Equius Zahhak (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stayb100ponyboy) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caughtinanetwork2012-02-21 09:47 pm
stayb100ponyboy) wrote in caughtinanetwork2012-02-21 09:47 pm
Time for some culture, everyone
[The camera flicks on, showing a young troll sitting down, a large book open on his crossed legs. There's a stack of books behind him, and the gentle lighting and general hush all around him indicate that he's in the library.]
I found this book of human poetry, and found a beautiful poem. I had no idea you humans had it in you. This is true highblood lyricism; if I didn't know better, I would think this Samuel Taylor Coleridge fellow was a blueblood.
[He clears his throat, then begins reading from the book.]
To a Young Ass, Its Mother Being Tethered Near It, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Poor little Foal of an oppresséd race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
'Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes'?
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd chain?
And truly, very piteous is her lot--
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot,
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!
Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity--best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me that He lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of Luxury!
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?
It seems to say, 'And have I then one friend?'
Innocent foal! thou poor despis'd forlorn!
I hail thee Brother--spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast!
[He carefully closes the book, his face as close to beaming as he's willing to get in public.]
Magnificent.
I found this book of human poetry, and found a beautiful poem. I had no idea you humans had it in you. This is true highblood lyricism; if I didn't know better, I would think this Samuel Taylor Coleridge fellow was a blueblood.
[He clears his throat, then begins reading from the book.]
To a Young Ass, Its Mother Being Tethered Near It, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Poor little Foal of an oppresséd race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
'Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes'?
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd chain?
And truly, very piteous is her lot--
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot,
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!
Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity--best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me that He lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of Luxury!
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?
It seems to say, 'And have I then one friend?'
Innocent foal! thou poor despis'd forlorn!
I hail thee Brother--spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast!
[He carefully closes the book, his face as close to beaming as he's willing to get in public.]
Magnificent.
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Don't be so inconsiderate to my feelings, Tinktertot, it's not very nice.
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I promise, I won't be a nuisance to her anymore.
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Stop being a nuisance to Darkleer too.
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[You're not exactly endearing yourself to him here, Summoner.]
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I admitted I've spoken to Dural? [And he certainly has!]
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[A smile, Summoner stays just as he has been this whole conversation, just looking at Equius quietly. But that doesn't mean he's not commune sifting. After barely any time searching he finds... heh, Darkleer, a smirk at that. And he chats a little before getting the bird to move up stairs, just as Equius suggested. He doesn't control him though, better to let the chocobo go on it's own.]
What's that? [Lifts a hand to his ear, as if trying to listen into Equius's house to hear the strange noises moving to and going up the stairway.]
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That doesn't prove anything. He could have just decided to come up here by himself.
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Tell him to behave himself for once!
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Hey, this time can you settle down a bit. Why don't you just have nice sit and stop bothering Equius for a little while.
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Whoah.
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As you were saying?
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Yeah, okay, so you're talking to Darkleer. Can you ask him to stop jumping on people? He's getting too big to do that, and it's not an issue if he jumps on me or Darkleer, but if he jumps on Gamzee, he might hurt him.
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I could train him, uh, if it's really a nuisance? [Smile.] I don't mind.
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[Crap. Equius looks at his pet, and now he feels bad. With all the drama recently, he hasn't been paying as much attention to the birds recently. He opens his arms and gestures; if Darkleer wants to come sit on his lap now, that would be just fine.]
It doesn't bother me, but I don't want anyone else getting hurt.
[He looks into the SFC, his former arrogance gone.]
You're good with animals like Tavros, right? Can you help me train him?
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Heh, and of course I am. I mean, I lead entire legions of them.
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