentive audience...
[ A laugh almost bubbles up in his throat, though for now it is a light huff. Then, he realizes just how much time he has taken, sitting here, standing up to his feet with a dramatic flourish. ]
I believe that I don't need to say anymore, correct?
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no subject
You are correct, of course. People fear the unknown, but the fear of being known runs far deeper. To be seen clearly, to be stripped of prétexte and laid bare, is a terror most would sooner swallow their own tongues than confront.
But you?
You wear your truth like armor. And you wield it like a blade.
[Anaxagoras is a deeply complex man, and as such, Lobelia can't help but be fascinated by him. It's a delight to speak with him, to peel back the layers of that razor-sharp mind.]
As for holding my own against an expert of the psyche... you give me too much credit, Monsieur. I merely find the human mind — your mind in particular — an endlessly fascinating instrument.
And I've always had a fondness for instruments that sing when pressed.
no subject
He realizes that even for what he has been thinking, he's simply a little surprised as they continue to speak. ]
...Hmph, you do know, you speak of my own mind - of my own fortitude, and the rarity of earning respect from you in of itself. In cultivating your it already...
[ He clears his throat. ]
Though, I can't say I've ever really found myself at the forefront of much praise before - all at once.
Tsk. It has not gone without notice. It's as if you put your mind to hardly wasting a single sound with far too much ease...I wonder if you're the type to even have a preference for performances. Or the stage, perhaps.
[ He places such thought into his words that they sound like a musical in of themselves; like songs. He shakes his head for a moment. Is it because he's used to condemnations instead? But...even though this is their second conversation, a change of pace is vastly preferable to the old, and... ]
...That being said, as much as I'm inclined to wield truth like a blade, I hope to also use it to blow obstacles to smithereens. I wonder if you have ever imagined a sword that can change into a weapon that blows away all delusion.
Can you picture that in your mind's eye, Lobelia?
It will be exactly what I will use to put to rest the enemy.
no subject
Mon ami... you speak as though I have showered you in praise, when all I have done is name what is plainly before me. If it surprises you, perhaps that says more of your past company than of yourself.
You ask if I have a taste for the stage? Mais bien sûr. A performer lives for a keen audience, someone who listens so closely that even the quietest note resonates. You listen too well not to enjoy performance in turn.
As for your sword... mm. A blade that becomes truth incarnate, that cuts through delusion and blasts obstacles to dust... Oui. I can picture it clearly. Because you already wield such a weapon.
You speak of forging a sword, Monsieur, but I suspect you have been carrying it all along.
no subject
But also, Anaxagoras the Great Performer...that is another title that existed (exists) for him. Just as Anaxagoras read Lobelia well, it seems in turn the man read him.
Performances are glorious things, they set alight the soul, and uplift the spirit. ]
It's ironic. Though, I'm certain that they wouldn't take well to your whimsical attitude all that much, you sometimes speak as of you hail from Kremnos.
It all has relation. Figurative blades forged in words, and one forged from the soul...I wonder what you believe it would look like. I'll leave myself purposefully in suspense for now.
Yet, be it as it may, you're also right about performances. There is much to be found in a good stage, a keen and attentive audience...
[ A laugh almost bubbles up in his throat, though for now it is a light huff. Then, he realizes just how much time he has taken, sitting here, standing up to his feet with a dramatic flourish. ]
I believe that I don't need to say anymore, correct?