Jun 14 21:07:58 106 PA. - Fun with indoor voices.

From Chronicles

Jun 14 21:07:58 106 PA.

With the coming of evening, the library has become quieter than its no rm. Just a handful of readers and researchers wandering here and there. Desmond amongst them, his large frame settled at one of the tables. He has a pair of books open before him, both dealing with the creation of elaborate meals, each opened to the same sort of recipe. Close to hand is a notebook that he scrawls notes on the recipe into in simple, blocky script.

Ema emerges from the stacks, a stack of books held tightly against her torso. She's a small smile on her face, that flutters away quickly as her eyes fall on the giant cat, his presence in the library one of those coincidences she is not fond of. Still, she doesn't miss a step as she approaches, "You know, you can make copies, and even take those books home with you. Libraries are grand, that way."

Desmond's ears perk when Ema speaks, but he doesn't look up at first. He does, however, respond, "I enjoy writing. Practice improves my proficiency, as with any skill." He finishes off a certain note and lifts his eyes to look towards the woman. "Is there something wrong with manual note taking?" The question spoken without sarcastic inflection.

Ema shrugs her response, maneuvering her self to place the stack of books at the other end of the table, across from the note-taking cat and his materials, "There is nothing _wrong_ with it, no," she starts, taking a seat across from you, "But it isn't the most efficent way to do things for sure. But then, what do i know of how you learn best." she smirks, leaning back in her chair.

Desmond nods his head once. "Practice is one reason. Another is that I need not rush and there is something calming about crafting the letters," he rumbles. Leaning back slightly in the chair, he considers the woman across from him. "You are not in a hurry, are you? Reading and writing has ever seemed an activity for times when one has an abundance of time to spend."

Another shrug, "Not as of late, I'm not. I've never had access to a library before, not like this, and I find it is one of the greatest things about this place," and flings about over her head, limp-wristedly as she motions about her, "I think even if I was short on time, I'd make some changes to allow for a book or two." she leans forward, elbows falling on the table, "Though i very rarely write, its so..." she considers, "Quaint."

Desmond glances about slowly. "This is the first library I have known. It was intimidating at first, but now it feels more comfortable. Familiar." His attention returns to Eam then and he considers her words before offering his own. "Perhaps you should write more. Slow it might be, but it is an involved process. You must think about each word you form, thus in a way the very process of making your copy teaches and places the knowledge deeper within your mind. The machines.." He waves towards the copiers. "..there is no need for thought with them. Merely waiting. I find this preferable safe in the rare instances that I truly am in a rush."

"I find my mind is more than up to the task of processing the information of things I read. And typing and copiers are both just means to transport information to a more relaxing enviroment, in my case." fingers drum on the table before her, her lips sliding from left to right, pursed slightly, "But then, this is all second nature to me, and i've been doing it a whole lot longer than you," her head tilts ever so slightly, a grin appearing, "Am i right?"

"Likely so," Desmond replies, considering the woman before him quietly for a moment. "My mind is very much up to the task of processing the information I find here. But I have been told repetition aids learning. I don't suppose that would be untrue for any. But to each their own" He dips his head once, eyes moving down towards her books. "What subjects bring you here this day?"

Ema slides her books around, presenting their spines to you, the titles include "Oritations of Demosthenes", "Tao Te Ching", and "Daozang". "Just a little light reading," she offers, smirking, "I find that the old authors of earth, my ancestors, in particular, were quite clever, and have surprising insight into the non-physical world." she clears her throat, "And Demonsthenes is just for fun, a different perspective."

Desmond cants his head slightly as he considers the books quietly for a few moments. His eyes lift then and he wonders, "You seek answers to intangible mysteries, then? Not a subject matter I have considered in the now. Though I have held a curiosity about such books from time to time that I have yet to fulfill. What manner of mysteries do they speak on in particular?" The comments and questions honest enough by the sound.

"Mysteries not unlike the ones we've discussed the other day," she slides "Tao Te Ching" from the middle of the pile and opens it before her, "Taoists beleive that a human isn't really free when they must think to make a descion, instead finding that a truly free person never has to antagonize over alternatives." she smiles, leaning back, "I'm on a quest, I guess, to find out what being a human is really all about, and I do not think the warped morality of this place is what was meant for us humans."

Desmond considers those words quietly for several moments. "To act without thought is instinct," Desmond opines. "While instinct can, at times, be a potent urge to follow, it is, at times, wrong. A conclusion can be leapt to which is wrong.. to properly act without a need to think, one would need to know all facets of every moment intimately in that moment of decision to make a proper choice, would they not?" His brow softly furrowed as he considers the concept.

"And therein lies the flaw with everyone I encounter here. How can it be wrong? How can striving to understand yourself and your surroundings be wrong? To find a level of comfort where our actions happen without thought. Morality is a sickness peculiar to humans, and the good life is the refinement of the virtues of animals. You should know this better than anyone, yet you strive to be like the monsters who created you, rather than embrace the parts of you that make you better than them."

"Understanding is not wrong," Desmond clarifies first. "I only offer that the height of what you seek is impossible. None can know all things in an instant." He pauses then, considering for a moment before he adds, "Rules.. structures.. they are what allow order. Without them there is chaos. I wonder, what parts of me do you see as making me better than humans?" Again, his words spoken without negative inflection.

"Better? I don't think i'd use that word, but more Animal than we are, for sure. The overall flaw in what you say, what most want so desperately to deny, is that imposing words like Order and rules on our behaviours is what is impossible. War happens, all the time. Yet we are all insane enough to keep trying to do the same thing, more laws, more rules, more moral choices. That has to be the answer, right? I mean, it hasn't worked yet, but maybe eventually?" she laughs, "No, thats insanity. Animals do not fight to wipe out other animals, yet we think we're so superior? Why?"

"Animals do not create either," Desmond notes. He touches the cookbook before him. "Art, be it edible or not. They barely use tools. This very library.. it would not exist without these rules, I suggest." His eyes lifting briefly before they move back to Ema. "This is not to say that some of what you suggest is right. More is not always better. Not by that neither is none. As I have found, moderation is the path in which one finds the best of all things, rather than extremes. It is a matter for one to find their place within the middle."

"Pride, sir, some would say the most dangerous of all sins." she shrugs, "I do not think you could understand such topics, not so early in your new education. Perhaps you'll read a bit on the subject, and we can talk about it. But right now, while you still struggle to deny who you are, and rebelling against your intended purpose, I think we'll never have a productive talk on the matter. For all that we've created though, we've destroyed, and continue to destroy. Art? The art of war is our legacy."

"What do you see as my intended purpose?" Desmond inquires. "I know what their purpose for me was.. and it is not peace. I have not lifted my hand against any but drunkards and their ilk for months and I find it enjoyable to live a life that is not constantly laced with the task of dealing death to other beings. War I know, but despite all that occurs in this world now, I am glad it is not part of my life now."

"Your purpose, despite the existential debate we could have, was to kill the Coalitions enemies. How I wish for such a definition of purpose, such definitiveness. You turn your back on the truth of what you are, not unlike humans." she smiles, eyes closing as she leans back, amusement on her face, "So many parallels, I wonder if lessons can be learned from this? About history and its desire to repeat itself."

"And by allowing them to define my purpose to their own ends, do I not give up on my own instinct?" Desmond rumbles deeply. "If my instinct were to be what they wished, I would be there still. Their rules and strictures do not suit me, thus I am here, defining my own existence." He shakes his head slightly. "You are strange.. you speak of freedom from the rules and morals of others, yet say I should let the rules and morals of others define me?"

"You're not human, you are a created being, with a defined purpose. I can't judge you by the same criteria that i'd judge myself. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but humans have been here much longer, and have continued to evolve and struggle with. You, pinocchio, are striving to be more like us, but are not human, so the difference lies there. I would say such thing to a sword or club that rebelled against its creator. The path you choose if fine, but you know you had a purpose, and you turned your back. I merely want to find my pure, basic purpose, not cluttered by the rules that have been imposed in the time since humans first walked upright."

"I will forgive you, but your words are no less insulting for what you insinuate," Desmind rumbles, his expression firm. "You relegate me to the status of a thing, like they do. I will forgive you for such ignorance, as I was once ignorant of greater truths myself. All are ignorant at some time in their lives." His tone remains firm, that sense of displeasure returned. "I am a being with a mind, feelings and emotions just as you. Despite my origins, I am not a possession. And I have chosen to find my own destiny. "

Ema holds her hands up defensively as she smiles across the table at you, "I meant no disrespect, honest," she says before pausing, "But you were created with a singular purpose in mind, created and produced, from what i've heard, in an almost factory like setting. That you have a mind and will of your own makes you different that a possession, for sure, but that doesn't change the fact that your creators intended you to be a tool to be used. You've rebelled against them, and thats well and good, I only found it ironic, that you have and shun what I myself search for daily."

"Then you are foolish," Desmond offers. "It was an empty existence when I look back upon it now. A simple existence where the breadth and depth of experience is denied you. It is, perhaps, harder to live a life that is not guided by another, but so too it offers greater rewards." He shakes his head slightly. "Do not seek what I have turned from.. seek your own path. Pure purpose comes from within. And it comes unexpectedly. I arrived here without surety of what my path would be. Now, I know it and embrace it without reservation."

Ema shakes her head, grinning still, amused still, "I'm not saying I want your existance, just the knowing of why I'm here, and what my purpose is. I hope I find its nothing so bland as yours, but still, the very fact that you know, even if you've turned you back, is something I wish for." she closes her book, and adds it back to her stack, which she slides before her, "I'm not convinced that the answer is we all choose are own path. Its that sorta thinkin that has lead us down humanities current path, and look at how well thats working out.'

"What is bland to you is not to others. Though as you have never truly experienced the art of cooking, how can you judge?" Desmond replies steadily. "I think your thoughts are too twisted within you. You abhor war, yet decry blandness. You crave a world without rules, yet seek some other force to define your reason for being. You about with contradictions. I think what you seek does not exist, for it cannot, save in fantasies for each tenet of it negates the next."

"I'm all sorta of conflicted, I won't argue that. The world without rules, embracing the fact that people are animals, just happens to make the most sense to me." she taps her stack of books, "It doesn't mean that I have stopped looking for other truths, or other points of view, and my playing devil's advocate with you is fun, even if foolish." she gathers her books and stands, "What I seek may not exist, but i'll not stop searching. One must always strive to better themself and to find a truth in what ever form it may take, even if its unpleasant or upsetting."

"People are what they believe. Those that think themselves beasts will be beasts. Those who think themselves otherwise will be otherwise," Desmond offers, lingering in his seat. "It is favorable to search.. but you already seem to be dismissing potentials that, perhaps, you have not yet explored fully. Clinging to the beliefs of others, perhaps." He indicates those books with a lift of his hand. "I believe what you seek is within.. and while the thoughts of others can be helpful to broaden ones views, the ultimate truth will emerge despite it all once you listen to what is within. Instinct and reasoned thought combined. I do not see myself as human. Nor do I see myself as a beast. I am beyond such classifications. And so I am."

"Thats absurd" she says simply. "And I think if you thought about it, you'd see how silly what you just said was. You think Desmond Bradford thinks he's a monster? He thinks he's a god. He believes it. The Proseks? You think they beleive anything except they are doing what is best for people?" she laughs, head shaking, "I'll talk to you later, Desmond, enjoy your cook books." she adjusts her stack and offers a wave before skipping towards the check out.

"Their views are twisted and thus they are," Desmond agrees simply. "It is not a flawless thing, for there is no perfection in this world." He then dips his head and offers a simple, "Farewell," before he glances down to his books. Resuming his relaxed note taking just where he left off. Untroubled, this one, who takes pleasure in the simple things.