*'This is wrong.’*
[after 1 second]
[[('I know that.’)->Around]]
[continued]*'This is wrong.’* Rather than speaking the words aloud, Rhianon makes a point of mouthing them instead, as if they mean to preserve the rule of silence that Aren has enforced thus far. There's no point in it, not at this stage—hence the mockery.
[after 1 second]
[[('I know that.’)->In]]
[continued]*'This is wrong.’* Rather than speaking the words aloud, Rhianon makes a point of mouthing them instead, as if they mean to preserve the rule of silence that Aren has enforced thus far. There's no point in it, not at this stage—hence the mockery. The question of whether or not silence had been the tool that preserved the innocence and hopes of each execution's bystander was one mulled upon from the very first day onward; if an answer hadn't been realized earlier, then everyone was certainly beyond a state of willful nescience by now. It is not *innocence* that is preserved by ignorance and quietude—no, no, rather, it is *falsehoods* and *immorality* that fester best in such an environment; there's no room for guilelessness within a surreptious affair.
[after 2 second]
[[('I know that. I've always known that.’)->Your]]
[continued]*'This is wrong.’* Rather than speaking the words aloud, Rhianon makes a point of mouthing them instead, as if they mean to preserve the rule of silence that Aren has enforced thus far. There's no point in it, not at this stage—hence the mockery. The question of whether or not silence had been the tool that preserved the innocence and hopes of each execution's bystander was one mulled upon from the very first day onward; if an answer hadn't been realized earlier, then everyone was certainly beyond a state of willful nescience by now. It is not *innocence* that is preserved by ignorance and quietude—no, no, rather, it is *falsehoods* and *immorality* that fester best in such an environment; there's no room for guilelessness within a surreptious affair.
Tardiness is pitiful, but Aren can't find it within himself to pretend to be stirred and staggered by token resistances. It's easiest to understand one's wrongdoing when they're no longer wielding the weapon, now made to be the victim quivering at the sight of its blade. If Rhianon feels a tad more intelligent for lifting their chin and deciding to delude themself about who, between the two of them, is the greater fool, then so be it. From the beginning, his goal was neither to win nor assert his intelligence. The trial was an opportunity for a demonstration, yes, but not of wit; from the beginning, it's been a chance to introduce everyone to the sorrow that lies at the very core of every Sotoban value, to the nucleus of the city itself.
[after 1 second]
[[(This has been a long needed, well-earned lesson on the mutualistic relationship between oppression and silence.)->Mind]]
[continued]*'This is wrong.’* Rather than speaking the words aloud, Rhianon makes a point of mouthing them instead, as if they mean to preserve the rule of silence that Aren has enforced thus far. There's no point in it, not at this stage—hence the mockery. The question of whether or not silence had been the tool that preserved the innocence and hopes of each execution's bystander was one mulled upon from the very first day onward; if an answer hadn't been realized earlier, then everyone was certainly beyond a state of willful nescience by now. It is not *innocence* that is preserved by ignorance and quietude—no, no, rather, it is *falsehoods* and *immorality* that fester best in such an environment; there's no room for guilelessness within a surreptious affair.
Tardiness is pitiful, but Aren can't find it within himself to pretend to be stirred and staggered by token resistances. It's easiest to understand one's wrongdoing when they're no longer wielding the weapon, now made to be the victim quivering at the sight of its blade. If Rhianon feels a tad more intelligent for lifting their chin and deciding to delude themself about who, between the two of them, is the greater fool, then so be it. From the beginning, his goal was neither to win nor assert his intelligence. The trial was an opportunity for a demonstration, yes, but not of wit; from the beginning, it's been a chance to introduce everyone to the sorrow that lies at the very core of every Sotoban value, to the nucleus of the city itself.
Some students are quick learners. Others? A little slower, but that's always to be anticipated. He doesn't mind the variations in audience reception. With some people, in order for a message to be properly retained, it behooves one to beat it into their heads—Aren is well aware that [[a little extra emphasis->Someday]] can make all the difference between a lesson learned and a moral misunderstood.Rhianon lays at Aren's heels, shock immortalized in their fish-eyed gaze and raised brow. Blood pools at his feet as he breathes evenly, nostrils flaring with every inhale, each one a tad sharper than the last. His grip around the mallet loosens and it falls from his hand, landing on the ground with a sonorous clang. There's perhaps some degree of irony to be found in the noise; the similarity to the tone of a schoolbell is almost uncanny. Everything about this location should register as straddling the border between caustic and genuinely suitable, really, but he's never dwelled on that thought long. It's only further evidence behind his leading theory, that's all.
[after 2 seconds]
~~Class dismissed.~~
[continued]