elnysa | video | un: Priorly (old man yells at clouds)

[After a cluster of days spent surfing park benches, with sleep only a brief and unwelcome interruption, Prior has finally made it to the space station. He comes onto the screen, a black shadow in a gleaming hallway: if he looks like death on a mission to avenge itself, that is the intended effect. It may be more Norma Desmond descending a staircase, but that's not far off, either. He's still clutching a cane just to hold himself upright. His voice is raspy but loud, and just a few notes higher pitched than it should be.]

Is everyone back from the dead now? Good. Wouldn't want our new arrivals seeing the aftereffects of that little mess, would we. How good that our merciful overseers can let us go through days of torture, days of agony, let our skin slough off and our eyes burn out, let us choke on gas until we suffocate from it, then kindly bring us back so we can all do it again next time someone in this sadistic little shithole gets a fresh bee in their bonnet.

You know - on earth - I always had trouble with the idea of a non-interventionist God. But non-interventionist omnipotent aliens? Well goddamn. Fuck that. Fuck them.

Oh, they can play with the native's minds so a talking racoon looks like business as usual, but they can't stop them wanting to kidnap us?

They can see everything we do and they can't tell our fucking friends where we are?

What is the point of them, then? What's the point of any of this? They haven't rescued us from any storm, they've just left us stranded on a tiny, hostile island, wondering whether our little bit of sand is going to wash away before or after the natives get around to eating us.

Well I am tired and I am sick and I am through with this bullshit. Was anyone else told they'd look after our loved ones for us? Because I have loved ones down there now, and they were not looked after well. Maybe I should let a few of the next-to-wake know exactly how reassuring all those promises look now.

I don't know what to do, but it seems to me that we're being hung out to dry down there, and someone needs to do something. So I'm going to start by finding one of these assholes and seeing what happens.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The way to end an experiment isn't to scream at the experimenter, you know. That only adds fuel to the fire.

The way to end an experiment is to escape the situation entirely. But given we don't have the power to do that just yet, you may be better suited conserving your energy.

Just a bit of advice.

As far as I know, this is the only test tube we've got. Sitting around and waiting for it to spill over would make anybody crazy. Crazier.

[There's a sigh, slow and shaky at the end of the line.]

You think we're an experiment?

It's a theory, but one I think has some merit. It makes a great deal more sense than some random act of charity.

I don't disagree with the hypothesis. But if you're running an experiment, don't you want to know as much as possible about your subjects? And if you learn there's a way it could run better, wouldn't you give it a shot?

It depends on what you're experimenting upon. If you're looking to see how a population grows when they're tended to, yes, then they ought to change the experiment around. But if they're looking to put a variety of people from a variety of worlds and see how things go . . . why should they interfere?

And as for their knowing about us . . . what makes you think they don't?

From what we're told, they wanted us to help bring peace. If that's true then I'd say there's a lot they've overlooked.

Oh, I think they know us like telemarketers know us. So maybe they can tell someone's getting broody because they bought peanut butter and pickles yesterday, or grandma's probably the right age to hassle about a reclining chair. But I don't think they know how we work at all.

Mm. We were told that, yes. But I doubt it.

[She has to pause for a moment to understand all that.]

. . . tell me, and understand I'm not disagreeing so much as simply clarifying: what makes you think that?

Because I do think they want something from us, whatever it is. Impassive observation's one thing, but there's a lot of work being put in if we're just another exhibit at the zoo.

So maybe they want loyalty. Which isn't easily gained by saving us from one frying pan and throwing us right out onto the fire. We're simply won, for the most part. One word to tell our friends where to find us and they'd have enough of it to last a while. So maybe that's what they should be told about. One of the things.

. . . that's optimistic, and I'm not particularly prone to optimism. But I do hope you're right.

That being said: think about this, please. Going off half-cocked shan't do you any favors. If you're going to tell them, prepare your argument and go in armed with facts, not righteous anger.

I think I must be. I wish I wasn't, it's a pain in the ass.

[Well, he considers that. The righteous anger is important to his case but.]

If I present the righteous anger calmly?

Will you, though?

[She's actually asking.]

I think so. I'm tired, and feeling this incendiary's hard to keep up.

[The weariness was already in his voice but he has sounded quieter in this conversation than the post that inspired it. It's shaken some of it out of him, not to mention the dampening effect of knowing there are people worried on his behalf. Though he's not worried. Surely should be, but after days of terror he can look as deep into himself as he likes and feel no fear at all.]

Besides, I've dealt with bigger fish before.

[Not necessarily calmly: beside the point.]

What fish were those, precisely?

[Because they would've had to be some pretty damn big fish, metaphorically speaking, to stack up against a bunch of people who dragged them from their respective universes.]

[It's... complicated, and a public network when he's not entirely public about this, and he almost certainly looks crazy enough already - and he's also too tired to think of much of a way to dance round things.]

Let's just say I'm familiar with absent gods.

How familiar?

[Sorry, she's gonna keep asking after it.]

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