Thanatos hums, tilting his head a little as he thinks. "I suppose the second more? But also..."
He goes quiet for a moment to think on his words, laughing a little when Gus lands the cartwheel and winds up exactly where he said he would. Thanatos doesn't try to do anything particularly athletic (seriously, he hates the robes for that) and instead just sort of flops down next to him, tucking an arm under his head.
"Just-- what even isperfect?" he says after a moment, looking at the petals as they slowly float back down, "I suppose here they may have some sort of standard here for their fauna, but what would make the perfect play? The perfect dance? The perfect song?"
He reaches up, catching one of the petals in his hand, gently feeling over the smoothness of it. "And even if they do have those standards, can you imagine handing someone a pretty flower and them not wanting it, because it wasn't perfect?" He lets the petal go, his eyes cast back up to the sky. "I've usually found that what's most beautiful is something that isn't the same as all the rest-- a flower of a brighter hue, a mutation in an bird's plumage, art that makes you feel something you've never felt before..."
None of that is antithetical to their way of life, not really. But it's certainly not really what they look for. Creativity, yes, but with bounds and censure and made to be replicable.
He seems to realize he's gone off a bit and looks over at Gustavain, giving him a bashful smile. "Sorry. You didn't sign up for my musings." And given that his are based on feelings and not formal debate, most people don't particularly like dealing with them.
no subject
He goes quiet for a moment to think on his words, laughing a little when Gus lands the cartwheel and winds up exactly where he said he would. Thanatos doesn't try to do anything particularly athletic (seriously, he hates the robes for that) and instead just sort of flops down next to him, tucking an arm under his head.
"Just-- what even isperfect?" he says after a moment, looking at the petals as they slowly float back down, "I suppose here they may have some sort of standard here for their fauna, but what would make the perfect play? The perfect dance? The perfect song?"
He reaches up, catching one of the petals in his hand, gently feeling over the smoothness of it. "And even if they do have those standards, can you imagine handing someone a pretty flower and them not wanting it, because it wasn't perfect?" He lets the petal go, his eyes cast back up to the sky. "I've usually found that what's most beautiful is something that isn't the same as all the rest-- a flower of a brighter hue, a mutation in an bird's plumage, art that makes you feel something you've never felt before..."
None of that is antithetical to their way of life, not really. But it's certainly not really what they look for. Creativity, yes, but with bounds and censure and made to be replicable.
He seems to realize he's gone off a bit and looks over at Gustavain, giving him a bashful smile. "Sorry. You didn't sign up for my musings." And given that his are based on feelings and not formal debate, most people don't particularly like dealing with them.