[ While the Pale King prefers to scrub out flaws where he finds them - mistakes, errors, any imperfection that interferes with his work - the Troupe Master is the opposite, seemingly delighting in illuminating them. He has an annoying talent for finding the little cracks and blemishes the Pale King has yet to scour from himself and delighting in them.
It's yet another thing he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand that inherent fascination with not only him, but those flaws and cracks and moments where he is not as unfeeling and unfaltering as he projects.
He doesn't understand that concept of finding it beautiful, either. It was not something he had ever truly needed a word for; it was his subjects, those who admired his works, that instilled that concept in his head. What he created simply was, and functioned, and functioned well, and that was as close to comprehending beauty as he ever got, or desired to get.
(A vessel built to command, to build, to rule a kingdom does not need to feel to do it. In his old body, his old existence, he had judged it so.
But it seems that even this plan, this process he had once thought perfect, had its errors. Just not where he could see them.
He had not thought that putting his mind into something mortal, something closer and smaller, would change the mind itself. Shape it, without noticing, into something just as strange and separated to his old, shed self as the Wyrm was to mortal bugs and other gods.)
He just sighs, this time. A slight (unneeded) exhale. This, on the other hand, sounds tired. ]
So you continue to tell me.
[ And, as if he's only just noticed that Grimm's constant physical contact (as if he's not just letting it happen all the time), he glances to the side, to where one of the Troupe Master's hands rests on his shoulder. ] Are you always this insistent on touching everyone you talk to?
[ There's no judgement in his voice. Once again, his feelings, if they can be called that, are simple, almost childish things. Basic curiosity.
Is it a way to try and change the subject? Is it a simple observation of what's happening? Both? ]
no subject
It's yet another thing he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand that inherent fascination with not only him, but those flaws and cracks and moments where he is not as unfeeling and unfaltering as he projects.
He doesn't understand that concept of finding it beautiful, either. It was not something he had ever truly needed a word for; it was his subjects, those who admired his works, that instilled that concept in his head. What he created simply was, and functioned, and functioned well, and that was as close to comprehending beauty as he ever got, or desired to get.
(A vessel built to command, to build, to rule a kingdom does not need to feel to do it. In his old body, his old existence, he had judged it so.
But it seems that even this plan, this process he had once thought perfect, had its errors. Just not where he could see them.
He had not thought that putting his mind into something mortal, something closer and smaller, would change the mind itself. Shape it, without noticing, into something just as strange and separated to his old, shed self as the Wyrm was to mortal bugs and other gods.)
He just sighs, this time. A slight (unneeded) exhale. This, on the other hand, sounds tired. ]
So you continue to tell me.
[ And, as if he's only just noticed that Grimm's constant physical contact (as if he's not just letting it happen all the time), he glances to the side, to where one of the Troupe Master's hands rests on his shoulder. ] Are you always this insistent on touching everyone you talk to?
[ There's no judgement in his voice. Once again, his feelings, if they can be called that, are simple, almost childish things. Basic curiosity.
Is it a way to try and change the subject? Is it a simple observation of what's happening? Both? ]