It's strange. On the midst of plenty, the basic desire is to cry out that there isn't enough: neither food nor water, neither shelter nor security, nor enough wealth. In the midst of security the feeling of danger is sharpened and in the midst of wealth the fear of poverty is near-overwhelming
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Comments 126
Amen.
Or whatever it is your culture uses as praise.
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[Glaukir breathes out a smile.]
I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your name, mister...?
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I...I could really use some of your words of comfort right now.
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[Glaukir smiles.]
What's wrong?
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[He sighs]
The whole 'people getting jewels implanted in them and attacking everyone' thing is weighing heavily on me. It brings up a lot of bad memories and it makes me think that I'm weak and that I'm not doing enough. It makes me angry and confused and I don't know what to do. I don't like not knowing what to do.
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... I know I hate that feeling, too. What did you do before, when you felt that you knew what to do?
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[There's a long silence.]
I disagree.
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[His voice is smooth, low, and he speaks very quickly.]
Rightness doesn't endure; power does. Unfortunate, but true.
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[He breathes out a smile.]
Power belongs only to the gods. Temporal power is transitory and unsatisfying.
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In the end, all the paragon of witticisms manages is an incredibly intelligent:]
Y-yeah.
[Good job, Sokka.]
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[Erk.]
Not, my arm. A new arm. It looks like my old one. I can count to twenty again. You know.
Oh, and, Azula, kind of... got me. But I'm better! Totally better.
[When he realizes this might make him worry more he winces a bit.]
Sorry to make you worry.
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[Wait, got him?]
... are you alright? Sokka?
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[He remembers that's the priest's voice. Long time ago, though. Or at least, it feels like it.]
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But whatever works.
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[Glaukir laughs.]
Keeps me fed. Keeps others fed, too.
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