taxonomites | 008 || [Accidental Visual] || Eighth Trial

Corwin should probably find a way to rope his unruly tablet into line. When half the time he seems not to care that it exists, though, that makes things a little difficult, and he’s still subjected to being captured at whatever hour of the day, doing whatever it is he’s decided he’s doing.

At least it looks like he’s found something productive to do. Something that doesn’t involve ruining his blade against a tree and putting it back in order. Now that he has learned a painful lesson in “be careful what you wish for,” he isn’t likely to forget it. And he has a long memory. Whatever the damn hamsters were doing, at least he had something to do to keep himself occupied. Damned if they were going to hear another complaint of boredom out of him.

He has replaced Grayswandir with a simple fencing saber— though the Night Blade isn’t far off, resting on the ground next to a much simpler foil—running through offensive drills of a more formal nature than he had for a long time against no one.

At least he remembered most of them. But then, it was always easier to make things look good when he wasn’t trying to defend himself.

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She tilted her head, as if trying to read something in his body language to supplement the meager words. It didn't work too well, and Alexis looked perplexed. "You don't think so?"

"I ain't exactly the fathering type, kid." Not that he'd really had the greatest example in the world, and to be honest, he would have preferred his own father to piss off and leave him alone. Him taking an interest never ended well. And all that. Why should he be involved in someone else's life like that when all that could happen was a disastrous end?

Alexis rested her chin in her palm as she mulled over what she knew as well as what he said. "But that could change, right?" she asked. "Like... you could be if you wanted to. It's not like a switch gets switched on." Except sometimes she did wonder if it was a switch. One that her dad had switched on and her mom didn't.

"It's only too late if someone dies." She winced a little, when she realized what she'd said. "Sorry, that didn't come out right."

"I'm guessing you haven't tried it lately. It's not as easy as all that." Never mind that he hadn't even known about the kid until recently. Never mind that he'd been the culmination of some dark, twisted breeding program. "In our family, death is pretty much the only certainty. That, and plotting."

"I think if I tried being a dad at all, everyone would be really confused. Me included."

She continued looking thoughtful, however at his mention of family. It was quite possibly the first thing he'd volunteered. "Death and plotting?" she echoed, disbelieving, "That sounds really grim."

Corwin gave a kind of ironic half-a-laugh, shaking his head at the girl on the other side of the screen. "Welcome to my life. 'Grim' is one of the more kind things I've heard it all called."

Thoughtful grew to wide-eyed, and maybe a little more disbelief. Telling a twenty-first century girl with one loving (if somewhat insane) parent about death and plotting being family life would do that.

"How about byzantine?" she suggested. "That at least sounds less depressing."

Corwin's expression slid into just slightly impressed--but only slightly.

"That's not a word I'd have expected to come out of a kid's mouth."

She smiled, briefly. Faint praise, but she liked being able to exceed people's expectations. "My name is Alexis," she reminded him. It didn't hurt to remind him. Maybe. "And I picked it up, in one of Dad's books."

"I know what your name is." Successfully reminded. Not changing his mind, though. "And that is a little less than surprising." Not that he had ever met her father, but it made a lot more sense than any other explanation that he could come up with on his own.

Alexis considered the fact that he hadn't immediately called her kid again a minor victory. "He likes using it. Says it sets the atmosphere better than 'it was a dark and stormy night.' But not as good as 'it was the winter of our discontent.'"

"Shakespeare knew what he was doing." Not exactly the best way to describe anything nowadays, but he did have a way with words. "If he can get that into normal conversation, I will officially be impressed."

Alexis grinned at that, her entire expression brightening as she spoke about her dad. "He does that all the time. Says it's the sign of a good writer to reference the masters."

"Could be," Corwin shrugged, glancing away from the tablet for a moment. "A good writer, maybe. It's the sign of a great one to become his own master and not rely on the words of those who came before him."

She tilted her head at that. "Shakespeare referenced other people," she pointed out. "And everyone says he's a great writer."

"How much of what's cliche now did he write four hundred years ago? References are fine, but in the end it's what you created yourself that's remembered."

"Is it what you write or how much you write?" The conversation had been slowly relaxing Alexis, and she felt less intimidated enough to argue, at least a little bit. "The more you write the more might survive, right? And the more likely someone's going to think you're representative of the ages or something."

"Quality over quantity, kid." Or something like that. Quantity helped, sure, but who read anything that wasn't worth taking the time to read it? Besides, it made him feel better to think that what survived was the best, rather than the most. Something to be remembered because it was worth it, rather than because there was a positive flood of it.

"Can't it be both?"

The question had been spurred by genuine curiosity as much pride. Of course, Alexis would think it was possible, being raised by a man who had written at least two dozen best sellers.

"Without burning yourself out? Takes a lot of inspiration and willpower." How long had it been since he'd actually sat down and written anything? He couldn't even remember everything he'd composed, if common songs were his or someone else's, what life he'd written them in.

He knew what he was talking about.

"I'm not sure where you'd find that much motivation."

008 || [Accidental Visual] || Eighth Trial

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