"Consider the stars," Gideon responds, after a thoughtful moment. It's an old line, one he doesn't think he's recited for Amos before. Typing it out lacks the comfort of forming the words himself, but they still ring true--at least to him. "Among them are no passions, no wars. They know neither love nor hatred. Did man but emulate the stars, would not his soul become clear and radiant, as they are? But man's spirit draws him like a moth to the ephemera of this world, and in their heat he is consumed entire."
A pause, as he takes another sip of his rapidly cooling coffee. "They're a reminder. And a promise."
"Why do you think so?" It's a question that benefit's from the machine's speech, though it wouldn't sound terribly different coming from Gideon's own mouth. There's neither rancor nor defensiveness in his face, only curiosity. Discussing philosophy with Amos is never dull.
Amos shrugs dispassionately. This is easier to say to Gideon than Alex, and it was easy to say to Alex. "Haven't felt fear since I was five. Haven't felt anything."
Gideon gives that the consideration it's due, his dark eyes on Amos all the while. Amos would not be the first man to play-act emotions--but if he does, he's quite skilled. A given, if he's been doing it for decades. And yet--
"Do you miss it?" he types out. The obvious answer might be no: without emotion, what could one feel of longing? But the definitions of mental states aren't hard-edged, and Gideon doesn't know Amos' personal lexicon intimately enough to guess where the boundaries of thought and feeling lie.
"Look, Teach," Amos says, staring out into the middle distance. His tone is impassive, bordering on friendly. Detatched. "I can think of a few reasons not to kill you right now. The crew'd get upset. We'd lose out on a contract. Bad for morale. Make me look untrustworthy."
He looks up at Gideon, an amiable smile on his face, meant to comfort. He doesn't know why it comforts, or why, at times, it seems to discomfort, but it's often the most solid choice in his arsenal.
"Without feeling. Yes, I know." Gideon's expression is level, however discomfiting Amos' smile is. Because he claims there's nothing behind it. How unutterably sad--and if anyone knows unutterable, it's Gideon--and yet understandable. He has lived in times and places when he closed his heart to others' suffering. He still could, should it be necessary.
"I have known other men to conduct their lives without feeling. They were--" There is a pause, but a thoughtful, expectant look on Gideon's face, looking for the kindest way to say it. "Less concerned for the harm they caused others."
Concerned. It's difficult to speak of without falling into the language of emotion.
"Yeah," Amos says, placidly cheerful. "Met those assholes. Difference between them and me... I dunno." Another sip. "Could become one real easy. Hopefully somebody'll take my ass out before that."
Gideon can think of some possibilities, the differences between them, but they're neither here nor there for the moment. He's a philosopher, not a psychotherapist--his opinion here would be grounded in opinion and a great fondness for Amos, one he knows is not unbiased. So he lets the subject go, the quiet settling between them again.
After a few minutes, though, after getting a second bulbful of coffee (and one more packet of whitener), he asks, "What would it look like if you 'gave a shit' when I lied?"
Amos drilled more in the meanwhile, rewired some external drivers, and is affixing selecting a new wrench for the next stage in his project. "You don't lie about shit that matters," he says, "if you did... then we'd talk."
"I might," he responds, his expression light but--admittedly--probing. This is a matter of some curiosity, worth investigating further; he's seen how well Amos reads people. "Perhaps I am a better liar than you give me credit for."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
A pause, as he takes another sip of his rapidly cooling coffee. "They're a reminder. And a promise."
no subject
"Ain't all it's cracked up to be."
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Do you miss it?" he types out. The obvious answer might be no: without emotion, what could one feel of longing? But the definitions of mental states aren't hard-edged, and Gideon doesn't know Amos' personal lexicon intimately enough to guess where the boundaries of thought and feeling lie.
no subject
no subject
no subject
He looks up at Gideon, an amiable smile on his face, meant to comfort. He doesn't know why it comforts, or why, at times, it seems to discomfort, but it's often the most solid choice in his arsenal.
"But those are all reasons, you know?"
no subject
"I have known other men to conduct their lives without feeling. They were--" There is a pause, but a thoughtful, expectant look on Gideon's face, looking for the kindest way to say it. "Less concerned for the harm they caused others."
Concerned. It's difficult to speak of without falling into the language of emotion.
no subject
no subject
After a few minutes, though, after getting a second bulbful of coffee (and one more packet of whitener), he asks, "What would it look like if you 'gave a shit' when I lied?"
no subject
no subject
no subject
"You might," he allows, "but most people don't say 'perhaps' about shit they're trying to get away with."