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This month is the Klingon month Soo'jen or 'Glory'. It is perhaps fitting that I should meet my other self in such a month. He did glory to his people and those who he encountered upon those ship.
Each attempt to strip his Klingon honour away from him was repelled and he found honour in resistance. Honour here, I find, is thin on the ground. There are few enemies to fight, beyond those childish to believe that a tantrum against our Exalted Admiral will gain them points or fear is a valued weapon where amnesia is common and ennui more so.
Death has no meaning. And I mean not in the human sense of the meaning of death, yes, I see the oblivion as much as a human or Vulcan or Time Lord would, but it is a mere shutdown, not unlike what an AI might experience should you deactivate it, but that is not meaning.
It is so limited. It pays no respect to the life led before it, reducing it to mere automatic functions to be reset if it 'malfunctions'.
I have never felt the desire to simply vanish before I arrived in this place.
In that other ship, there were enemies. True injustices to be fought, honour existed in the hearts of those inmates, it made them strong, powerful. Vital. Each of their deaths had meaning. Each smile, each act of generosity, had meaning.
I share my former warden's enthusiasm [Enthusiasm, blood lust, same difference, right?] to return, if only to restore meaning to my own existence, regardless of the death stolen from me.
It has given me a purpose.
[Filtered away from Sexby]
I do not expect understanding on this matter. I can only say that a soldier forms an attachment to his weapon, it is part of his identity, to hold a weapon, to defend with it, to make it an extension of self. Sentimental perhaps, but nonetheless a strong feeling.
We all know of Sexby, of his crimes, but of the man beyond them. Perhaps this version is a unpolished man, one given to baser instincts but we know him, even if this youth has not known us.
I have thus deemed him suitable to bear a blade. I am no warden, but I am a general. A warrior does not wield a weapon carelessly, particularly in a place unknown to him. Do not remove it. I warn you only as a courtesy.
Each attempt to strip his Klingon honour away from him was repelled and he found honour in resistance. Honour here, I find, is thin on the ground. There are few enemies to fight, beyond those childish to believe that a tantrum against our Exalted Admiral will gain them points or fear is a valued weapon where amnesia is common and ennui more so.
Death has no meaning. And I mean not in the human sense of the meaning of death, yes, I see the oblivion as much as a human or Vulcan or Time Lord would, but it is a mere shutdown, not unlike what an AI might experience should you deactivate it, but that is not meaning.
It is so limited. It pays no respect to the life led before it, reducing it to mere automatic functions to be reset if it 'malfunctions'.
I have never felt the desire to simply vanish before I arrived in this place.
In that other ship, there were enemies. True injustices to be fought, honour existed in the hearts of those inmates, it made them strong, powerful. Vital. Each of their deaths had meaning. Each smile, each act of generosity, had meaning.
I share my former warden's enthusiasm [Enthusiasm, blood lust, same difference, right?] to return, if only to restore meaning to my own existence, regardless of the death stolen from me.
It has given me a purpose.
[Filtered away from Sexby]
I do not expect understanding on this matter. I can only say that a soldier forms an attachment to his weapon, it is part of his identity, to hold a weapon, to defend with it, to make it an extension of self. Sentimental perhaps, but nonetheless a strong feeling.
We all know of Sexby, of his crimes, but of the man beyond them. Perhaps this version is a unpolished man, one given to baser instincts but we know him, even if this youth has not known us.
I have thus deemed him suitable to bear a blade. I am no warden, but I am a general. A warrior does not wield a weapon carelessly, particularly in a place unknown to him. Do not remove it. I warn you only as a courtesy.
Private
Date: 25/8/11 04:17 pm (UTC)From:Your culture isn't the culture here. Sexby is human, not whatever the fuck you are. I get him better than you do. Doesn't matter if I know shit about you or not, I know what you did was stupid and someone's going to get hurt because of it.
Private
Date: 25/8/11 04:27 pm (UTC)From:People will only get hurt if they challenge him. If they challenged them before they still would have gotten hurt, whether it was a knife or not, damage can be done. And you, are buried under twenty first century morality, he was born in the seventeenth, two wholly different eras.
Private
Date: 25/8/11 05:04 pm (UTC)From:And you're from some fuckin' future century and not even human. If you really want to argue understandings, you're doin' a fuckin' terrible job defendin' youah cohneh.
Private
Date: 25/8/11 05:19 pm (UTC)From:I've been human, you have not been Klingon. And I have known this man, you, however, don't know him, you assume your way is the right one despite coming from a position of complete ignorance. It is in assuming you know what is right for a man you don't know where you are wrong.
Private
Date: 25/8/11 05:32 pm (UTC)From:Private
Date: 25/8/11 05:38 pm (UTC)From:Private
Date: 25/8/11 09:46 pm (UTC)From:Look, I get him and I think I get you pretty well. I'm not talking about your beliefs.. or his.. or mine. I'm talking about the Barge. He's fucked if he's got a knife here because you just fuckin' told everyone.
Private
Date: 27/8/11 01:22 pm (UTC)From:So, now you say I shouldn't have told.
Private
Date: 27/8/11 04:20 pm (UTC)From:I'm saying your beliefs are pretty contradictory, tryin' to help him and then fuckin' him over. You shouldn't have given him the knife, but since you're convinced it was the right idea, I'm hopin' maybe you'll realize how hypocritical you are.