"Never attribute to malice what stupidity can perfectly solve on it's own," Dorian points out, with an annoyed little sigh. "Very few people in the universe are out and out cunts. A grand majority of them are goddamn idiots. Also, he's not a god."
His brow lifts at the audacity of the man's words. It's immediate announces that this prick has clearly not spent his extended life in service, specifically to one such cunt god. Sweeney's not gonna argue that a grand majority of folk are idiots. He knows that damn well; he's staring at one.
"How ya know he ain't a god? He tell ya on that intro pamphlet?"
"Gods have much better things to do with their time than worry exclusively about fifty or so people," Dorian says, with a cavalier little shrug. Because they do! Worrying exclusively about fifty or so people, at least in Dorian's mind, is an entirely human thing. Or, at least, a not-god-like thing. He's not going to outright assume the Admiral's human.
Sweeney can't suppress a laugh, short and sharp. He rolls his eyes and takes a drag.
"Met a lotta gods then, have ya?" Clearly, he hasn't.
"Lots are starvin' fer whate'er they can come by in the way of belief. They run diners an' factories an' fuckin' mortuaries. It doesn't take many folk if they believe hard 'nough. Like say, a boat fulla folk that turn ta him fer every fuckin' scrap they need."
"They run diners and factories and mortuaries in your world," Dorian points out. "It seems a bit silly to assume that everything here runs on the same sort of logic as where you're from."
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"'Cause he's a cunt, like any other god." He releases the rest of his smoke with a roll of his eyes.
"Kid with an ant farm, lettin' us build 'til he gets bored an' shakes the fuckin' thing."
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"How ya know he ain't a god? He tell ya on that intro pamphlet?"
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"Met a lotta gods then, have ya?" Clearly, he hasn't.
"Lots are starvin' fer whate'er they can come by in the way of belief. They run diners an' factories an' fuckin' mortuaries. It doesn't take many folk if they believe hard 'nough. Like say, a boat fulla folk that turn ta him fer every fuckin' scrap they need."
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"Sure. But yer bein' the same sorta shit ta assume that it doesn't." Sweeney takes a drag, his eyes lingering on Dorian.
"You tell me what ya think he is then."
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"When ya say 'a person', whad'ya mean? A human?" Lots of folk around here would classify as 'people'. No reason to assume.