New Muse: Voice Test

[runningintothesea]

So, it's me then.

All right. You have me. I am here. Now what are you to do with me? It's not that I mind. I don't, but we're at something of a loose end here, aren't we?

You want to 'test' my 'voice' you say? Well, I can't say I fancy the idea of being tried on like a frock. But, suit yourself.

I am here, lady. Do with me what you will.

Comments

[runningintothesea]

What do you mean? Is it as simple as closing your eyes and wishing here? Perhaps we are dead after all. Though, if that were always true I'd expect thing would be different. And yet, if we do not know the power perhaps it doesn't matter after all...

[fitofgrandair]

Oh, no, nothing quite so simple as that... Though perhaps with the proper technique (surely, someone here must know), you may bring wishes into life. Wouldn't that be lovely, your fondest desires made manifest, all without effort? The world would split at the seams.

What I mean is that this un-place seems something of a collision of time and place, and we who shift through it may well find ourselves thrown into still other worlds--sub-worlds or worlds entirely removed, I cannot say. What I mean is that brethren though we may seem, you and I almost certainly have been carried from different wheres or times. I was plucked from the minor wreckage of Paris in 1832. Can you say the same?

[runningintothesea]

How strange it is! I was taken from Paris, yes, but some fifty years past that. Imagine.

Perhaps that explains things. Perhaps I am a descendant of yours?

[fitofgrandair]

[He laughs; this man is almost preciously unseasoned.] God help any child who might lay claim to my paternity! So far as I am aware--and fortunately for the fate of France--I myself left no progeny behind. I cannot, of course, say what may have occurred beyond my knowledge; such occurrences are not unknown in Paris, and I was not unknown to the lovely ladies of the city.

And I should add that I've no sense of what may have come to my relations. One imagines that there are those among their count who chose to people the world with further mouths and crowding bodies. Still, Monsieur Viscount, it must be said that my family is not known for producing members of lofty rank.

[runningintothesea]

[He scoffs.] It's a title, but hardly a lofty one. Come now, Monsieur. You do not give yourself your due. You are well spoken clearly, and as bright as any man of high rank I've spoken to.

[Raoul blushes a bit at the mention of bastard children. His brother is experienced enough, and certainly had some 'wild oats' and if he had an illegitimate child well, Raoul wouldn't be shocked. Yet, to speak of it so freely seems against decency. So, he avoids the subject with a flush.]

[fitofgrandair]

[Ah, dear. It appears that the Viscount is possessed of delicate sensibilities. Although it is rather endearing, it won't stop Grantaire from speaking freely (very little will).]

Many a man of means has not a scrap of sense in his head, and I have often wondered whether this man or that has sold his brain for a handful of coins. What use has a wealthy man for a brain? Such a troublesome organ could only cloud his happiness--I should say 'cloud his happiness further,' for when have you met a rich man untrouble by the trials of finances?--and crowd his affairs with superfluous details.

As for me, I am a fool, but one well-schooled in the art of babble. It is my shall-I-say salvation that this nonsense of mine is often mistaken for intelligence. Be wary of anything that I may say or claim. Here or elsewhere, never trust what you are told; we are all of us liars, speaking deceptions far beyond our own recognition. Listen harder--that is my lesson; take it as wisdom passed down from a could-be relation. [He is smiling still, though the words are largely in earnest.]

[runningintothesea]

Oh come now, but you judge too harshly. I don't doubt that there are many a useless man who inherited his money and lives off of it being of no use to anyone. Men who would not be able to do so much as button his vest without a valet to help him. But aren't there also a good many men who prosper through their own wit and skill? Come, Sir.

[But his tone stays amiable.] Yet you Sir, are no fool. And I do not believe that fortune would make you one. Though, I do rather think you'd be much more intoxicated if you were.

If it is a lie then let it be a lie. Nothing has sense or meaning in this place at any rate, so why not? Let us all be liars.

[fitofgrandair]

I speak as I see, but I also see and speak in extravagance. I will grant you that there may and perhaps must be exceptions to every rule, and that there stands somewhere a man of mind and money, both. Whether either of these commodities is truly to be lauded remains a matter for debate, but true, the combination must somewhere exist.

Ah, dear Viscount, that I could only become more intoxicated than I am, and so drift among the currents of benumbed, bemused existence. I am a drunkard who cannot be wholly drunk! And you say I am no fool? Give it time, and you will see the full bloom of my fooldom. Or perhaps you will not, perhaps I have become a veritable chameleon, shifting my words to bare the look of sense.

But 'let us all be liars'? [Another laugh as he pours his next glass of wine, then offers Raoul the bottle.] What a sentiment, and how sporting of you to take it on! Indeed, how are we to lie if nothing stands fixed? Is there some solid truth within myself and another within your own? Have these been demolished? And did they ever stand, at all? My god, my un-god, my never-god, you are a fine spirit.

Opps!

[runningintothesea]

You ask how are we to lie if nothing stands fixed? If nothing stands fixed, how are we to tell the truth. It seems we either tell the truth or lie by an act of will rather than adherence to any sort of reality.