[There's a knock at the door of 47-25, light-knuckled and quick.
Josh isn't sure if Oboro's even in right now — he's probably out working, doing whatever it is he does and won't explain — but he hopes the kid's around. In fact, he feels like he needs the kid to be around. Right now, specifically. He needs Oboro to be the one to open the door, because he has no idea what he'll do with the lump in his throat, otherwise.]
[Josh would be fortunate enough to catch Oboro while he was still scouring the net for any possible opportunities to work. The boy leaned in close to his computer, lights off in the apartment, a small headache budding behind his eyes.
He nearly missed the knock at the door, the sound quick and gentle enough to almost blend in with the infrequent noise of neighbors passing.
Milly was out, or she would have insisted on being the one to answer. As it was, Oboro stood from his seat and went to the door, barefoot and apprehensive. He assumed any visitor would be for her.
When he cracked the door, his face severe and ready to turn a potentially disruptive guest away, his attitude immediately changed. Oboro's features softened, and he opened the door wider to allow Josh inside.]
Hello. [He welcomed the visit, but after the initial greeting the man's demeanor dawned on him, and he knit his brows together.] Is everything alright? [If he needed to hide the angel, he was ready. Their closet was clean.]
[Oboro opens the door, just as Josh had hoped he would, and... Josh feels silly. Stupid, even. This is as far as his plan went; he didn't think about what he'd do, what he'd say, what the point of the visit even was, really.
He just knows his brain was screaming at him to go find the kid.
He stares down at Oboro, uncertain and hesitant. Does he go inside? Does he say no, wait, my bad, never mind...? Does he say he's sorry, like offering someone condolences over their own death is even useful at all?
His expression changes in that moment, when he has that thought and remembers what carried him here. It becomes unbelievably sad — his shoulders drop, his brow softens, and his eyes lose a little of their usual light. After that, the only thing he can think to do, the only thing that makes sense, is to throw his arms around the kid and pull him in for a tight hug. It's protective and scared all at once; it's the kind of hug you'd give someone who just survived a car crash unscathed while the wreckage is still visible and smoldering in the backdrop. It's the kind of hug that says I'm glad you're still here. It's a hug Josh has never had to give before, but wishes he had the opportunity to in a few cases, and he half-wonders if he's even any good at it.]
It doesn't work the way you think it does. [He says, dropping his head to mumble the explanation quietly.] You don't belong down here.
[Oboro felt his gut caving in as sadness grew and warped Josh's face into something he could hardly recognize.
But he didn't know why. And as his mouth opened to ask, his own expression turned somber in echo of the grief he was witnessing, his breath was swept away. Startled, instinct churning fear into his veins, Oboro locked up. His shoulders tensed and his arms raised as if to force distance between himself and the sudden constriction.
Then, his resistance vanished. Oboro recognized this grip. This frightened embrace that needed safety. To protect and to hold peace of mind close. He'd felt it from his teacher, and he was wrapped in it again. Oboro raised his hands to hold the man's shoulders and let his head rest against Josh's chest.
The embrace was warm, but Josh's words chilled Oboro's fingertips. He clenched his jaw. Oboro didn't know - didn't understand - why Josh desperately needed to tell him this. But there was something in the man's voice that told him Josh needed him to believe it.
He didn't.] But I'm here. [Oboro spoke with measured silence, an argument that wasn't meant to debate, but to pacify.]
[Josh doesn't have nieces. He doesn't have nephews. That opportunity vanished when he was just a boy, and his parents never considered bringing anyone else into the picture after Joanie was gone.
He doesn't have children of his own, either. (And now, he never will.)
Hell, he's never even babysat — in fact, he can't remember, outside of his experiences here, the last time he even talked to a kid. He's sure he's never hugged one at all, let alone like this. It's new. It's weird, in its newness. It makes Josh's chest hurt.
It makes him think of Zoe. It makes him think of Toby and the few conversations they had about fatherhood. It makes him think about his own father, also gone, and —
What's there to say? What's there to do, aside from hold Oboro close for just a few more moments before pulling away?
And in those few moments, which span the space of a few of Josh's own heavy heartbeats, he says:] For now.
[No final judgment has been passed. Oboro's lucky, in that way.]
[As warmth teetered on the edge of heat, Oboro felt his shoulders relax. His fingers stayed nestled in the fabric of Josh's shirt but they no longer clung. He shut his eyes, resting his head on the man and feeling the heavy rise and fall of his breaths.
In the time that passed between them, he almost felt comfortable. But a question throbbed in his head, and kept his chest feeling tight.
What caused this?
Maybe, he'd find a moment to ask.
But for now, Oboro stared Josh in the eye and listened to his response. For now was such a damning thing to hear. He wanted to stay. Everyone he had met, everyone who had grown important to him, was here.] Yes. [It was with a frown that he answered.]
Do you hate it here? [Was it really so bad? Oboro was living, working, and learning in this place. In this place he could be hugged with warmth and care - as he'd just been.]
[The question takes him by surprise, and it's in that moment that Josh considers why Oboro asked. He didn't think the kid liked it here — who'd enjoy taking up dangerous jobs just to scrape by? What kind of child would find comfort in a landscape like this?
Unless home was worse.
Unless he had to do worse, in his previous life, just to survive at all.]
No.
[Maybe they're the same, in this regard.
But whatever else he has to say about that gets stuck in his throat. He doesn't want to say he likes it, because that sounds crazy, even if it's a little bit true. He also can't quite find the words to explain that he's found people here he identifies with, despite the angel-demon dichotomy. He doesn't know how to say that it's taken him only a month and change to —
Love is a strong word, but Josh feels it, even here. It's the one emotion Josh has always felt the most strongly, right next to guilt.
He pulls back a bit, but his hands remain on Oboro's small shoulders.]
[Somehow, Josh's answer was a relief to hear. Oboro's frown faded, and for what felt like the first time he saw the man eye to eye. Honesty he'd seen bared in discussions and disagreements was so much more raw now.
Now he looked to Josh with something less guarded than usual - something resembling happiness.] No. I don't. [He swallowed, his mouth dry, and looked away.
Should he explain? Normally he wouldn't, but something severe had driven Josh to his door. He owed the man as much. He made eye contact.] I'm not a slave here. And I've met kind people. Like you.
[He paused, his own honesty catching in his throat. Oboro liked it here - he didn't want to leave. He desperately, desperately didn't want to leave.] My teacher is here. [They were together here.]
[Josh came down here expecting a fight. From Brimstone, from the Reform Branch, from everyone damned to eternity in Hell. He came down here a little afraid for himself. He came down thinking he might want to turn tail and run within a day — if that.
But the fights he's had have all been with people he now thinks of as friends, and they haven't so much been fights as passionate disagreements.
Despite the heat, this place feels a lot like home. (With the heat, this place feels a lot like home in summer.)
The friends he'd come to think of as family are all still alive. The family he'd lost when he was younger and then not-so-young are untraceable here — even Nico hasn't been able to locate them. This is all Josh has; these people, condemned though they may be, are all Josh has.]
I saw what you said about why you're here.
[The words are a little strained, but he owes Oboro an explanation.]
And I don't think you should believe that just because you — [No. He's not saying it.] — that just because what happened happened the way it did, you're damned. It's not... automatic.
[Oboro's lips pressed into a thin line as he connected his network conversation with Josh's explanation. When everything fell into place, he balled his hands into fists. He hadn't wanted Josh to see that.
He needed to be more careful.
With that resolution Oboro released a stale breath, his back straightening as he exhaled.
He'd done what he'd done - and what he'd done was far worse than what Josh knew, what Josh would ever know - without care for consequence. And yet, as tight-lipped as he was about his choice, he didn't regret it.
Or maybe he just couldn't afford to let himself regret it. The conflict, a familiar pit in his gut, showed on his face. He wanted to stay, he didn't hate it here, he needed to be here. To be damned. The man's words weren't as comforting as they'd been intended.] Do you say that...as a human? Or as a messenger of the heavens?
That's not what he is. He doesn't think of himself like that even a little bit — he's not Horatio; he won't, can't speak of behalf of Heaven. All he has right now is logic and what his heart's telling him.
...what his heart's hoping for, anyway.]
If it were automatic, you wouldn't be a Limbo case.
[And here it comes, something as rare as a total solar eclipse:]
I'm sorry I read your conversation. I shouldn't have done that.
[When Oboro returns home today, he'll find a small package waiting for him, wrapped in blue paper: a copy of the Cato Pocket Constitution, which includes the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, and has a note attached.]
Oboro,
Read this. When you're done, bring it back to me and we can talk.
[Oboro returns home late, as usual, to a pleasant surprise. He's excited to see the package, and more excited to delve into the documents within. He hasn't forgotten Josh's promise of reading material, so even though the content is difficult, several harrowing visits to the library and questionable internet searches later, he's written a response.]
The documents you've given me took some time to read, so I apologize for the delayed response. In general, I think they say some interesting things. The first part of the Declaration seems to be saying that even people you don't like are entitled to your reasons. That it's your duty to tell them, even if nothing can change. This was my understanding as well, though it's difficult to know when to respect hierarchy and when to provide this sort of information.
Overall, I noticed how often both documents focus on freedom. The pursuit of happiness is an understandable goal, as is the desire to be safe, but what should be done if freedom inhibits those things? As much as the Constitution tries to keep the government from taking away freedoms, the Declaration mentions at least once 'safety and happiness' without freedom, so I believe that it's secondary to the other two. Still, there aren't many ways for your government to ensure them, with all of the people's free will protected. Do you think your people are happier, being able to make mistakes that could be prevented?
The Declaration is a group of people escaping a tyrant, since the King, a man and not the Heavens, commit many injustices. Rising against him makes sense, even if I wouldn't expect it. Some of his actions are common among statesman, such as using any means for compliance and taking prisoners of war and forcing them to fight. But since your people were able to write a letter, they can be free. What about the governed people who do not consent and can't write? Most slaves are illiterate, and some may have no other safety but to rely on an unjust lord.
I believe that the line "all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed" is true. What has been predetermined should not be challenged lightly. Suffering is the most common result of such attempts, maybe the only one, since the effects of such efforts extend for decades. The Declaration contradicts itself, I think, when it says that only after a long string of abuses should suffering be challenged. That means those with good lives should never look to change their fortunes or positions, yet they're the ones most capable, and most often seeking new paths - and the ones writing the document. If only those who suffer may rise against their suffering, yet it is that very resistance which causes suffering, that means they're trapped in a cycle, and their efforts are worthless.
I will bring your items back to your office tomorrow, and we can discuss things when you're available. [He doesn't want to impose, but he's eager to debate.]
Remember context, and know that there were a great many documents that came before this and influenced it. America's Founding Fathers were great thinkers, inspired and guided by the likes of Plato and Aristotle and a list I could spend all day writing out and still not get halfway through.
So I'm asking you to consider this information in a vacuum, which is a little unfair, but you seem to be doing just fine with tackling the gist of it. A few things I should mention: There's some hypocrisy in here; many of those whose signatures appear in these papers insisting on equality and freedom kept slaves. Also, as you'll see with the addition of the Amendments, the Constitution is a living, breathing document. It changes. It's meant to be flexible and to evolve as the needs of American society evolve.
I don't believe freedom is secondary to safety and happiness; I believe that the three are co-dependent, and for one to exist, the other two must as well. That said, yes, I think it's important to allow people to make mistakes that could be prevented through whatever means. I don't know if that makes anyone happier in the end, but it's another kind of freedom that must be protected. Maybe some of the choices you make bring unhappiness with them, but without the promise of freedom and safety, it'd be almost impossible to find happiness again anyway.
Which I know raises a lot of questions about happiness, and I dunno that I'm the right guy to talk to about that specifically.
You're right that these people were escaping a man and not a higher power, but how familiar are you with the monarchical system itself? There's a whole history there that includes a belief in the "divine right of kings" — it's not something England subscribed to at the time, at least on paper. It comes back to the idea of fate, in some ways. It says that monarchs rule as a result of the will of God, and are therefore not subject to earthly laws. Kings aren't elected to the throne, but are rather born into it. In the United States, we let the people decide who should be given power through the democratic process. We ask them to exercise free will in that way, and we then hold those who are elected to the same set of laws as private citizens. (Mostly. Things get tricky sometimes.)
I'm not sure what you mean by "some may have no other safety but to rely on an unjust lord." If the person in question is unjust, how are they providing any safety? By forcing those under them to submit to the system in place, rather than rebelling against it, and doing them the favor of allowing survival?
This seems like a good point to acknowledge that we're speaking from two vastly different viewpoints. I come from a relatively wealthy family that lived in a safe area of the country. I had every comfort growing up, I was able to attend prestigious schools, and I got a great education. This is often the argument made about politicians: That we're disconnected from the people we serve because of our privilege. I know you saw that in some of that in the documents, especially with the language used — it's not writing that would have been accessible to everyone, but it was still written in what was believed to be the best interests of the country the Founders were trying to form.
The point I'll disagree on you on is your last paragraph, which is why I brought up my background. I don't know the extent of what your life was like before you died, but I have enough evidence to make a somewhat educated guess. Out of respect, I won't. If you want to tell me more, I'll listen.
Those who suffer may incur more suffering as a result of rising against it, but in my experience, that's the first step toward real societal change when those in power have failed. There are plenty of historical examples I could provide from my own world to illustrate that (including slavery). I wish that weren't the case, but there's a reason the phrase "things get worse before they get better" exists. Is that fair? Hell no. But should that stop people from protesting, from demanding better, from seeking relief, from shoving fate off course?
Are you sure? I don't want to bother you... I mean, I want to talk to you and see what you're up to, but if you're busy... [but he just said he's NOT.]
I'm just glad to hear your handsome voice. You've been sleeping well and drinking lots of water, right? [let's not talk about her immediate crisis. good idea!]
Mmn. I don't - I've just been working. I think we'll be able to paint soon. [Materials in the proper lively colors are pricey, but he's almost found every shade they need-]
I know you've been working. And I'm so proud of you! But take a break soon, okay? We've got all of eternity to work ourselves to another death.
[there's a warmness in her voice-- hopefully, he can hear her smile. but onto better things!] Will we?! I'm so excited! And we should get more pictures of ourselves up. Our room is going to be so beautiful, thanks to you!
We can't die again, since we're already dead. [A blunt way of saying 'no' to the suggested break. He always finds a way to deny it - downtime gives him nothing.
Though, he does feel warmth in his chest from her intent - and there's guilt in his voice as he continues.] Yes, we should. I look forward to it.
Do you have any favorite places? We can take pictures there.
[well, if he won't take a break, she'll force him to take one, eventually. milly ashford is not to be refused.]
You know? Any place we're together is good enough for me! Part of the fun in taking pictures with someone isn't where you're at. It's getting to share memories with them, and having something that proves it. My favourite pictures will always be of us, smiling together!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ACTION BECAUSE I DO WHAT I WANT
Josh isn't sure if Oboro's even in right now — he's probably out working, doing whatever it is he does and won't explain — but he hopes the kid's around. In fact, he feels like he needs the kid to be around. Right now, specifically. He needs Oboro to be the one to open the door, because he has no idea what he'll do with the lump in his throat, otherwise.]
BRING IT ON
He nearly missed the knock at the door, the sound quick and gentle enough to almost blend in with the infrequent noise of neighbors passing.
Milly was out, or she would have insisted on being the one to answer. As it was, Oboro stood from his seat and went to the door, barefoot and apprehensive. He assumed any visitor would be for her.
When he cracked the door, his face severe and ready to turn a potentially disruptive guest away, his attitude immediately changed. Oboro's features softened, and he opened the door wider to allow Josh inside.]
Hello. [He welcomed the visit, but after the initial greeting the man's demeanor dawned on him, and he knit his brows together.] Is everything alright? [If he needed to hide the angel, he was ready. Their closet was clean.]
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He just knows his brain was screaming at him to go find the kid.
He stares down at Oboro, uncertain and hesitant. Does he go inside? Does he say no, wait, my bad, never mind...? Does he say he's sorry, like offering someone condolences over their own death is even useful at all?
His expression changes in that moment, when he has that thought and remembers what carried him here. It becomes unbelievably sad — his shoulders drop, his brow softens, and his eyes lose a little of their usual light. After that, the only thing he can think to do, the only thing that makes sense, is to throw his arms around the kid and pull him in for a tight hug. It's protective and scared all at once; it's the kind of hug you'd give someone who just survived a car crash unscathed while the wreckage is still visible and smoldering in the backdrop. It's the kind of hug that says I'm glad you're still here. It's a hug Josh has never had to give before, but wishes he had the opportunity to in a few cases, and he half-wonders if he's even any good at it.]
It doesn't work the way you think it does. [He says, dropping his head to mumble the explanation quietly.] You don't belong down here.
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But he didn't know why. And as his mouth opened to ask, his own expression turned somber in echo of the grief he was witnessing, his breath was swept away. Startled, instinct churning fear into his veins, Oboro locked up. His shoulders tensed and his arms raised as if to force distance between himself and the sudden constriction.
Then, his resistance vanished. Oboro recognized this grip. This frightened embrace that needed safety. To protect and to hold peace of mind close. He'd felt it from his teacher, and he was wrapped in it again. Oboro raised his hands to hold the man's shoulders and let his head rest against Josh's chest.
The embrace was warm, but Josh's words chilled Oboro's fingertips. He clenched his jaw. Oboro didn't know - didn't understand - why Josh desperately needed to tell him this. But there was something in the man's voice that told him Josh needed him to believe it.
He didn't.] But I'm here. [Oboro spoke with measured silence, an argument that wasn't meant to debate, but to pacify.]
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He doesn't have children of his own, either. (And now, he never will.)
Hell, he's never even babysat — in fact, he can't remember, outside of his experiences here, the last time he even talked to a kid. He's sure he's never hugged one at all, let alone like this. It's new. It's weird, in its newness. It makes Josh's chest hurt.
It makes him think of Zoe. It makes him think of Toby and the few conversations they had about fatherhood. It makes him think about his own father, also gone, and —
What's there to say? What's there to do, aside from hold Oboro close for just a few more moments before pulling away?
And in those few moments, which span the space of a few of Josh's own heavy heartbeats, he says:] For now.
[No final judgment has been passed. Oboro's lucky, in that way.]
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In the time that passed between them, he almost felt comfortable. But a question throbbed in his head, and kept his chest feeling tight.
What caused this?
Maybe, he'd find a moment to ask.
But for now, Oboro stared Josh in the eye and listened to his response. For now was such a damning thing to hear. He wanted to stay. Everyone he had met, everyone who had grown important to him, was here.] Yes. [It was with a frown that he answered.]
Do you hate it here? [Was it really so bad? Oboro was living, working, and learning in this place. In this place he could be hugged with warmth and care - as he'd just been.]
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Unless home was worse.
Unless he had to do worse, in his previous life, just to survive at all.]
No.
[Maybe they're the same, in this regard.
But whatever else he has to say about that gets stuck in his throat. He doesn't want to say he likes it, because that sounds crazy, even if it's a little bit true. He also can't quite find the words to explain that he's found people here he identifies with, despite the angel-demon dichotomy. He doesn't know how to say that it's taken him only a month and change to —
Love is a strong word, but Josh feels it, even here. It's the one emotion Josh has always felt the most strongly, right next to guilt.
He pulls back a bit, but his hands remain on Oboro's small shoulders.]
I'm guessing you don't, either.
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Now he looked to Josh with something less guarded than usual - something resembling happiness.] No. I don't. [He swallowed, his mouth dry, and looked away.
Should he explain? Normally he wouldn't, but something severe had driven Josh to his door. He owed the man as much. He made eye contact.] I'm not a slave here. And I've met kind people. Like you.
[He paused, his own honesty catching in his throat. Oboro liked it here - he didn't want to leave. He desperately, desperately didn't want to leave.] My teacher is here. [They were together here.]
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But the fights he's had have all been with people he now thinks of as friends, and they haven't so much been fights as passionate disagreements.
Despite the heat, this place feels a lot like home. (With the heat, this place feels a lot like home in summer.)
The friends he'd come to think of as family are all still alive. The family he'd lost when he was younger and then not-so-young are untraceable here — even Nico hasn't been able to locate them. This is all Josh has; these people, condemned though they may be, are all Josh has.]
I saw what you said about why you're here.
[The words are a little strained, but he owes Oboro an explanation.]
And I don't think you should believe that just because you — [No. He's not saying it.] — that just because what happened happened the way it did, you're damned. It's not... automatic.
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He needed to be more careful.
With that resolution Oboro released a stale breath, his back straightening as he exhaled.
He'd done what he'd done - and what he'd done was far worse than what Josh knew, what Josh would ever know - without care for consequence. And yet, as tight-lipped as he was about his choice, he didn't regret it.
Or maybe he just couldn't afford to let himself regret it. The conflict, a familiar pit in his gut, showed on his face. He wanted to stay, he didn't hate it here, he needed to be here. To be damned. The man's words weren't as comforting as they'd been intended.] Do you say that...as a human? Or as a messenger of the heavens?
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Josh would laugh at that if he weren't so sad.
That's not what he is. He doesn't think of himself like that even a little bit — he's not Horatio; he won't, can't speak of behalf of Heaven. All he has right now is logic and what his heart's telling him.
...what his heart's hoping for, anyway.]
If it were automatic, you wouldn't be a Limbo case.
[And here it comes, something as rare as a total solar eclipse:]
I'm sorry I read your conversation. I shouldn't have done that.
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special delivery
Oboro,
Read this. When you're done, bring it back to me and we can talk.
Josh
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The documents you've given me took some time to read, so I apologize for the delayed response. In general, I think they say some interesting things. The first part of the Declaration seems to be saying that even people you don't like are entitled to your reasons. That it's your duty to tell them, even if nothing can change. This was my understanding as well, though it's difficult to know when to respect hierarchy and when to provide this sort of information.
Overall, I noticed how often both documents focus on freedom. The pursuit of happiness is an understandable goal, as is the desire to be safe, but what should be done if freedom inhibits those things? As much as the Constitution tries to keep the government from taking away freedoms, the Declaration mentions at least once 'safety and happiness' without freedom, so I believe that it's secondary to the other two. Still, there aren't many ways for your government to ensure them, with all of the people's free will protected. Do you think your people are happier, being able to make mistakes that could be prevented?
The Declaration is a group of people escaping a tyrant, since the King, a man and not the Heavens, commit many injustices. Rising against him makes sense, even if I wouldn't expect it. Some of his actions are common among statesman, such as using any means for compliance and taking prisoners of war and forcing them to fight. But since your people were able to write a letter, they can be free. What about the governed people who do not consent and can't write? Most slaves are illiterate, and some may have no other safety but to rely on an unjust lord.
I believe that the line "all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed" is true. What has been predetermined should not be challenged lightly. Suffering is the most common result of such attempts, maybe the only one, since the effects of such efforts extend for decades. The Declaration contradicts itself, I think, when it says that only after a long string of abuses should suffering be challenged. That means those with good lives should never look to change their fortunes or positions, yet they're the ones most capable, and most often seeking new paths - and the ones writing the document. If only those who suffer may rise against their suffering, yet it is that very resistance which causes suffering, that means they're trapped in a cycle, and their efforts are worthless.
I will bring your items back to your office tomorrow, and we can discuss things when you're available. [He doesn't want to impose, but he's eager to debate.]
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So I'm asking you to consider this information in a vacuum, which is a little unfair, but you seem to be doing just fine with tackling the gist of it. A few things I should mention: There's some hypocrisy in here; many of those whose signatures appear in these papers insisting on equality and freedom kept slaves. Also, as you'll see with the addition of the Amendments, the Constitution is a living, breathing document. It changes. It's meant to be flexible and to evolve as the needs of American society evolve.
I don't believe freedom is secondary to safety and happiness; I believe that the three are co-dependent, and for one to exist, the other two must as well. That said, yes, I think it's important to allow people to make mistakes that could be prevented through whatever means. I don't know if that makes anyone happier in the end, but it's another kind of freedom that must be protected. Maybe some of the choices you make bring unhappiness with them, but without the promise of freedom and safety, it'd be almost impossible to find happiness again anyway.
Which I know raises a lot of questions about happiness, and I dunno that I'm the right guy to talk to about that specifically.
You're right that these people were escaping a man and not a higher power, but how familiar are you with the monarchical system itself? There's a whole history there that includes a belief in the "divine right of kings" — it's not something England subscribed to at the time, at least on paper. It comes back to the idea of fate, in some ways. It says that monarchs rule as a result of the will of God, and are therefore not subject to earthly laws. Kings aren't elected to the throne, but are rather born into it. In the United States, we let the people decide who should be given power through the democratic process. We ask them to exercise free will in that way, and we then hold those who are elected to the same set of laws as private citizens. (Mostly. Things get tricky sometimes.)
I'm not sure what you mean by "some may have no other safety but to rely on an unjust lord." If the person in question is unjust, how are they providing any safety? By forcing those under them to submit to the system in place, rather than rebelling against it, and doing them the favor of allowing survival?
This seems like a good point to acknowledge that we're speaking from two vastly different viewpoints. I come from a relatively wealthy family that lived in a safe area of the country. I had every comfort growing up, I was able to attend prestigious schools, and I got a great education. This is often the argument made about politicians: That we're disconnected from the people we serve because of our privilege. I know you saw that in some of that in the documents, especially with the language used — it's not writing that would have been accessible to everyone, but it was still written in what was believed to be the best interests of the country the Founders were trying to form.
The point I'll disagree on you on is your last paragraph, which is why I brought up my background. I don't know the extent of what your life was like before you died, but I have enough evidence to make a somewhat educated guess. Out of respect, I won't. If you want to tell me more, I'll listen.
Those who suffer may incur more suffering as a result of rising against it, but in my experience, that's the first step toward real societal change when those in power have failed. There are plenty of historical examples I could provide from my own world to illustrate that (including slavery). I wish that weren't the case, but there's a reason the phrase "things get worse before they get better" exists. Is that fair? Hell no. But should that stop people from protesting, from demanding better, from seeking relief, from shoving fate off course?
Hell no.
voice;
OBORO! CALL ME BACK WHEN YOU GET A CHANCE! I NEED TO TALK TO YOU! LOVE YOU BYE.
[and that's. that...]
voice
Is everything alright? ['I need to talk to you' seldom means good things. Even though she doesn't sound terribly distressed, he's still concerned.]
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Hi, Oboro! How are you today? I'm not interrupting something important, am I? Because I can wait.
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I'm on my way between tasks, so we can talk. [How is he doing today?
Unwilling to answer that is how he's doing today.]
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I'm just glad to hear your handsome voice. You've been sleeping well and drinking lots of water, right? [let's not talk about her immediate crisis. good idea!]
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...yes. [No.] What about you?
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[which, who would stop him if he did? not her. she just wants him to be happier. much happier than she is presently.]
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Mmn. I don't - I've just been working. I think we'll be able to paint soon. [Materials in the proper lively colors are pricey, but he's almost found every shade they need-]
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[there's a warmness in her voice-- hopefully, he can hear her smile. but onto better things!] Will we?! I'm so excited! And we should get more pictures of ourselves up. Our room is going to be so beautiful, thanks to you!
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Though, he does feel warmth in his chest from her intent - and there's guilt in his voice as he continues.] Yes, we should. I look forward to it.
Do you have any favorite places? We can take pictures there.
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You know? Any place we're together is good enough for me! Part of the fun in taking pictures with someone isn't where you're at. It's getting to share memories with them, and having something that proves it. My favourite pictures will always be of us, smiling together!
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