makin' something outta nothin'
for the Voice
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller

Age: 34 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#1
Sam
I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam
And no one in his right mind would make my home his home
Sam was an anxious person; that much was known to anyone that even spent five minutes with him. He tended to balloon any issue into a life-ending conflict, obsess over details and was always looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next thing to go wrong, the next person to betray or hurt him. At first, he'd tried to put his anxiety over their Longnight plans down to that; maybe this was just how he was, maybe he was overthinking again.

But the more he considered it, the more Sam came to the same conclusion he'd come to when the debate had first risen. This was suicide. The Ascended did not have the numbers, and in the numbers they did have they did not have the strength. He had faith in the Voice, perhaps in a couple of their family with enough power to survive, but over and over he was hit with horrific visions of the future that involved a lot of spilled fluid and not many monsters gone for it.

He knew, from the reception to his opinion last time, that this would not be a popular move, but he had to try it. Coming to the shrine in the shelf, sat on a ladder to the side of it and speaking out in front of himself, hands clasped, Sam emptied his mind, hoping his Goddess was listening.

"Mother, I'm scared. I know...I know I'm always scared, but this time it's serious. This Longnight plan; I don't see how it can end in any way but all of us dead. There's so many monsters, and not that many of us, not yet, and we aren't that powerful. A lot of the Ascended are new to it. They might not even want to fight." Especially those that had come back at the Festival; thrust into their new lives and immediately sent to a hopeless war? He knew he wouldn't want it.

"Maybe you have a plan. Maybe you can help us in some way...I'd really like to know if you have something like that. At the moment, as we are, I don't think there's going to be half of us here after Longnight-" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was speaking quicker and quicker, anxiety over how to say this spilling into his tone. "So..if you have some grand plan...or something to help, please tell me. Or..."

He fiddled with his fingers, knowing full well several people he knew would be very angry he even suggested this. "Help me convince them not to do it. Just...postpone it again. Maybe for more than a year...we could decide to do it when we know we're strong enough. There's this Order. We're just learning how to stay safe from them, and I don't know if we can deal with that with half of us injured or...gone." Sam glanced over to the shrine, to his last hope before stepping into the warfield. "...Just...I know I can't make demands. I'm just scared we're walking right into our end."

He waited to see if she would respond.
When I try to open up to you I get completely lost
Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost


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#2

She does appear, electric and beautiful. It always amuses her a bit where Sam decides to reach out to her: the woodlands, the temple, this shrine hidden in and around various books.

"We have had this conversation before, haven't we Sam." It isn't a question, but nor is it a criticism. Raising a brow, her lashes full and her expression that sweet balance between maternal and all-powerful, the Voice looks down at him with a smile. "I cannot help you convince the others one way or another. This was your decision to make." The Voice adds with a gentle shrug.

"Have you tried speaking with the others?"
the VOICE
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller

Age: 34 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 27 - Luck: 25 - Int: 1
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#3
Sam
I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam
And no one in his right mind would make my home his home
Sam sat up straighter as she appeared, both comforted and a little unsettled by the Voice actually answering this prayer, one that he'd had in his mind over and over. Yes, he'd spoken to her about similar things before, but it would be clear from the frown on his face he didn't think this was a rehash of the last conversation.

"But...they won't listen to me, mother. Last time I tried to convince people it was a bad idea they all acted like I personally wanted everyone to be killed by monsters. When I want the exact opposite of that." Gesturing with his hands, clearly frustrated, Sam's eyes went down to the ladder beneath his feet. "They would listen to you. And you must...I mean, do you think we can do this? Do you really think we can? If you didn't, you would stop us, right...?"

Because really, that was the question at the heart of it. Would the Voice let her children run straight into a massacre, or would she protect them? Were they disposable pawns that could be tossed away for her needs? "This is why I want to know if there's some kind of secret plan. Because...because as we are now, there's no way we can beat those monsters. I've seen them before. Fought them before. And they're so much stronger."
When I try to open up to you I get completely lost
Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost


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#4

Sadly the Voice smiles, her hands folded gently in her lap. "I cannot make them listen to you, Sam." She says soothingly. "But it has been two years, and still this is what they wish to do. Perhaps it isn't that you can't convince them, because they aren't wrong? They have chosen as a family to do this."

She lets his questions ring out in the silence between them, letting her bright one have his voice heard, letting his emotions out.

'Sam, there will never be a time when there are not those of us who are weak. Who are inexperienced. Greatness and progress does not come without sacrifice, and this sacrifice is something our family has agreed to." As for beating the monsters? For having fought them before? The Voice smiles, shaking her head slightly. "Sam, you have never fought the monsters before with the strength of your family behind you. Together, you are all so much stronger than any one of you is on your own."
the VOICE
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller

Age: 34 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 27 - Luck: 25 - Int: 1
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#5
Sam
I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam
And no one in his right mind would make my home his home
Well, yes, this was the second time they'd all made the decision, but Sam immediately bristled at the idea that meant they were right. He wondered just how different the numbers might be if they were slightly more educated on the risks, or if they had a different leader. "So many of them haven't actually seen the monsters, though. I've been out there. I've lost...parts of myself to them." He touched his gloved hand, the fake fingers inside.

But maybe, just maybe, she was right. Maybe with all of them together, they had some kind of chance. Putting his head down in his hands, fingers poking up through his hair, Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry. I...I suppose you wouldn't let us walk into something you knew would kill us all, right? Maybe I do just need more faith, but my mind just...it always shows me the worst ways everything could go before I do it. With everything." From the wildly insignificant to the more important things like the Longnight plans.

"I do have...one question though. Do you think I should have some kind of weapon? What should I use? I don't have any offensive upgrades anymore..." He glanced up, not sure what would be most effective. "Do the monsters have a specific weakness?"
When I try to open up to you I get completely lost
Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost


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#6

The Voice listens to Sam's concerns, her face a kind mask of understanding. "This is the way of democracy...of deciding things as a group. I had hoped that when you grew closer to the rest of our family, you would also grow to respect their decisions. It is no secret that you have always worried about this choice, but is it not time to accept that yours is not the only voice here? That what you want is not what everyone else does?" Reaching forward to softly place a hand on his cheek, the Voice sighs sadly. "Your father never gave you the chance to speak up and be heard...and because of that, I think you now find it hard to go along with the wishes of your new family, because of how unfair things used to be for you."

Pausing, the Voice tilts her head slightly as she considers Sam's question. "This task...it has been over a year coming, and only now you're asking whether you should have some kind of weapon?" Independence had once been something Sam had wanted so badly—and likely still wanted—and yet he seemed to still need reassurance and validation over things he surely knew the answers to. "Fire, Sam." The Voice reminds him patiently. "Fire, just like you."
the VOICE
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller

Age: 34 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 27 - Luck: 25 - Int: 1
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#7
Sam
I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam
And no one in his right mind would make my home his home
"I know, I know. I'm sorry, I just--" Sam sighed, squirming uncomfortably and feeling more and more like a naughty child as the moments went on. This situation had left a constant nagging in his head, but when it actually came to explaining to someone or arguing...well, he'd never been skilled in those areas, and it seemed with this especially his words abandoned him. "--What are you meant to do when you feel, really, truly, that what they've chosen is going to hurt them horribly though? That if they had more information, if they actually knew what it was like, they'd choose different?"

Because a lot of their soldiers had not actually seen a Longnight, or at least had not ventured out into the streets during one. He felt they expected something much easier than what they would find.

The speculation about his father did make Sam go quiet for a moment as he thought it over, the idea neither sparking recognition or sounding totally false. Further pondering of it was cut short by the Voice's question, which drew a sigh and a shrug. "I...was honestly hoping everyone would change their minds. I suppose I only just realised they won't. How do I fight with fire? It would hurt me, wouldn't it?"
When I try to open up to you I get completely lost
Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost


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#8

"You are meant to respect their choices." The Voice replies. "Perhaps they are wrong, and perhaps they will lose their lives for it. But death is not the end, and it is not your role to control those around you. Allow your family their own autonomy. It is their right to choose for themselves, just as it's yours."

Whatever would come, it would be as the result of choices made. There would always be information lacking, always be hindsight. But the right to choose was something the Voice would always offer her family. It was never something she would take away.

"Just as I let you leave my side knowing what it would do to you, I still let you make that choice." The Voice reminds Sam with a gentle shrug.

Raising a brow, the Voice shakes her head slightly. "It would indeed hurt you. I would not recommend it."
the VOICE
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller

Age: 34 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 27 - Luck: 25 - Int: 1
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#9
Trigger Warning 
Sam
I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam
And no one in his right mind would make my home his home
"Death is not the end..." Sam repeated quietly, the phrase standing out to him in some way; he looked down at his wrists, thoughts he'd imagined stored away resurfacing for just a moment. If he'd wanted to, he could have argued that he wasn't able to choose for himself, as the family had made it clear he was a part of this or an outcast, but trying to argue with the Voice was pointless; he'd never been good at expressing himself anyway.

He nodded at the reminder of his straying, how she had allowed it. Again, there were things he could say, about how there had not really been a choice, how he had immediately been sick, known he was going to die...but what was the point? A heavy sense of hopelessness settled into him, but he didn't let it show; just smiled and nodded.

"Okay. Thank you. I'll try my best."


Fin
When I try to open up to you I get completely lost
Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost


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