Saturday doesn't know how to feel - relieved, angry. Engage, or retreat? If she had room - if they were alone - she would start to pace. But she can't, and so her nerves are vibrating like a plucked string.
She maintains control. With an expansively casual movement, she seats herself on the edge of the table.
"I'm gonna sit down for this, because this conversation has taken a turn. Okay. Phew."
Deep breath. "Most people are sapiens, right now. We're fifty years in and the cycle lasts for thousands. Eventually it should be an even split between all types? A lot of this I only just learned myself. People don't know about the cycle, or if they do, they think it's like a myth. Whoops."
Her grin there is humorless, bitter, and directed inward.
"The nobilis thing is part of that. It'll leave a bad taste in your mouth, fair warning. So like, after magic faded out and everyone was just plain sapiens again, everyone forgot magic and metatypes were ever real, but people still remembered them, right? As stories, as ideas. And part of why this was is because apparently - and this isn't something people know, all right? It's very secret and I just found out myself - there's immortals. Every metatype seems to have a few. Sapiens, too."
She takes a deep breath and fluffs out her hair, covering her eartips again. It's never fallen to her to explain this before; usually, on this topic, she's the one being explained at. Sometimes up to three or four times.
"So you have these immortals, and they're - doing immortal things, mostly getting ready for the magic to cycle back in and bring the horrors with it - except for a couple of the immortal elves. Not all of them, but enough of them. And they basically set things up so that just as soon as enough people turned elven, they could make an elven nation. Two of them, Tir Tairngire and Tír na nÓg."
She says the words clipped and short, with none of the requisite lyricism. Maybe she should be talking around this, or outright lying, but also, fuck that. Cain isn't from her world, he can know the truth. He might actually believe the truth.
"And they did that by getting people's heads, manipulating people, creating sense of grand elven identity and being part of some ancient, special race, nobilis," she spits the word " - and it's a lie. I knew it was a lie before I learned about the Great Cycle, because elves didn't exist until fifty years ago. And now that I know about the cycle, it's an even bigger lie. I've seen the past - long story - I know for a fact that elves in the Fourth Age were just one among many. It's a lie and it was told by immortal twats desperate to prove political theories from seven thousand fucking years ago."
Her words are, uncharacteristically, crisp and precise. Saturday's fist clenches; she doesn't look at Cain, and wishes Maggie were here.
"Of the baker's dozen conspiracies I've learned about since this started, I hate that one the most."
guess where my gm diverged from shadowcanon
She maintains control. With an expansively casual movement, she seats herself on the edge of the table.
"I'm gonna sit down for this, because this conversation has taken a turn. Okay. Phew."
Deep breath. "Most people are sapiens, right now. We're fifty years in and the cycle lasts for thousands. Eventually it should be an even split between all types? A lot of this I only just learned myself. People don't know about the cycle, or if they do, they think it's like a myth. Whoops."
Her grin there is humorless, bitter, and directed inward.
"The nobilis thing is part of that. It'll leave a bad taste in your mouth, fair warning. So like, after magic faded out and everyone was just plain sapiens again, everyone forgot magic and metatypes were ever real, but people still remembered them, right? As stories, as ideas. And part of why this was is because apparently - and this isn't something people know, all right? It's very secret and I just found out myself - there's immortals. Every metatype seems to have a few. Sapiens, too."
She takes a deep breath and fluffs out her hair, covering her eartips again. It's never fallen to her to explain this before; usually, on this topic, she's the one being explained at. Sometimes up to three or four times.
"So you have these immortals, and they're - doing immortal things, mostly getting ready for the magic to cycle back in and bring the horrors with it - except for a couple of the immortal elves. Not all of them, but enough of them. And they basically set things up so that just as soon as enough people turned elven, they could make an elven nation. Two of them, Tir Tairngire and Tír na nÓg."
She says the words clipped and short, with none of the requisite lyricism. Maybe she should be talking around this, or outright lying, but also, fuck that. Cain isn't from her world, he can know the truth. He might actually believe the truth.
"And they did that by getting people's heads, manipulating people, creating sense of grand elven identity and being part of some ancient, special race, nobilis," she spits the word " - and it's a lie. I knew it was a lie before I learned about the Great Cycle, because elves didn't exist until fifty years ago. And now that I know about the cycle, it's an even bigger lie. I've seen the past - long story - I know for a fact that elves in the Fourth Age were just one among many. It's a lie and it was told by immortal twats desperate to prove political theories from seven thousand fucking years ago."
Her words are, uncharacteristically, crisp and precise. Saturday's fist clenches; she doesn't look at Cain, and wishes Maggie were here.
"Of the baker's dozen conspiracies I've learned about since this started, I hate that one the most."