11-09-2018, 01:15 PM
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Many things were just tools, vessels of purpose, and some could be destructive when turned loose or uncontrolled. Fear could be a tool, however much Pip hated considering it. Terror could be used to control a populace, or perhaps dissuade someone from an action by making clear the repercussions that would follow. Pip would never, ever do such a thing himself, though he was certain some might think that in medicine, when, for instance, listing out possible consequences of smoking, it was a fear tactic to persuade. He thought such a judgment would be ridiculous. There was embellishing details to frighten someone, and there was telling them the truth so they could make their own decision. As for fire, he largely considered it a tool as well, one of warmth, of creation, but when mishandled -similarly to fear- and left to grow uncontrollably, it could threaten the stability of an area. Not permanently, though. Everything grew back eventually.
It didn't quite keep the young canine from fearing the heat, though. He knew it was his fault, blamed no one but himself- but the heat and crackle would have his spine rigid, pulling uncomfortably at the burned skin of his shoulders. The smell of smoke, apparently, had a similar reaction, and he thought of the bonfire, wondering if someone else had decided to follow through similarly, but apprehension had Pip's legs increasing pace, and dread fell heavy into his gut when he realized the source of the smoke. His father was on the ground in front of the submarine, smoke billowing from the open door, Caesar standing over him and doing nothing. Unsurprising.
But perhaps that was unfair of him. At the moment, Pip did not care, immediately at Pincher's side, gaze checking him for any burns. Smoke inhalation was the most pressing issue, however, and though he was outside of the submarine, there was no way of knowing how long he might have been inside, or how much of the escaping smoke he could have inhaled. "Pa-father? Does your chest hurt? Is your vision blurry?" Once he spoke, if his voice was hoarse, that could be cause for concern. It was important to get him farther away from the smoke, just in case.
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It didn't quite keep the young canine from fearing the heat, though. He knew it was his fault, blamed no one but himself- but the heat and crackle would have his spine rigid, pulling uncomfortably at the burned skin of his shoulders. The smell of smoke, apparently, had a similar reaction, and he thought of the bonfire, wondering if someone else had decided to follow through similarly, but apprehension had Pip's legs increasing pace, and dread fell heavy into his gut when he realized the source of the smoke. His father was on the ground in front of the submarine, smoke billowing from the open door, Caesar standing over him and doing nothing. Unsurprising.
But perhaps that was unfair of him. At the moment, Pip did not care, immediately at Pincher's side, gaze checking him for any burns. Smoke inhalation was the most pressing issue, however, and though he was outside of the submarine, there was no way of knowing how long he might have been inside, or how much of the escaping smoke he could have inhaled. "Pa-father? Does your chest hurt? Is your vision blurry?" Once he spoke, if his voice was hoarse, that could be cause for concern. It was important to get him farther away from the smoke, just in case.
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CAREFUL, SON — YOU GOT DREAMER'S PLANS