#willores

i have been watching fallout and westworld and this got me again in western media so i stumbled upon this movie called “angel and the badman”... and i mean, does it need saying?

Every other Sci Fi Drama has lived in the shadow of Westworld S1 and y'all can die mad I'm right.

William getting seduced makes way more sense because at no point did he actually perceive the park as a threat.

Westworld makes no bones about the fact that William is a dumbass and a scumbag and a rapist. Meanwhile Vince is out here calling Carol Sturka a "hero" which makes me uneasy af.

Poetry and Conclusion.

As Dolores kept on reading his namesake Shakespeare's works, William rested his head on his chin and looked at the poet.

"You never read Shakespeare, Ressy," William said, in a low yet clear and echoing voice.

"Get your premise right, mister logician. I do read Shakespeare. I just don't read it out to anyone. Well, not just anyone."

"Then to whom?" William asked, leaning forward to hear the answer.

"what absurd question. I'm reading it to you right now, aren't I? Who else happens to be present in this room?" Dolores said with a slight frown.

William chuckled. "Yes, but you said 'not just anyone.' You're implying that there is a category of people that you read it to. And I fall in that category."

Dolores waited. "So?"

"So I wish to know how you perceive this category of people. Who are they of yours? To you? Colleagues? Rivals? Family? Strangers―"

"Everything," Dolores said.

"Everything? Now you're being absurd, Ressy. No one can be everything to anyone. It's not practically possible. You're being poetic. I don't understand poetry―"

Dolores mumbled with a smile. "Yet you hear me recite."

"―give me something logical. What does it mean that someone's your everything? Are they the mother that gave you birth? The teacher who beat you? The villain who slit your throat? The lamp above your head? The book you hold? How are they your everything?

Dolores smiled. "Even with your logical cranium, you do understand a lot of poeticism, my friend. They aren't my mother to give me birth but they are the sun that gave me life, were I to imagine myself as a sapling. They are my teacher not since they beat me but since no one who stepped in my life walked out without teaching me something. They aren't my villain, but were they to become one, I'd chin up and look with pride at the ruins they created around me. I'd chin up and let them slit my throat."

"Dolores..." William whispered.

Dolores ignored that, even though hearing his own name had become a painfully heartwrencing activity. "The lamp that brightens my little world― ?" Dolores gestured around his library― "Why, yes, they are that. The innumerable words and phrases of love, solitude, desire, and pain bound in this book? Aren't- aren't people like that too, William? Aren't we all... books? And doesn't that really make you my...

William urged. "My what, Dolores?" he whispered. "Everything?"