the impossible dream?
"Four minutes."
"What?"
"Four minutes," the voice repeated, an impatient tone flooding the words with contempt.
"I don't understand," the man on the table replied, his eyes blinking to recover some sense of the world around him.
"I gave you everything you could hope for, but you couldn't accept it," the now-focused view of a man's silhouette spoke from before a glaring light. The shine glimmered upon the sharp edge of a sword at the latter's side, soaking wholly into the black garb of the seated man's body.
"More detail, if you'd be so kind," the tabled man said, right hand reflexively closing over the blade's hilt and holding it defensively-tensed before returning it subconsciously to a scabbard.
"Your heart's desire. I had the most potent of magi and the most brilliant of scientists working for weeks on what would keep you down, but you simply would not have it. The duration of your dream-state was -four minutes-. A colossal waste of time." The silhouette folded its arms, the black-clad man still squinting into the sharp contrast of the light.
"You realize then, that I cannot have what I want, for what I want is essentially mercurial, I assume?" the subject stated flatly, sliding off the table and pacing carefully around to position the silhouette into complementing light.
"So.. we have come to learn. You are a conflicted individual," the former-silhouette now came into contrasting color: a fundamentally stereotypical scientist-type, though wearing no glasses he still bore a starched, pristine white jacket.
"Perhaps that's your problem. I don't have a conflict. It was you that set one up." The be-sworded man offered, his expression harsh at being used as a subject, "Maybe that's what brought me back into the world. Dreams are for the gulf of the void. Dreams ultimately end, no matter how much you invest into them. You gave me an impossible reality. What choice did I have?"
"What?"
"Four minutes," the voice repeated, an impatient tone flooding the words with contempt.
"I don't understand," the man on the table replied, his eyes blinking to recover some sense of the world around him.
"I gave you everything you could hope for, but you couldn't accept it," the now-focused view of a man's silhouette spoke from before a glaring light. The shine glimmered upon the sharp edge of a sword at the latter's side, soaking wholly into the black garb of the seated man's body.
"More detail, if you'd be so kind," the tabled man said, right hand reflexively closing over the blade's hilt and holding it defensively-tensed before returning it subconsciously to a scabbard.
"Your heart's desire. I had the most potent of magi and the most brilliant of scientists working for weeks on what would keep you down, but you simply would not have it. The duration of your dream-state was -four minutes-. A colossal waste of time." The silhouette folded its arms, the black-clad man still squinting into the sharp contrast of the light.
"You realize then, that I cannot have what I want, for what I want is essentially mercurial, I assume?" the subject stated flatly, sliding off the table and pacing carefully around to position the silhouette into complementing light.
"So.. we have come to learn. You are a conflicted individual," the former-silhouette now came into contrasting color: a fundamentally stereotypical scientist-type, though wearing no glasses he still bore a starched, pristine white jacket.
"Perhaps that's your problem. I don't have a conflict. It was you that set one up." The be-sworded man offered, his expression harsh at being used as a subject, "Maybe that's what brought me back into the world. Dreams are for the gulf of the void. Dreams ultimately end, no matter how much you invest into them. You gave me an impossible reality. What choice did I have?"