[ Usually, Claude finds that he can navigate most conversations pretty easily. They rarely have himself at the centre of them. Rather, when they do, it's all about ulterior motivations, plays for power, sowing seeds of doubt and intrigue, the sort of thing that he knows how to field. Questions of loyalty, questions of trustworthiness, accusations of pride and greed. Very rarely do people ask him these sorts of probing questions like this, even his closest and fondest allies, content to roll their eyes at his chipper grins, his silly shenanigans, thoroughly bamboozled in every way Claude intends for them to be.
This is different, being that Ange is ultimately asking him for no ulterior motivation than ostensibly giving a shit about him. He's a little startled by how uncomfortable he finds it to be, even as he scrutinizes the emotions behind her words, the way she seems a little put-off by something he considers to be common sense. ]
Even as a hypothetical, that's impossible, [ he says, shaking his head. ] My ambitions will never be fulfilled. I'd count myself lucky if I could see the half of them before I died. But even with two, three, four lifetimes, I don't believe I'd ever see them through.
[ His ambitions are too lofty. He knows that. But he knows, too, that he's insatiable. It will never be enough. He'll always want more change, more advancement, stronger bonds, better conditions, more, more, more.]
That's why everything I am has to be put towards them now, while I'm still above ground. It's not... [ He rubs at his forehead. ] It's not a bad thing, when you're in the position that I am. This is what people like me are supposed to be doing.
[ And what would he do without it? Sleep, probably. Sleep, for a very long time. Eat three square meals a day without looking over his shoulder. And die young, out of sheer boredom. It's a sorry thought. ]
no subject
This is different, being that Ange is ultimately asking him for no ulterior motivation than ostensibly giving a shit about him. He's a little startled by how uncomfortable he finds it to be, even as he scrutinizes the emotions behind her words, the way she seems a little put-off by something he considers to be common sense. ]
Even as a hypothetical, that's impossible, [ he says, shaking his head. ] My ambitions will never be fulfilled. I'd count myself lucky if I could see the half of them before I died. But even with two, three, four lifetimes, I don't believe I'd ever see them through.
[ His ambitions are too lofty. He knows that. But he knows, too, that he's insatiable. It will never be enough. He'll always want more change, more advancement, stronger bonds, better conditions, more, more, more.]
That's why everything I am has to be put towards them now, while I'm still above ground. It's not... [ He rubs at his forehead. ] It's not a bad thing, when you're in the position that I am. This is what people like me are supposed to be doing.
[ And what would he do without it? Sleep, probably. Sleep, for a very long time. Eat three square meals a day without looking over his shoulder. And die young, out of sheer boredom. It's a sorry thought. ]