bleed_of_humanity

Agarma

He looked on Centigrade. It was not a model, nor did a model exist.

Metal was scratched; liquid stains were on surfaces which shouldn’t stain; pieces were reattached incorrectly.

All fixable, of course, and it still worked just as well as it did before its unsanctioned bail. Not that he’d used it recently.

“I wish,” said Agarma, ogling the device, “that I could split myself.”

His assistant was looking at several pieces of paper, attempting to copy a transcript, encrypted. “I’m trying, sir,” she said. “I can do it.”

“Incorrect deduction, Claire.”

She paused. “Ah, sorry, sir. Uh, why do you wish to split?”

He continued staring at Centigrade. “A few reasons. For one, I wish there were more of me, less of others.”

“I think those are children, sir, I can start looking for a fitting wife, or consort, if I’m n—”

“There are too many Fools,” he spun around. “And too many who believe it acceptable. But, worse, there are too many who won’t try at all.”

“If you wish to have a child with Samantha, sir, sh—”

“I wish I could split her, too. Which brings me to my second reason. Both of us are weak. She, much more than I, of course.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Don’t suck up.”

“Right.”

“I hate how cute she is.”

Claire tried and failed to find a fitting facial expression, eventually resting on a tilted, confused head with a mouth too far open.

“God! Callister must’ve engineered her specifically to piss me off. The just thing to do, for every man, is exorcise the self of weakness. Why should I be burdened with affection? I’m to run a country!”

“Uh, well, sir, uh, few options, you could castrate yourself, I’m unsure if that would completely kill emotions. (Do that after having kids.) Uh, I think there’re a few curses or geasa you could apply. You might be able to get Callister to dull or kill part of your brain. May be some potions, I’m unsure how that all works. Alternatively, you uh, exhaust your affection, probably with a wife. I’d choose that one. But you’re the prince, sir.”

He stared. She broke eye contact immediately and dropped her gaze to the floor.

“I’m not doing any of that, Claire.” he said.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologize.”

She looked again at the many pages on the floor. “You don’t hate your affection, sir.”

“Pardon?”

“You don’t hate your affection. You hate the bleed of humanity.”

Agarma was bewildered. “‘The bleed of humanity’…?”

“The bleed of humanity, sir. Humans build dams and moats in their minds, but emotions bleed over them everywhere.”

“Well. You’re the retainer. If that is my problem, how should I treat it?”

“I recommend vampirism, sir. Or lichdom. I’ve heard that dying clears your head.”

“Claire…”

“But you need to bleed, sir. I can manage it. You know that.”

“No.”

“Fair, sir, a bad metaphor. Sorry. The world is unpredictable, sir. Nobody can know everything, but you know more than most.”

“Please stop talking,” he said. “I’m going to take a bath.” He left.