[ Set is willing to do anything, become anything, scrape, claw, connive, deal-make, cheat and beg if he has to. Not necessarily in that order ( though begging is at the bottom of the list ), but he has no pride, no dignity to get in his way.
The others were lucky that he just wanted to win at Werewolf, because he would happily have burnt and slaughtered if his goal called upon such extremism. ]
Exactly! You understand.
If it can keep gods here, it must be a power worth investigating.
The simple answer would be "no, I have never been trapped in another world". The more complex one would be... "yes, I feel as though I must have".
Is that what you mean?
[ Ironically, Set might be one of the best people to share that with. Simply because he acknowledges it, understands it, and simmers with a loathing that might resonate in the same frequency as Homelander's. ]
I hate it, too. For all the power I hold, I am still a thing encaged. It makes a mockery of gods, to be trapped alongside powerless others.
[ Something like relief floods through him — relief at being understood (at not being alone). He's spent this entire time trying to pretend that it hasn't bothered him as much as it has, that it's his choice not to use his powers as much as he'd like. How can he profess to be strong when the house can string him up as easily as anyone else?
(How is he, once ever exempt, supposed to conform to the rules?) ]
[ What happens, when the monsters can sympathize with one another? When the sympathy is not fixated upon a mutual trauma, a chink in the venerable armor, a nice and pleasing parallel that means a gentleness will find their environment.
When it is based on power, the loss of it, and identities that have been shaped by the possession of it. ]
No, we are not like them at all. It is insulting to be kept among them, as they look upon us with pity and laughter and mockery while imagining themselves secure in one another's arms.
[ He'll hold no grudge for those who voted him out, of course. They're foolish for it, drunk on their own perception of power and the execution of it.
What happens when they cannot vote someone like him ( or Homelander ) into a cell, though? What happens when it is no longer a silly little game? He is happy to see who digs their own grave. ]
[ (Something he hasn't really talked about with anyone is the great disappointment — betrayal, even — that he felt when Maeve first began to pull away. She was the closest thing he'd ever had to an equal; she'd been supposed to understand their lot, to understand him. But she hates him, now. He knows that, even if he isn't fully willing to accept it.
But Set is like him, too.) ]
of course i see it. i can smell it. the fear. it's why they take the game so seriously.
i don't know what they're going to do when it's over.
Yes, you do. [ He knows that you do, Homelander! ] They are going to forget.
Mortals have short memories, after all. They are going to forget that what they could do now is not forever. Watch, Homelander. When I finally leave this cell, not one of them will take me seriously. They will remember themselves as those who held enough power to — what? to vote me into a cell?
It's not as if they could do it with their own hands.
But, they'll forget. And they'll continue to think they accomplished something, the way they would think the same of you you the moment they forget that your power continues on after the game.
[ As he reads, the anger and resentment coiled in his chest splits in two, the serpent growing another head as he seethes both at this place for robbing him of what ought to be his birthright and at its occupants for perceiving him like this, for thinking themselves powerful.
After a long pause (spent pacing the confines of his room, wondering just how much of this place he could destroy before blacking out): ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The others were lucky that he just wanted to win at Werewolf, because he would happily have burnt and slaughtered if his goal called upon such extremism. ]
Exactly! You understand.
If it can keep gods here, it must be a power worth investigating.
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have you ever had anything like this happen before?
i've never
[ He hits send before he means to, just stares at the words for a moment before managing to regroup. He can share this, he thinks, with Set. ]
i hate that it makes me weak.
no subject
Is that what you mean?
[ Ironically, Set might be one of the best people to share that with. Simply because he acknowledges it, understands it, and simmers with a loathing that might resonate in the same frequency as Homelander's. ]
I hate it, too. For all the power I hold, I am still a thing encaged. It makes a mockery of gods, to be trapped alongside powerless others.
no subject
(How is he, once ever exempt, supposed to conform to the rules?) ]
exactly. the fact that it treats us like them.
we're not like them.
and they'll fucking see it.
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When it is based on power, the loss of it, and identities that have been shaped by the possession of it. ]
No, we are not like them at all. It is insulting to be kept among them, as they look upon us with pity and laughter and mockery while imagining themselves secure in one another's arms.
[ He'll hold no grudge for those who voted him out, of course. They're foolish for it, drunk on their own perception of power and the execution of it.
What happens when they cannot vote someone like him ( or Homelander ) into a cell, though? What happens when it is no longer a silly little game? He is happy to see who digs their own grave. ]
You see it, right?
no subject
But Set is like him, too.) ]
of course i see it. i can smell it. the fear. it's why they take the game so seriously.
i don't know what they're going to do when it's over.
no subject
Mortals have short memories, after all. They are going to forget that what they could do now is not forever. Watch, Homelander. When I finally leave this cell, not one of them will take me seriously. They will remember themselves as those who held enough power to — what? to vote me into a cell?
It's not as if they could do it with their own hands.
But, they'll forget. And they'll continue to think they accomplished something, the way they would think the same of you you the moment they forget that your power continues on after the game.
no subject
After a long pause (spent pacing the confines of his room, wondering just how much of this place he could destroy before blacking out): ]
after the game. we'll talk then.
no subject