Willow was surprised, though not particularly concerned, by Amanda’s description of America. He had no special opinion of the place, it was just a nation occasionally mentioned by the various humans around him in passing. Hardly any different from just another random mythical kingdom on a map somewhere, in his mind. Still, it was a sober reminder to not get too comfortable with his status among the human race… Willow was still a fairly bizarre outsider to them, no matter how used he had become to their presence.
Heh, kind of crazy to think about, the young stallion thought to himself, bemused, as a flashback of his initial reaction to meeting the tall, hairless monkey race crossed his thoughts. All the screaming, flailing, begging Sterling to incinerate Giovenith (he had to suppress a slight chuckle at that bit, knowing how absurd it was now in hindsight). They’d basically been monsters to him once upon a time, and now their differences barely registered at all.
This musing was cut short by Amanda’s question in regard to firearms and self-defense, which caught him off guard. “I- hm.” He narrowed his brow, internally exploring his reaction. What was the difference? Willow didn’t consider himself morally averse to violence, at least no more so than any average person was. He was capable of it, if needed (he thought back to their last battle with the putti), though not necessarily competent.
“I don’t know,” Willow admitted, with a slight shrug. “I guess, they just… I mean, no offense, but they just strike me as so excessive. I’m not saying they objectively are…” He quickly clarified. “... just that, I’ve always only ever seen them used in some pretty destructive ways. And most ponies don’t really have the ability to kill someone instantly and directly that way, not without a lot of hassle anyway, so…” He shook his head. “I guess it basically is an emotional reaction. Having that kind of direct, massive power feels overwhelming.”
“Everybody’s got a little bit of starlight in them,” Giovenith insisted, rolling down her sleeves. “Nobody who we were created by, we’re still all here, together, in the same world.”
“Same universe,” Toola gently corrected, with a smile.
“Oh, yes, I guess so!” the young god laughed, putting a hand to her head. “That would be more accurate, wouldn’t it? Considering.” The levity of the moment seemed to pass for her though, as her excited and satisfied expression melted to that of concern. Her hand moved toward the center of her face, stopping near her mouth, as she looked back at Sandy. “I am really happy for you, Sandy, and you are very special no matter what shape you’re in, but… you will be careful, won’t you? Special families often come with special expectations.”
It seemed like something she might have already said, but there was still a temptation to repeat it. Even by the silly, happy Gio’s standards, sometimes it seemed as though Sandy could be a bit too optimistic about what he was facing down. She didn’t know if it was appropriate to voice, but she definitely worried about him sometimes….
“Well maybe Sandy has his own expectations of his new family,” Toola chimed, trotting away from the godling’s side, around the human man, and up to the statue. “After all, if you really believe in family loyalty, then it’s got to go both ways.” She gestured to the piece. “And besides, you can’t stand in the way of the artist’s inner fire.”
“Well, I don’t know about that…” Giovenith wasn’t sure how to press that the Olympians made standing in people’s way unnecessarily into a bit of an art in itself.
“Of course! He just took down a conspiracy against the Big Apple today, didn’t he?” She jabbed a hoof into the air. “Big hearts, big stars, and big dreams, that’s what makes this world go round! It’s the purpose of the fire. It’s what every pony in this museum lived and died for. So! What will you live and die for, Sandy? How do you plan to burn yourself into history?” She said with such a bombastic, beckoning tone, as if she were calling the two to arms. “Or you, Giovenith? If you are a Princess, then how do you plan to rule?”
Now Giovenith was put on the spot. Fair was fair, she supposed. But interestingly enough, an answer didn’t immediately come to her.
“Whatever my mother wishes,” she offered, in an almost uncertain tone.
“Oh Gio,” Toola tilted her head. “I love my mother too, but you don’t have to do what she wants forever.”
”You don’t have to.” The correction had a bit of heaviness to it. The weight of the fact that yes, Giovenith, unlike most others, did have to obey her mother literally for all eternity.
“But surely she wants you to find your own way?”
“Yes,” she admitted, hesitantly. “Some of it.”
“So what is that way?”
Giovenith was silent for a moment. She looked briefly at Sandy, then back to Toola Roola. “I guess I just want… to make sure people are safe and happy. That’s not really ambitious, I know, but… that’s always been what mattered most to me. I’m not really sure if I even care if my existence is acknowledged by the followers, I don’t really want anything from them either…”
“No pretty crown?”
“No.” Suddenly seeming to remember where they were, Giovenith cupped her hands around her mouth, as if to share a secret. “Have you guys ever heard of Thomas Kinkade?”
“Explain?” Of course, a pony had never heard of a human painter.
“He made these cute little paintings of cottages with flowers, and light, and rainbows,” Giovenith explained. “Everybody hates them, because they’re kitsch. And I guess they’re right, but… more than anything, I’ve always wanted to live in one of those paintings!” It was truly blasphemy to say in the temple to the modern high art, and she seemed to know it. “And have others live with me, safe and sound, and nothing unfair ever happens to them again. I can make sure it doesn’t, because I’ll have… power.” She lifted her fists up in front of her, quizzically. “... Is that wrong to want?” It was a sincere question.
