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Quality Control

Quality Control

Quality vs quantity is a tale as old as time. Even in the days of Odawara past, it was old .Should one make as much of something as they can, or spend the time to craft a single piece of high quality? 

In this modern age, numbers matter more. The more created in cold unfeeling assembly lines means more profit.A seemingly simple answer for what could have been a problem. It pays another cost however. What’s made is poor quality, echoes of what the original was.

A copy of a copy.

That’s what you are Seesaw. Your own words, a harsh truth. Not an original, or even loved by your creator. Echoing those around you, haunting empty and forgotten places. Devoid of your purpose, all that remains is your grey, broken form. Not a man, not a monster. Dejected and lonely, no family or friend to call his own. Just a cobbled together toy glued again and again to even try to work. 

All it takes is a slight pressure and you break in whatever angle you’re pressed into. Bending and moving like an action figure until you break just too much. When they’re done, they simply discard you. Throw you away into the bin and left to rot in a dump somewhere.

Who can care for a broken man? 

Had you been forged by a single hand, perhaps you would have fared better. Even with raw materials, a master creating still makes beautiful art. Each of your flaws could have been worked on, turned into perfections. Given the time to be honed and focused in, you could have been gifted into something better. 

For perfection can be achieved with dedication and focus.

I was built by a single master. His dedication, patience, and skill came together to forge what I am. Time was spent to create me, from the metal I am forged from to the magicks that fuel my inner being. No expense spared, and built to last. There is little to break easy on my being.

Quality cannot be bested by quantity.

No more is that apparent when one compares the mass produced to an artisans work. When the two clash, the same result comes back up time and time again. The assembly line piece breaks into nothing compared to the stresses a hand crafted item can make.

So come forth ye of hands of another man. The one that teeters back and forth and wears his cracks for all to see. Bark and bite as best you can, with that crackling voice box you squeak from. I can see where the stress of use lines your body, exposing your hollow self for the world to see. They make for better targets to aim at. 

And when the hollow man clashes with well forged steel, we’ll get to see how he crumbles down into the dust. The glue that repairs each part only delays the inevitable fate of a cheap piece of work.

Broken.

Forgotten.

Unwanted.