[And that's when Anya starts to laugh. Huge, gasping peals of face-splitting, bubbling laughter, snapping off in sharp little gasps of pain as she accidentally stresses the wounds in her back, but even that doesn't stop her laughing. It takes her a few tries before she can speak again.]
You know, you were one of the first people I ever met here. Do you remember? It was at the Overlook Hotel. I got dumped there directly, I'd never seen the barge yet.
Every single person I'd known for the last fifteen years either believed that I and everyone like me should be killed, or that we should be kept in subjugation for our own good, not seen and not heard when our betters were talking. Before that I'd been attacked and nearly murdered - as a four year old, mind you - by total strangers. And I'd just done the worst thing a bad dog can do: I fought back.
Is it paranoia if they actually did kill me? I mean, I'm pretty sure that's how I got here. But the point is, I didn't know that, I thought everyone was one of them, that they were still hunting me down, and even if you weren't one of them, I didn't think anyone would do anything but use me or discard me.
You were kind to me, that day. You told me about being a lantern, a little bit, about seeing other worlds and helping people just because they needed it. You told me the Barge wouldn't leave me behind. I didn't believe it was sincere - see 'actual paranoia' - but I adored you anyway. Hell, I wanted to be you.
This? Isn't paranoia. This is me having a pretty good sense of when people are condescending to me - not that you particularly hid it. When you get pissy on people over stupid little things, sometimes they get pissy back, and it's got nothing to do with the futility of transorganic outreach. You ought to check your own filters.
no subject
You know, you were one of the first people I ever met here. Do you remember? It was at the Overlook Hotel. I got dumped there directly, I'd never seen the barge yet.
Every single person I'd known for the last fifteen years either believed that I and everyone like me should be killed, or that we should be kept in subjugation for our own good, not seen and not heard when our betters were talking. Before that I'd been attacked and nearly murdered - as a four year old, mind you - by total strangers. And I'd just done the worst thing a bad dog can do: I fought back.
Is it paranoia if they actually did kill me? I mean, I'm pretty sure that's how I got here. But the point is, I didn't know that, I thought everyone was one of them, that they were still hunting me down, and even if you weren't one of them, I didn't think anyone would do anything but use me or discard me.
You were kind to me, that day. You told me about being a lantern, a little bit, about seeing other worlds and helping people just because they needed it. You told me the Barge wouldn't leave me behind. I didn't believe it was sincere - see 'actual paranoia' - but I adored you anyway. Hell, I wanted to be you.
This? Isn't paranoia. This is me having a pretty good sense of when people are condescending to me - not that you particularly hid it. When you get pissy on people over stupid little things, sometimes they get pissy back, and it's got nothing to do with the futility of transorganic outreach. You ought to check your own filters.