[ Well, he did walk into that one, didn't he? He knows that Clive is joking, but after all they've been through, it still manages to strike a nerve. Cid's eyes narrow, and though his tone is as sarcastic as ever, there's something sharp in it. ] Right, if you skipped that one you'd be doing us all a favor. Could have left me to take half-measures for the rest of my bloody life, left your brother and your soon-to-be wife to sort themselves without you, and oh, right — the entire realm could go straight to shit without you there to save it. [ Cid drains his own cup and sets it down. ] Your list is shit. We'll do mine next time.
[ He's trying, for whatever it's worth, to get back on track. There's no one who gets under his skin in quite the same way as Clive, but it's not really Clive that he's angry with. Every now and again the man says something off-hand that reminds Cid of how eager the world had been to discard him, and how much of that mark still remains on his soul. It's unremarkable, is the terrible truth of it. There are plenty of people like Clive who don't make it even this far.
Cid gets up to get more wine.
He lets Clive speak, working through the problem aloud (though his shoulders tense at the casual mention of Dion). Clive's gotten a little more canny in the intervening years, Cid has to admit. ]
Could be that we were inside of it. I can't say, if I'm honest. Don't know enough about the damned thing. [ He sighs, returning to the couch with the entire bottle of wine in-hand. He catches Clive's eye and wiggles the bottle, silently offering to pour him another cup. ] Feels as if we're connected to it somehow, to be sure.
[ It's hard to explain that particular tug, but he'd felt something like it when he was young... a call to leave the outer isles and find himself in the twins, where Ramuh had come to awaken in him. ] I suspect that you're on the right track. It was intended to be a temptation.
When I returned to the Horizon earlier, I found a message scrawled on my desk. We are you, and you are us. You are not theirs. The people of this world can't connect to the Singularity in the way that we do, so far as we know, which means that the author must be like us. A fellow Summoned, who's more powerful than we know, or something more like what we became... the gods of this world, perhaps.
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[ He's trying, for whatever it's worth, to get back on track. There's no one who gets under his skin in quite the same way as Clive, but it's not really Clive that he's angry with. Every now and again the man says something off-hand that reminds Cid of how eager the world had been to discard him, and how much of that mark still remains on his soul. It's unremarkable, is the terrible truth of it. There are plenty of people like Clive who don't make it even this far.
Cid gets up to get more wine.
He lets Clive speak, working through the problem aloud (though his shoulders tense at the casual mention of Dion). Clive's gotten a little more canny in the intervening years, Cid has to admit. ]
Could be that we were inside of it. I can't say, if I'm honest. Don't know enough about the damned thing. [ He sighs, returning to the couch with the entire bottle of wine in-hand. He catches Clive's eye and wiggles the bottle, silently offering to pour him another cup. ] Feels as if we're connected to it somehow, to be sure.
[ It's hard to explain that particular tug, but he'd felt something like it when he was young... a call to leave the outer isles and find himself in the twins, where Ramuh had come to awaken in him. ] I suspect that you're on the right track. It was intended to be a temptation.
When I returned to the Horizon earlier, I found a message scrawled on my desk. We are you, and you are us. You are not theirs. The people of this world can't connect to the Singularity in the way that we do, so far as we know, which means that the author must be like us. A fellow Summoned, who's more powerful than we know, or something more like what we became... the gods of this world, perhaps.