Crowley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
integrity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull2012-07-08 07:36 pm
integrity) wrote in sirenspull2012-07-08 07:36 pm
22 [Voice]
The citizens of this city, registered and unregistered, are somewhat pathetic.
[Hello, Siren's Port. Have your neighborhood friendly demon, sounding oddly serious and composed.]
We are brought here, against our will, by a mystical force that none of us can control or see. While we are trapped here, we are treated as second-class citizens, the proverbial Rosa Parks on the bus line that is the multiverse, and not weeks after a neighborhood friendly hunt on the newcomer population, individuals seem to have... shrugged it off. Moved along with their lives and their husbands and wives and paper routes and white picket fences.
[There is a slight creak as Crowley shifts in the chair he is sitting in. He pauses slightly, to collect his thoughts, before he continues. A good orator always knows when to draw the line and when to keep talking. He seems to be deciding where it is now.]
Whether or not this is just another display of humanity ignoring when terrible things occur in favor of the new bright and shiny politician on their doorstep is irrelevant. What is relevant is your amazing ability to ignore what is directly in front of you -- we are held in the hands of a group of individuals no more or less powerful than we are and yet we are the second-class. Even those registered as citizens, those with powers in government -- you can't tell me you are truly invited to the weekly bridge game of our Canadian cousins.
[And suddenly, his voice grows slightly harder.]
What will it take for all of you to realize that we are nothing more than cattle in a small pen being poked at with sticks? Would it be the brutal murder of someone you love or the relinquishment of supposed unalienable rights that you hold onto so tightly? What will it take for you to finally open your eyes and understand that you aren't free. Your tiny little slice of life is nothing more than an illusion fed to you by a series of corporations and egotistical human overlords who think themselves better than everyone else because they have a pretty picture stamped on an ID card. So come on -- be honest. What would you rather have -- eternal peace at the price of freedom or the knowledge that you did something potentially great regardless of the consequences?
[There is the clink of a glass -- and Crowley ceases talking. But the feed stays open.
It's a serious question. And a testing of the waters.
He wants to know how many dangerous people are truly in the Port.]
[Hello, Siren's Port. Have your neighborhood friendly demon, sounding oddly serious and composed.]
We are brought here, against our will, by a mystical force that none of us can control or see. While we are trapped here, we are treated as second-class citizens, the proverbial Rosa Parks on the bus line that is the multiverse, and not weeks after a neighborhood friendly hunt on the newcomer population, individuals seem to have... shrugged it off. Moved along with their lives and their husbands and wives and paper routes and white picket fences.
[There is a slight creak as Crowley shifts in the chair he is sitting in. He pauses slightly, to collect his thoughts, before he continues. A good orator always knows when to draw the line and when to keep talking. He seems to be deciding where it is now.]
Whether or not this is just another display of humanity ignoring when terrible things occur in favor of the new bright and shiny politician on their doorstep is irrelevant. What is relevant is your amazing ability to ignore what is directly in front of you -- we are held in the hands of a group of individuals no more or less powerful than we are and yet we are the second-class. Even those registered as citizens, those with powers in government -- you can't tell me you are truly invited to the weekly bridge game of our Canadian cousins.
[And suddenly, his voice grows slightly harder.]
What will it take for all of you to realize that we are nothing more than cattle in a small pen being poked at with sticks? Would it be the brutal murder of someone you love or the relinquishment of supposed unalienable rights that you hold onto so tightly? What will it take for you to finally open your eyes and understand that you aren't free. Your tiny little slice of life is nothing more than an illusion fed to you by a series of corporations and egotistical human overlords who think themselves better than everyone else because they have a pretty picture stamped on an ID card. So come on -- be honest. What would you rather have -- eternal peace at the price of freedom or the knowledge that you did something potentially great regardless of the consequences?
[There is the clink of a glass -- and Crowley ceases talking. But the feed stays open.
It's a serious question. And a testing of the waters.
He wants to know how many dangerous people are truly in the Port.]
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[Fucking Winchestertypes.]
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You didn't answer my question.
What would it take for you to choose freedom over peace?
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Uh... Not much. I guess. Freedom's number one, you know?
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[WHY HASN'T EVERYONE ELSE EXTENSIVELY STUDIED REVOLUTIONARY EUROPE.]
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[With a soft noise of approval, as he settles into his chair.]
How long have you been here?
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[Crowley leans forward slightly.]
What happened in your world?
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What do you mean, what happened?
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What happened?
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[None of which he wants to discuss with a stranger on the network.]
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