Kent returned a slight, but wry twist of his facial features. "Asking for a definition apart from the scientific is begging for relativism. Very well. As I understand it, your use of the word 'man' harks to an ideal of a patriarchal society of which conforms both genders to particular roles, in the man's case, a developed etiquette and system of behavior known as 'chivalry,' a human construct to bring pride to themselves for actions they already consider to be right. In other words, being a man means nothing, certainly nothing more than what it means to be a woman, or any other product of nature."
Kent noticed Martin's disgust, and finally decided to drop the issue with a shrug. "At any rate, what I do, I do. How I kill matters not to me, nor that I kill at all. I simply have my goals that I've set to accomplish, and that is what my responsibility is primarily directed to."
At present, Kent also decided to slip in with a side note, a comment on Martin's behavior. "You seem easily distracted."
Post by Steinerman on Jun 22, 2012 14:41:38 GMT -5
Martin shook his head in dissent. "Patriarchal society? Not in the slightest." He disagreed with a puzzled expression. "As I see it, there are three types of sentients in this world. Men, Beasts, and Monsters. Men, while certainly vile in many ways, have in them the capacity for good. Beasts are almost their opposites, heinous in thought and deed, little to no capacity for good."
"And monsters . . ." He paused a moment, eyes thoughtful. "They straddle the line, almost alien in intent. I'd like to consider myself a man, I'm not a good man, by any means. But I'm not so far-gone as to be a beast."
Seconds later he was grinning brightly, "That's how I see the world, I suppose. And yes, you are quite correct, I get distracted easily. Especially when beautiful women are involved." He ended with a wink.
Kent realized he had made his own assumptions about Martin, causing his temperature to rise several degrees internally. However, his facial expression remained unflustered, and had yet to apologize for his rash assumption. "Hm. Then I would not mind meeting a monster. They seem to be a lot more interesting than just the black and the white."
At the weretiger's mention of his weakness for women, compounded with a wink, Morgan deadpanned with a single blink of his eyes. "...I see," was all he could respond with.
Martin couldn't help but laugh at his companion's unsure response. "What?" He questioned, tone filled with mirth. "Your attention isn't drawn away by gorgeous women?" He made a "tsk tsk" sound, "You're missing out on some wondrous things, good sir." He added on with yet another wink.
Quickly, however, his eyes again grew thoughtful. "And yes, from what I can tell, the Monsters are more interesting, to say the least. The last one I met solidified my view of them. She wasn't evil, exactly. Just so completely alien in mindset that it baffled me for days. Odd girl, but interesting."
"Missing out on some certain debilitating diseases, maybe." Kent muttered under his breath. He had never really been attracted to women in a romantic aspect in his life before, and neither with men.
His demeanor shifted easily to a more comfortable topic he could debate about. "Or rather, motivated without any regard to a defined ideology...yes, a little chaos is good now and then. I scarcely doubt that if everything was ordered, things around here would be boring."
"Some might disagree with that assertion," Kent remarked with a hint of caution, knowing he himself came from Stamaria, and had in recent months become paranoid of some form of electronic spy tapping wherever he travelled. "So I wouldn't spread that around word of mouth around here. Some would take that as dissidentry, or rebellous revolution. Neither would end in a good fate..."
Martin's next comment snapped Morgan's mind back to the fact that the weretiger took an injury, and he felt compelled to help. "Nor would an untreated wound. If need be, I've got some medical supplies back at my place. Bandage wraps, antibacterial ointments, the like."
Martin was about to respond with an invariably snarky comment, and in fact had opened his mouth to do so, when he spotted a figure in the crowd and stopped mid-breath.
The woman stood there, wearing a simple cotton dress, dyed black. Sad brown eyes, a knowing half-smile, and held in her hands was a jacket.
"Oh crap." He said, suddenly nervous. Had he left a jacket with her? Ann. The name exploded in his head. She never chased after him, they'd learned long ago that it didn't work. She couldn't convince him to stay, and she'd given up trying.
"Uh . . ." He stammered to his companion. "Bandages sound good, we should go. Now." He spun, face reddening. His mind already racing, fury towards himself being the primary emotion.
Why turn from her? Why run away from the woman with whom he shared an obvious connection? He was no coward, he had the scars and the battle experience to prove it. And yet . . . he couldn't face her.
"Stupid, stupid." Martin muttered to himself as he followed his companion, realizing with some small hint of dark amusement that he hadn't learned the man's name, yet.
"Say, we haven't even introduced ourselves yet. Though I get the sense that you're one to lie about your name to most people." He said dryly. "But hey, I'm not. The name's Martin, Martin Tiogar. Pleasure to meet you."
Kent paused for a moment. Names were irrelevant to him, for now. If his skills in stealth were great enough, no other stranger would know his name to be tied to anything. "Kent...Kent Morgan." His stride resumed once more, in sight of the apartment complex of his residence.
Post by Steinerman on Jun 30, 2012 12:33:02 GMT -5
Something in Kent's voice lent credence to the fact that he had actually given his real name, or something close to it. Martin's eyes widened in surprise. "Maybe I was wrong about you." He said, a low chuckle emanating from his lips.
"Well, Kent. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you. It's not often I meet a random stranger who invites me to his home for bandages." He absentmindedly cast a glance backwards, shame filling his eyes as he scanned the street for her. She either hadn't followed him, or was being extra cautious, as he detected neither sight nor scent of her.
Kent merely gave a nod in response initially. "If one's injuries are treatening enough, it would be ill mannered of me to withold hospitality, would it not?" He said this simply, as if common knowledge, or at least his standard mode of operation concerning public interaction. Within this system, he spoke little, but offered help in the form of action.
"That would depend on a pesron's point of view," Kent replied gently. "That, and 'manners' are also not always the same in all people. But, as of this moment, I'd consider it good standing to get you at least patched up."
By the time he had said this, he found himself outside the glass doors of the apartment complex overlooking the sea. With a swipe of his key card, Kent shuffled inside and hit the elevator button to take him up to the appropriated level.