Anthony Blunt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
winksandnods) wrote2011-12-04 02:44 pm
winksandnods) wrote2011-12-04 02:44 pm
3rd Code - audio
How in God's name do you all stand this?
[Too many long nights spent able to do nothing more than read the Journals, which provide no insight to the Malnosso. Too many cups of coffee and glasses of Scotch and soda. Too many questions he can't find answers to.
Anthony Blunt, to say the least, is on edge.
He's taken to drawing lately, more than he has in years. Though, unlike what he's told his fellows, he never really abandoned his art. His scenes are bleak, though-- Snowy buildings that loom and cast long shadows. Scabbed skin with numbers just visible under the wound. Complacent wraiths. All of the sketches are safely hidden in a journal kept under a floorboard in his bedroom.
He can think of no way in. The talk of "missions" he's heard have not seemed to endear individuals to the Malnosso, so volunteering for one would be only suicide, not helpful. Their captors have been silent themselves, there has been, so far as he has seen, no direct line to speak to them. Except, perhaps, just before Halloween, but he had not been in a proper state to ask questions then.]
[Too many long nights spent able to do nothing more than read the Journals, which provide no insight to the Malnosso. Too many cups of coffee and glasses of Scotch and soda. Too many questions he can't find answers to.
Anthony Blunt, to say the least, is on edge.
He's taken to drawing lately, more than he has in years. Though, unlike what he's told his fellows, he never really abandoned his art. His scenes are bleak, though-- Snowy buildings that loom and cast long shadows. Scabbed skin with numbers just visible under the wound. Complacent wraiths. All of the sketches are safely hidden in a journal kept under a floorboard in his bedroom.
He can think of no way in. The talk of "missions" he's heard have not seemed to endear individuals to the Malnosso, so volunteering for one would be only suicide, not helpful. Their captors have been silent themselves, there has been, so far as he has seen, no direct line to speak to them. Except, perhaps, just before Halloween, but he had not been in a proper state to ask questions then.]
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They give it to us.
We do not produce, save for a few. We are subject to their whims because they have the supplies we take for granted. At any moment, they could choose to revoke them.
We are at their mercy at least partially because we have placed ourselves there. Yet all most citizens of this place seemed concerned with is their own personal enjoyment. Passing the time. Not surviving on their own, not furthering the community's self-reliance.
[Complacent wraiths, content to bemoan their situation without looking about them.]
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Look... I ain't sure what's eatin' ya or where this is comin' from, but... whatever y'goin' through... I can hear ya out if y'need somebody t'listen.
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We are in the Malnosso's debt, if anything, as they could cut off supplies at any time, and the majority of us would die.
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Do you have the skills to find food? Do you know someone with the skills who you could offer something to exchange? Could you fashion a shelter? Make clothes? Make the materials to make clothes?
You're not taking anything they're not giving you.
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