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.]
no subject
But darling, that's my point exactly -- you will never prove to them you are nothing but a second-class rat in a cage. As sweet as being optimistic sounds, you can't alter the perception of an entire population of people with daisy chains and holding hands -- that won't work.
I don't know what middle-class white suburbia you live in on your own planet, but in the real world, some people are dirt and some people aren't. It's up to you to fix it for yourself.
no subject
no subject
I can assure you that I know a lot more.
1/2
Have you contributed at all to our cause? Have you lent any money, time or support to the NPP, made any effort to improve our community and its quality of life, or lent a charitable hand to someone in need? Have you done anything for the advancement of Newcomers and our place in society besides doling out half-witted, condescending advice that children could potentially see--
no subject
I don't care who you are or what you think you know. This--what you're doing, it's not helping. And I'm asking you, as someone who was hunted--don't. Please don't.
no subject
I roasted in Hell for forty thousands years, child. You don't know a thing about being hunted.
Are you finished with your passionate cry for attention or shall I listen to more of your bitching?
no subject
no subject
[Somewhat boredly, without batting an eyelash.]
You are entitled to your opinion of hugs and peace, but don't attempt to tell me what is right and wrong when I have the right to disagree with you. Your word certainly isn't God -- and as horrific as your experiences may be, you don't have the authority or the right to shove them down my throat. So please -- take your pissing and moaning to someone who gives half a damn, because I have something to discuss with people who are willing to lend half an ear to an idea that might be somewhat different than yours.
[He then pauses before rolling his eyes slightly.]
And, for your information, I devote a large chunk of money every week to help out the impoverished sex workers that have been the victim of AGI's influence. You can spread the word to all of your tree-hugging friends when you cry about this encounter into your diary later.
Cheers, mate.
[And he ends the feed. He's not in the mood for being lectured by a pissant teenager today.]
no subject