#mael.txt

[boldlygayingwherenogayshavegayed]

I have to do useful things today, which is evil and bad.

[boldlygayingwherenogayshavegayed]

What I find fascinating about the Good Art Makes You Feel Good thing is that. So many centuries old pieces make one feel bad. Ones they would absolutely recognise as art.

This was made in 1824. The first time I saw it in my city's museum, I felt genuine distress. This woman and her child are human sized, and you meet her gaze, pleading, desperate and frightened not to kill her. We're not supposed to feel GOOD about that. This is a scene from The Massacre of the Innocents by Léon Cogniet.

For centuries we painted battle scenes, funerals, hunts, murders. We composed music made to evoque sadness, distress, anger, fear, the theatre was once Made To Make You Cry and plays that aimed to make you feel good were seen as lesser art. People nostalgic for art of ages past would be laughed at then.

Art isn't meant to make you feel good. It's meant to make you feel. Or think. It's made to move you.

it is insane how people do just . not know what objective is. like if you are trying to argue there is some objective difference between “good art” and “bad art” and your first argument is that “well objectively good art makes people feel good and bad art makes them feel bad” you . have no clue what art is. and also have no clue what objectivity is.

[error404nightridernotfound]

[The place is silent, save for a few sounds of chains and shackles rattling around…It’s quite dark, too.]

[boldlygayingwherenogayshavegayed]

Bought a battery for my camera, got my hand on some film, can't wait to obsessively photograph everything I can

[boldlygayingwherenogayshavegayed]

My library reservation is there, which is the best (and worst) thing to wake up.

Yay, book! Now you have to move and get dressed for it.

[error404nightridernotfound]

*She snaps out of it and looks over to Maelstrom.

With a push of a holographic button, the firewall reforms.*

[Maelstrom seems to take note of this, and simply curls up where they were, wings wrapping around itself- along with a tail forming to do the same. It looked shaky, upset…knowing it was willingly (albeit somewhat reluctantly) giving up its- possibly only- chance at freedom. The red tint to their side was back, though a darker shade this time.]

[error404nightridernotfound]

I'll be back later, then. Hmph...

*They sigh, turn, and slowly float away.*

…don’ bother..

[It stays where it was, curled up and shaking ever so slightly. Other than that small mutter, it didn’t react to Synthwave leaving; perhaps too deep in their own dilemma to bother to do anything else.]

[error404nightridernotfound]

*She just can't believe it. She huffs, thinking.

She can't stop glancing over at Maelstrom, though.*

…just go..

[Its voice cracks a bit, as if it had to force itself to say that. It knew. It knew what it had just done. Clearly they didn’t like it, they didn’t like the fact it had just given up their one chance to be free, to finally escape this void…but even despite that, it chose to do so anyway.]

[error404nightridernotfound]

Why did you go back? Why did you... All that time, all that time! And you just went back?

[Maelstrom just curls up further, its position looked so…uncomfortable now, there was no possible way they were in any way comfortable in that little curled up position.]

…I t- I told you…

…I told you…

[error404nightridernotfound]

*They stare at floor, confused. They're... ASKING to be locked up again.

Her processor starts working erratically. They're so lost in thought that she doesn't even hear them.*

[They don’t say anything else, just fidgeting with their chains and scratching at the ground. Their screen had gone back to “…” in this time, perhaps a sign of their current mood.]

[error404nightridernotfound]

You've spent so long... Trying to break free, and you just... Don't?

*Their tone was... Confused. Not harsh, not judgement, not disappointment...

Confusion.*

…There is nothing for me there other than greater pain.

[It sighs, scratching a claw along the ground.]

Everyone in the funktrix knows me. Everyone knows me…for all the wrong things. All they’ll do is be scared or hurt me.

[error404nightridernotfound]

*Synthwave floats a little closer to them.*

..What are you... Doing?

[They don’t look up, fidgeting with their chains.]

…I can’t go there.

[error404nightridernotfound]

*Synthwave is.. shocked to say the least. This wasn't going anywhere she was expecting.

Malestrom hasn't attacked them, the city. All they did was break out and...

...go back in?

Why? WHY?*

[They go a decent distance back into the void before just…sitting down, not looking back at the city for the moment. They almost look depressed in a way…a very unusual mood for them. Usually when they were upset they’d just get angry, now they’re just sort of…sad.]

[error404nightridernotfound]

*Synthwave would... Say something, anything, but she finds herself, again, speechless.

They're probably waiting for a chance to strike, she imagines.*

[Maelstrom floats still for another few moments, before moving forward again- but only for a moment. They had sort of outreached a hand in front of them, which then fell back to their side as they halt, seeming to be deep in thought. Then, to anyone’s shock, they turn around, and begin to just…head back to the void outside of the funktrix; a simple ‘NO’ being visible on their screen.]

[error404nightridernotfound]

*Synthwave floats further back from Maelstrom. She's concerned about how...

...Not destructive they are. How she thought they'd act... This is completely different.*

[Maelstrom sort of chuckles, though it’s very…depressed sounding.]

All those threats I made…and I don’t even…

[A sigh is heard from them.]

…I can’t even bring myself to follow through with any.

[error404nightridernotfound]

...The place I was afraid you'd destroy. All of it.

*They stare at the abyss that Maelstrom came from. She feels uncomfortably cold.*

[They pause for a long moment, hands still shaky.]

…

[They shake their head, looking more towards the ground now, as if hiding their face.]

…I can’t.