Despite the frustration building in Federico's chest, he still listens to what Robin is saying. He considers her questions she poses, even if it seems she's reached her own conclusions.
And wishes for him to reach the same.
Not imperfections for others, but for her...he remembers Sunday claiming something similar. But enlightenment...? A guiding light? Is that even possible...?
....his hand lays on the handle of his gun. It tightens, as he considers her questions. It's alot for his very literal, very tired mind to consider. Many hypotheticals. Even now his thoughts are running on overdrive to parse out how a perfect world would even look. Laterano is always professed as a paradise. But that is only because its laws and the peace they bring, are upheld by Executors. And even then, it is far from perfect. There is sorrow, strife, loss. He thinks of Cecelia losing her mother, and being hunted for what she is. Of the sarkaz at the monastery, how they were turned away from Laterano.
What Robin says makes sense. But if it's anything like what Sunday tried to do...it is also a removal of agency. He takes a deep breath. "I am an Executor, which is...like a soldier. But also a Notary, and law enforcement. My...world," Saints, that's still a strange concept, other worlds... "It is ravaged by calamities and wars. Sickness. There is much pain there." He sighs. "Hypothetically, the eradication of such would be indeed, a blessing. But can there truly be peace if its opposite, if all conflict is eradicated?" A pursuit of perfection, disregarding the lone, singed flower in the ruined garden...
Federico looks to her, steady, immovable. "And what if your idea of peace is not everyone's idea of peace? What then? Would you force it upon them? Even if it would make them unhappy?" An Abbot, wishing to bring his congregation into the fold of the seaborn as a last resort for survival, but then throwing out the acrid flesh at the last minute, in shame. How the gardener partook of that discarded option, was rejected, and chose to die...
Federico tilts his head, grip tight on his patron firearm. "Do you know, with certainty, that your idea of an ideal world is truly a paradise?" He closes his eyes, for a moment. "I do wish for your brother to not be burdened by his troubles, his pursuit of perfection." It hurts Sunday. He's seen it. It's hurting Robin now, perhaps. "But I believe he, and everyone, should have the choice to bear them. I do not think one person can just take them all away. It's not possible."
....Sunday is dead now, anyway. Federico hopes his burdens did not follow him.
He stiffens when she turns his words back on him. "I have operated under worse conditions, Signora. I will rest when necessary." Once he figures out how... "I have not exhausted all avenues of proceeding." Once he tracks down Aurelia...Aventurine should be around here as well.... "You should go rest, Signora. I will be fine." He's not budging on this. "I understand culture is important. As is family. But you are not on your home world right now. And I must reiterate you are not in the will. I cannot speak for Sunday as to why that is, but because of that, as an Executor, I deem you have no grounds to enforce your participation." His words are growing monotone again, more cold and clipped. Federico is not an easy man to anger, but...considering the circumstances, they're reaching something like it.
no subject
And wishes for him to reach the same.
Not imperfections for others, but for her...he remembers Sunday claiming something similar. But enlightenment...? A guiding light? Is that even possible...?
....his hand lays on the handle of his gun. It tightens, as he considers her questions. It's alot for his very literal, very tired mind to consider. Many hypotheticals. Even now his thoughts are running on overdrive to parse out how a perfect world would even look. Laterano is always professed as a paradise. But that is only because its laws and the peace they bring, are upheld by Executors. And even then, it is far from perfect. There is sorrow, strife, loss. He thinks of Cecelia losing her mother, and being hunted for what she is. Of the sarkaz at the monastery, how they were turned away from Laterano.
What Robin says makes sense. But if it's anything like what Sunday tried to do...it is also a removal of agency. He takes a deep breath. "I am an Executor, which is...like a soldier. But also a Notary, and law enforcement. My...world," Saints, that's still a strange concept, other worlds... "It is ravaged by calamities and wars. Sickness. There is much pain there." He sighs. "Hypothetically, the eradication of such would be indeed, a blessing. But can there truly be peace if its opposite, if all conflict is eradicated?" A pursuit of perfection, disregarding the lone, singed flower in the ruined garden...
Federico looks to her, steady, immovable. "And what if your idea of peace is not everyone's idea of peace? What then? Would you force it upon them? Even if it would make them unhappy?" An Abbot, wishing to bring his congregation into the fold of the seaborn as a last resort for survival, but then throwing out the acrid flesh at the last minute, in shame. How the gardener partook of that discarded option, was rejected, and chose to die...
Federico tilts his head, grip tight on his patron firearm. "Do you know, with certainty, that your idea of an ideal world is truly a paradise?" He closes his eyes, for a moment. "I do wish for your brother to not be burdened by his troubles, his pursuit of perfection." It hurts Sunday. He's seen it. It's hurting Robin now, perhaps. "But I believe he, and everyone, should have the choice to bear them. I do not think one person can just take them all away. It's not possible."
....Sunday is dead now, anyway. Federico hopes his burdens did not follow him.
He stiffens when she turns his words back on him. "I have operated under worse conditions, Signora. I will rest when necessary." Once he figures out how... "I have not exhausted all avenues of proceeding." Once he tracks down Aurelia...Aventurine should be around here as well.... "You should go rest, Signora. I will be fine." He's not budging on this. "I understand culture is important. As is family. But you are not on your home world right now. And I must reiterate you are not in the will. I cannot speak for Sunday as to why that is, but because of that, as an Executor, I deem you have no grounds to enforce your participation." His words are growing monotone again, more cold and clipped. Federico is not an easy man to anger, but...considering the circumstances, they're reaching something like it.