[ Will, properly directed, properly channeled and applied, is the only thing that can truly change the world to his satisfaction. All else can be tuned and engineered and augmented to suit those purposes.
A sword has no need to feel for what it cuts. A machine designed for a singular purpose has no need of a heart.
(So, why does he continue to be plagued by such incessant, useless thoughts? It was not something he had in the form of a Wyrm, so far above other bugs. It was never something he had to bother with.)
He dismantles the device in front of him and begins to meticulously pore over its pieces, looking for some hidden error. He works smoothly, without pause; the only thing that stops his efficient, repetitive movements is Grimm's words.
(He doesn't need to stop to listen. He's more than capable of multitasking. But he does regardless.) ]
Not something new.
It reoccurs. Enough to be an irritant.
[ He holds up a needle to the light, examining it for flaw. What place it has in the device he's so casually dissected is not yet clear. ]
I do not understand it, [ he admits, after a moment, and there's an edge, a frustrated tightness to his voice. It seems ridiculous to even say, it would be much easier to write off as insignificant and unnecessary.
But his curiosity, his latent pride, won't allow him to stop turning it over in his head. Wearing it down, thinking about it, considering all angles and still - remaining uncomprehending.
Overthinking it, in truth. It's not something that can be fully dissected, nor controlled. But he doesn't understand that, either. ] I have no need for it. Yet it still persists.
no subject
A sword has no need to feel for what it cuts. A machine designed for a singular purpose has no need of a heart.
(So, why does he continue to be plagued by such incessant, useless thoughts? It was not something he had in the form of a Wyrm, so far above other bugs. It was never something he had to bother with.)
He dismantles the device in front of him and begins to meticulously pore over its pieces, looking for some hidden error. He works smoothly, without pause; the only thing that stops his efficient, repetitive movements is Grimm's words.
(He doesn't need to stop to listen. He's more than capable of multitasking. But he does regardless.) ]
Not something new.
It reoccurs. Enough to be an irritant.
[ He holds up a needle to the light, examining it for flaw. What place it has in the device he's so casually dissected is not yet clear. ]
I do not understand it, [ he admits, after a moment, and there's an edge, a frustrated tightness to his voice. It seems ridiculous to even say, it would be much easier to write off as insignificant and unnecessary.
But his curiosity, his latent pride, won't allow him to stop turning it over in his head. Wearing it down, thinking about it, considering all angles and still - remaining uncomprehending.
Overthinking it, in truth. It's not something that can be fully dissected, nor controlled. But he doesn't understand that, either. ] I have no need for it. Yet it still persists.