[ He lied. He did, but he had never really thought about the world she came from, and what it would be like. Certainly, there was a way of their dress that he could see matched with her, and there is the way they talk, the voices that filter in and out that remind him of Quetzalcoatl, but anything else? He'd never thought about, because where she came from didn't matter like that. Once she was gone, after all, it would never come back.
He almost continued, feeling that old surge of resentment and hate blistering at the edges, like a fire ready to blaze, but β
Tezca askes something that redirects that fire, more than squashes it. ]
That is our every day, Tezca. They want to turn us into meek automatons, only good enough to mine their minerals for their prosperity, to die early deaths in the mines, and never make a peep of protest. We are at a war that they do not know that we are fighting, because they are happy to ignore us, pretend that we're nothing but criminals and scavengers who will never actualize enough power to stand for ourselves.
[ If Tezca didn't know how Silco would react, well. He's learning now. ]
We fight, ever day. They want us meek and quiet, we do the opposite. We rage against it. The change we want is the one we choose, not what they force down our throats like the gray filth they've poured into our air and river.
no subject
[ He lied. He did, but he had never really thought about the world she came from, and what it would be like. Certainly, there was a way of their dress that he could see matched with her, and there is the way they talk, the voices that filter in and out that remind him of Quetzalcoatl, but anything else? He'd never thought about, because where she came from didn't matter like that. Once she was gone, after all, it would never come back.
He almost continued, feeling that old surge of resentment and hate blistering at the edges, like a fire ready to blaze, but β
Tezca askes something that redirects that fire, more than squashes it. ]
That is our every day, Tezca. They want to turn us into meek automatons, only good enough to mine their minerals for their prosperity, to die early deaths in the mines, and never make a peep of protest. We are at a war that they do not know that we are fighting, because they are happy to ignore us, pretend that we're nothing but criminals and scavengers who will never actualize enough power to stand for ourselves.
[ If Tezca didn't know how Silco would react, well. He's learning now. ]
We fight, ever day. They want us meek and quiet, we do the opposite. We rage against it. The change we want is the one we choose, not what they force down our throats like the gray filth they've poured into our air and river.