Civilian ship, that settles it. Destiny is hardly civilian-run, however much it should be. The shooter probably can't be a symbol of anything, odd blend of contradictory dichotomies he is. He's too unfocused, neither directly representative of all Rush prefers or all Rush hates. The Truant man said something about other minds getting drawn into these simulations. The thought is a mild relief; another explanation that makes a marginal amount of sense without making Rush's brain responsible for conjuring up - whatever this man is.
"Oh, we're in a simulation." He smirks, ironic and completely without humor. It's been three years in stasis, three years with nothing to occupy the mind but endless looped scenarios, and Rush is an expert at testing the reality of where he is. "A dream, or however you choose to define it. Think - how did you get here? How long has it been since you got here? Can you hammer out any sort of timeline in which coming here makes the slightest amount of sense? Time doesn't move linearly in dreams. Obviously."
He notes the horse's petulance with a faint satisfied jerk of his chin. It seems this man and his...animal companion, soul extension, however Truant explained it, is determined to be as irritating as the man it's metaphysically tied to. Fair fucking appropriate.
"Best listen to her," he comments idly. "She's a manifestation of - something, I don't know what. She's to you what the fucking panther is to me. Whatever that is. You can't separate."
He glances at said panther with mild suspicion, but Nathaira simply looks up from her toe-washing to stare back at him, unsettling and innocent, then rises to her feet to pad over. Rush can't tell for the life of him why she's being so quiet when she was so eager to interrupt his many thought processes before, except perhaps that she calculated this man's tendency to shoot at things he doesn't like and has an admirable sense of self-preservation. Rush realizes the absurdity of applying logic to a sapient panther, and immediately decides that thinking about it is not his problem.
no subject
"Oh, we're in a simulation." He smirks, ironic and completely without humor. It's been three years in stasis, three years with nothing to occupy the mind but endless looped scenarios, and Rush is an expert at testing the reality of where he is. "A dream, or however you choose to define it. Think - how did you get here? How long has it been since you got here? Can you hammer out any sort of timeline in which coming here makes the slightest amount of sense? Time doesn't move linearly in dreams. Obviously."
He notes the horse's petulance with a faint satisfied jerk of his chin. It seems this man and his...animal companion, soul extension, however Truant explained it, is determined to be as irritating as the man it's metaphysically tied to. Fair fucking appropriate.
"Best listen to her," he comments idly. "She's a manifestation of - something, I don't know what. She's to you what the fucking panther is to me. Whatever that is. You can't separate."
He glances at said panther with mild suspicion, but Nathaira simply looks up from her toe-washing to stare back at him, unsettling and innocent, then rises to her feet to pad over. Rush can't tell for the life of him why she's being so quiet when she was so eager to interrupt his many thought processes before, except perhaps that she calculated this man's tendency to shoot at things he doesn't like and has an admirable sense of self-preservation. Rush realizes the absurdity of applying logic to a sapient panther, and immediately decides that thinking about it is not his problem.