There, now she understands perfectly. That's as good a definition for friendship as any, bizarre game language aside, and it's undoubtedly more wretched than she can fully understand, in this incarnation, but at least it's a start. He's tempted to say as much, too, but that would be just as confusing for her, no use in ranting at a ghost, as grade-A Scottish as that would likely be. And as tired and frustrated as he feels, he isn't quite to the point of antagonising her deliberately. She didn't ask for this, either. She's right to be angry. It's an improvement over her eerie cosmic detachment, for sure. How can he possibly convince Calliope that taking these kinds of sentimental risks, preferably with an entire universe at stake, is precisely the way to knock an impartially harsh reality down a few pegs? It's a conviction one either carries in their bones or doesn't. May as well set out to teach the real Callie to make lasagna. Without any candy substitutions.
She likely doesn't want any philosophical reassurances that the work he's doing couldn't be more diametrically opposed to her brother's victory. And he's not one hundred percent on the unphilosophical specifics, it would start off with 'I have a time machine...' and just roll downhill from there. It's tempting to start thinking about those specifics, just so he can stop thinking about his current circumstances, but Calliope would probably be less than appreciative of a speculative lecture. What else can he appeal to? "If this universe is worth saving from her brother, then Callie's worth a little friendship, risk or not. When she wants to play whatever role she has here, I'll make sure she's there on time. That's what I can do, that's all I can do. Keep her safe, and let her see a little of what she's supposed to help save." There are rules, damn it. But what else is there to say? Your freedom is important, please stay on the line. How long has she been in this stupid lair? Longer than he's been letting people make sacrifices? "You'll get your freedom, too. I promise." Always making promises to these green children, but he really means this one. He'd do more if he could, but they've all been dealt just a really stupid hand, and this ghost probably cares about meaningless apologies as much as she cares about friendship. He'll spare her that, out of an almost military respect. "It's wretched, but it isn't weakness. You, and her brother, are wrong. I can promise you that, too."
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She likely doesn't want any philosophical reassurances that the work he's doing couldn't be more diametrically opposed to her brother's victory. And he's not one hundred percent on the unphilosophical specifics, it would start off with 'I have a time machine...' and just roll downhill from there. It's tempting to start thinking about those specifics, just so he can stop thinking about his current circumstances, but Calliope would probably be less than appreciative of a speculative lecture. What else can he appeal to? "If this universe is worth saving from her brother, then Callie's worth a little friendship, risk or not. When she wants to play whatever role she has here, I'll make sure she's there on time. That's what I can do, that's all I can do. Keep her safe, and let her see a little of what she's supposed to help save." There are rules, damn it. But what else is there to say? Your freedom is important, please stay on the line. How long has she been in this stupid lair? Longer than he's been letting people make sacrifices? "You'll get your freedom, too. I promise." Always making promises to these green children, but he really means this one. He'd do more if he could, but they've all been dealt just a really stupid hand, and this ghost probably cares about meaningless apologies as much as she cares about friendship. He'll spare her that, out of an almost military respect. "It's wretched, but it isn't weakness. You, and her brother, are wrong. I can promise you that, too."