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[ ...Oh. Hm. That's...... Howl isn't sure what to think about that. An Ingarian wizard would call that a "curse," without a doubt, and a powerful one at that if it induces specific actions in the victim. But... at the same time, he can't help but feel like that wrathful, "benevolent" being could have cursed him with worse. Much worse.
Howl needs a few seconds to think about this before deciding on something to say. ]
...alright, yes. That is going to be impossible to hide for long.
[ If only he'd asked earlier. In any event, he gets it now, and yes, it's bad.
Howl sighs. ]
Does it hurt? How often has this happened already?
Howl needs a few seconds to think about this before deciding on something to say. ]
...alright, yes. That is going to be impossible to hide for long.
[ If only he'd asked earlier. In any event, he gets it now, and yes, it's bad.
Howl sighs. ]
Does it hurt? How often has this happened already?
Edited 2022-06-05 04:04 (UTC)
( he gets the sneaking suspicion that "curse" is accurate enough. it seems a fair enough assumption that he had earned that creature's ire.
and, yes, it could have been far worse. but this is makoto we're talking about. something like this, which would steal from him the sanctity of his agency and force him to use his vital energy to heal others, which might later detract from his ability to harm others... it's a particularly nasty curse to bear.
he doesn't insult howl by saying something snide. there is only a soft feeling of affirmation. )
...No, not exactly. I do get an empathetic understanding of their pain, but it's not like I'm feeling it myself. It's more like... an echo. A phantom pain. ( which he is grateful for. otherwise, when he'd woken up in the hospital, he likely would have been immediately and completely overwhelmed. ) Once. Since then, my being aware of it has allowed me to try to be where others aren't, but it's not a tactic that will last for long.
and, yes, it could have been far worse. but this is makoto we're talking about. something like this, which would steal from him the sanctity of his agency and force him to use his vital energy to heal others, which might later detract from his ability to harm others... it's a particularly nasty curse to bear.
he doesn't insult howl by saying something snide. there is only a soft feeling of affirmation. )
...No, not exactly. I do get an empathetic understanding of their pain, but it's not like I'm feeling it myself. It's more like... an echo. A phantom pain. ( which he is grateful for. otherwise, when he'd woken up in the hospital, he likely would have been immediately and completely overwhelmed. ) Once. Since then, my being aware of it has allowed me to try to be where others aren't, but it's not a tactic that will last for long.
[ Howl feels for him; it's hard not to think back on his own experience of being cursed, realizing how truly stuck with the curse he was going to be for the rest of his life, and then having to learn to live with that curse thereafter... The context of his sympathy does not phase through, but the sympathy itself does, more pointed and explicit than it was before. Even as Howl knows it's likely to offend the other demon, he does not hold it back. ]
Wizards cast curses. We don't break them.
But if there's anything I may be able to do to ease your frustrations and suffering, I can try. You only need to ask.
Wizards cast curses. We don't break them.
But if there's anything I may be able to do to ease your frustrations and suffering, I can try. You only need to ask.
( he's done what he can to suspend feelings of helplessness or despair. he still doesn't truly understand what this is; though he can assume by its nature that it is a curse or something similar to it, he won't believe that there's nothing to be done about it until he's told so by a trusted source.
and given the fact that he can count the number of people he trusts on one (or zero) hands, he might still be doggedly searching for a way to rid himself of it for as long as he draws breath.
he is less averse to the sensation of this sympathy because... it at least feels as though it comes from a place of understanding rather than a place of assumption or pedantic pity. he accepts it, albeit ungraciously. )
I appreciate your offer, Howl.
If I can think of anything to ask of you and your manifold talents, I will not hesitate to do so.
and given the fact that he can count the number of people he trusts on one (or zero) hands, he might still be doggedly searching for a way to rid himself of it for as long as he draws breath.
he is less averse to the sensation of this sympathy because... it at least feels as though it comes from a place of understanding rather than a place of assumption or pedantic pity. he accepts it, albeit ungraciously. )
I appreciate your offer, Howl.
If I can think of anything to ask of you and your manifold talents, I will not hesitate to do so.
[ sometime after dusk has settled but before one might consider retiring for the night, Makoto might be gifted with the familiar itch at the fringes of his mind that indicates someone is reaching out. someone not of his sect, not of his legacy - a certain silver-haired Pleroma, and not the one he had left in a pile of ash and dust within Venera.
should he be kind enough to accept - maybe he'll feel, hear, the gentle wash of his "name" floating across the abyss of their link of Communion in a tentative greeting.
it feels... uneasy. ]
Mr. M...?
should he be kind enough to accept - maybe he'll feel, hear, the gentle wash of his "name" floating across the abyss of their link of Communion in a tentative greeting.
it feels... uneasy. ]
Mr. M...?
( at the message's first arrival, it seems as though it will not be accepted at the receiver's end.
makoto has been sparing in those that he has spoken with via Communion since the climactic events that occurred in Venera; to those whose (perceived) vested interests in reaching out to him that don't meet his internal standard, he either rejects or speaks very cautiously to. from those of the Pleroma, he's only spoken to dextera... but abel. there is something in him that reflexively recoils, an archaic and uncomfortable sort of panic rattling at his ribcage — it reminds him most of when he was still human, fearfully hiding macabre books in his room, knowing full well the blatant scorn he would receive when his parents found them.
the primary difference being that that boy hadn't wanted to hurt anyone; he would rather accept death himself than be compelled to kill someone else. pathetic creature. the demon M no longer feels the same, or at the very least he tells himself that, interring his past self in a coffin of plaster.
he feels no remorse because he tells himself he shouldn't; in his own personal context of leveling scales and inter-dimensional war, he was justified. so why is he... afraid to answer this call? couldn't he simply present himself to his good "friend" as he is, careless and confident, heedless of what he might say or feel? oh, if it were so simple. perhaps the veneer of makoto's demonic visage isn't so perfect as he wishes. there are still seams that he can't mend, and within them a latent seed: the knowing fear of rejection, paired foolishly with the undying part of him that still yearned for understanding... not that he would expect such a thing now, and from abel of all people.
and yet...
it's not necessarily a "response" to his previous inquiry, given a few hours have passed, but abel receives his own message pending from M. if accepted, it is heavily guarded, as if the channel of Communion had been narrowed to a single slot that messages could just barely be passed through.
cautiously: ) Abel.
( he just can't seem to turn his back on him entirely. a personal failing, perhaps. )
makoto has been sparing in those that he has spoken with via Communion since the climactic events that occurred in Venera; to those whose (perceived) vested interests in reaching out to him that don't meet his internal standard, he either rejects or speaks very cautiously to. from those of the Pleroma, he's only spoken to dextera... but abel. there is something in him that reflexively recoils, an archaic and uncomfortable sort of panic rattling at his ribcage — it reminds him most of when he was still human, fearfully hiding macabre books in his room, knowing full well the blatant scorn he would receive when his parents found them.
the primary difference being that that boy hadn't wanted to hurt anyone; he would rather accept death himself than be compelled to kill someone else. pathetic creature. the demon M no longer feels the same, or at the very least he tells himself that, interring his past self in a coffin of plaster.
he feels no remorse because he tells himself he shouldn't; in his own personal context of leveling scales and inter-dimensional war, he was justified. so why is he... afraid to answer this call? couldn't he simply present himself to his good "friend" as he is, careless and confident, heedless of what he might say or feel? oh, if it were so simple. perhaps the veneer of makoto's demonic visage isn't so perfect as he wishes. there are still seams that he can't mend, and within them a latent seed: the knowing fear of rejection, paired foolishly with the undying part of him that still yearned for understanding... not that he would expect such a thing now, and from abel of all people.
and yet...
it's not necessarily a "response" to his previous inquiry, given a few hours have passed, but abel receives his own message pending from M. if accepted, it is heavily guarded, as if the channel of Communion had been narrowed to a single slot that messages could just barely be passed through.
cautiously: ) Abel.
( he just can't seem to turn his back on him entirely. a personal failing, perhaps. )
[ one could hardly blame him if the priest had thought he'd been rejected.
Abel did not attribute the silence to any malice on M's part, even if it made the sinking pit fall all the further where it sits in his stomach, hard and uncomfortable like a rock. perhaps he had been deluding himself, wanting to believe a version of events that differed from Estinien's recollection. Makoto having a hand in that man's dissolution...
...all of this - all of it - carries a weight that goes far beyond any one of their lives. it's larger than Makoto, larger than Estinien - larger than Abel, and Himeka, and Eustace and Kaeya and--
the first blood has been spilled, the first life taken in this war none of them asked for. it's inevitable that tensions continue elevating from here, isn't it? inevitable that more will suffer, bleed, in the name of their 'causes' - even if Abel fervently believes none of this is right, deserved, at all. the Aions are victims of circumstance, and for all of them to have been embroiled in this...
...Makoto. what have you done...?
imagine his surprise, then, when someone reaches out across that wall in return. perhaps it takes the gnawing press of several hours, but Makoto stretches a proverbial hand outward against the odds, and Abel... Abel, of course: ]
--Mr. M?
[ oh, wonderful! wonderful. they know one another's names; what a glorious source of relief!!! ]
...It's been a while. Hasn't it?
[ there is no trickle of emotion through the communion, this time. Makoto has kept it spartan; minimalistic. barebones.
it's surely impressive, then, if Makoto might manage to feel some pulse of the priest's unwieldy ruefulness despite those best efforts. maybe a hint of it passes through. maybe; just maybe. ]
Abel did not attribute the silence to any malice on M's part, even if it made the sinking pit fall all the further where it sits in his stomach, hard and uncomfortable like a rock. perhaps he had been deluding himself, wanting to believe a version of events that differed from Estinien's recollection. Makoto having a hand in that man's dissolution...
...all of this - all of it - carries a weight that goes far beyond any one of their lives. it's larger than Makoto, larger than Estinien - larger than Abel, and Himeka, and Eustace and Kaeya and--
the first blood has been spilled, the first life taken in this war none of them asked for. it's inevitable that tensions continue elevating from here, isn't it? inevitable that more will suffer, bleed, in the name of their 'causes' - even if Abel fervently believes none of this is right, deserved, at all. the Aions are victims of circumstance, and for all of them to have been embroiled in this...
...Makoto. what have you done...?
imagine his surprise, then, when someone reaches out across that wall in return. perhaps it takes the gnawing press of several hours, but Makoto stretches a proverbial hand outward against the odds, and Abel... Abel, of course: ]
--Mr. M?
[ oh, wonderful! wonderful. they know one another's names; what a glorious source of relief!!! ]
...It's been a while. Hasn't it?
[ there is no trickle of emotion through the communion, this time. Makoto has kept it spartan; minimalistic. barebones.
it's surely impressive, then, if Makoto might manage to feel some pulse of the priest's unwieldy ruefulness despite those best efforts. maybe a hint of it passes through. maybe; just maybe. ]
( it's true that none of them had asked for this, but that didn't necessarily mean they universally rejected their involvement, did it? there is much to be said about the insidious nature of the Kenoma, the way it slinks into the cracks of one's psyche and ever-so-slightly pushes on their compulsions in ways that are hard to identify as influenced by an external force. but when it came to makoto and his snap decision to kill estinien that day, it had nothing to do with this war. not in its initial impetus, anyway. it had the added benefit of perhaps taking a powerful piece off of the board, certainly, but his motivation had been selfish — the dragoon had not only grievously injured him, but he had insulted him by turning his back on him and leaving him to die.
as ruthless as makoto likes to make himself appear, he likely couldn't stomach killing someone for no reason. but as revenge...
for such a cause, it became all too easy to justify.
whether or not any of the emotional color makes it through the connection can't be read from what's received back from makoto. there's a strained silence, a discontented thinning of the line that comes across like the narrowing of one's eyes. irritation and impatience jump beneath its surface like exposed nerves. )
I'm not much in the mood for pleasantries, my friend. What do you want?
as ruthless as makoto likes to make himself appear, he likely couldn't stomach killing someone for no reason. but as revenge...
for such a cause, it became all too easy to justify.
whether or not any of the emotional color makes it through the connection can't be read from what's received back from makoto. there's a strained silence, a discontented thinning of the line that comes across like the narrowing of one's eyes. irritation and impatience jump beneath its surface like exposed nerves. )
I'm not much in the mood for pleasantries, my friend. What do you want?
Just say the word.
[ There's a vague notion of agreement, followed by a pause, before Howl's mind recedes and returns to the public discussion. ]
[ There's a vague notion of agreement, followed by a pause, before Howl's mind recedes and returns to the public discussion. ]
[ There's a brief burst of surprise at the comment, a trickle of which makes it way through the communion channel. It's not that he sees Makoto as heartless but the Kenoma as a whole tend to be a mistrustful bunch, placing their own personal needs above those of others. Most people don't tend to ask after him.
But he answers quickly enough, tone still brisk. ]
I have a few injuries from previous altercations but nothing serious. [ ..... ] Though I still can't see.
[ No point in hiding it, when he'd reported as much to various others. Overall, his condition is less than stellar in many ways, but there's no time now to troubleshoot solutions to his (many) problems. Later, when they return to Achamoth.
Surprising that Makoto came out of all this largely unscathed though. ]
The [ what are they even calling this thing ] creature really didn't do anything to you other than knock you unconscious?
But he answers quickly enough, tone still brisk. ]
I have a few injuries from previous altercations but nothing serious. [ ..... ] Though I still can't see.
[ No point in hiding it, when he'd reported as much to various others. Overall, his condition is less than stellar in many ways, but there's no time now to troubleshoot solutions to his (many) problems. Later, when they return to Achamoth.
Surprising that Makoto came out of all this largely unscathed though. ]
The [ what are they even calling this thing ] creature really didn't do anything to you other than knock you unconscious?
( oh, no, eustace isn't necessarily wrong to assume such a thing about makoto or the rest of the Kenoma at large, but... he's not about to be so rudely brusque to someone who has dedicated a non-insignificant portion of his time to helping makoto gain at least a passing level of weapons expertise. that, and he still can't really puzzle out why the erune had tried to get him out of that situation in Venera. logically, he has to assume it's something like loyalty to the cause of the Kenoma extending thereby to its members, but...
even with such an impetus, it's hard for the demon to comprehend anyone risking themselves for him like that. and just because he doesn't understand it doesn't mean he can't be appreciative, or even feel indebted. )
...Ah. ( now it's his turn for a breath of surprise. ) My condolences. I hope your vision returns to you quickly.
( he's largely unscathed because his body tends to heal quickly so long as it's whole and no longer under constant siege by magical disease. though — eustace's condition dovetails interestingly into his next question. )
Oh, no. It didn't necessarily harm me, but it certainly didn't leave me unscathed.
( a beat... ) For example: should you want aid for your injures, I can now help far better than mere bandaging, though at some personal cost.
( even if he wanted to be secretive about it, there's a compulsion aspect to it, so he can't guarantee he would be able to keep that secret. so... might as well. )
even with such an impetus, it's hard for the demon to comprehend anyone risking themselves for him like that. and just because he doesn't understand it doesn't mean he can't be appreciative, or even feel indebted. )
...Ah. ( now it's his turn for a breath of surprise. ) My condolences. I hope your vision returns to you quickly.
( he's largely unscathed because his body tends to heal quickly so long as it's whole and no longer under constant siege by magical disease. though — eustace's condition dovetails interestingly into his next question. )
Oh, no. It didn't necessarily harm me, but it certainly didn't leave me unscathed.
( a beat... ) For example: should you want aid for your injures, I can now help far better than mere bandaging, though at some personal cost.
( even if he wanted to be secretive about it, there's a compulsion aspect to it, so he can't guarantee he would be able to keep that secret. so... might as well. )
[ Abel can feel that dwindling, shrinking connection that was already tenuous at best, and some part of him wants to stubbornly reach out - to clutch, grasp at Makoto and drag the Kenoma back to him. it's a childish urge, and an impossible one at that; it defeats the purpose entirely, doesn't it? Abel wants Makoto to want to be 'here,' as it were. that he had reached out at all... it says a great deal, and the priest realizes he has to take what he can get, cannot be needlessly greedy.
but suppose he has always been a greedy creature when it comes to such things.
there's a pause; for Makoto's sake, Abel is tempering and suffocating the tumultuous churn of sentiments - a tall ask for a man like him, but God if he isn't trying - before his reply formulates, cautiously bereft of anything but a well-mannered politeness. ]
Then... let's skip the usual song and dance.
[ Makoto is in no mood, and Abel, perhaps, feels no overwhelming urge to indulge in meaningless back and forth, either. if anything... perhaps the urge to get to the heart of the matter is bearing down on him with pressing need as well. ]
Tell me; how would you feel about that drink? Tonight, if you would.
but suppose he has always been a greedy creature when it comes to such things.
there's a pause; for Makoto's sake, Abel is tempering and suffocating the tumultuous churn of sentiments - a tall ask for a man like him, but God if he isn't trying - before his reply formulates, cautiously bereft of anything but a well-mannered politeness. ]
Then... let's skip the usual song and dance.
[ Makoto is in no mood, and Abel, perhaps, feels no overwhelming urge to indulge in meaningless back and forth, either. if anything... perhaps the urge to get to the heart of the matter is bearing down on him with pressing need as well. ]
Tell me; how would you feel about that drink? Tonight, if you would.
( abel's usual circuitous pontification phasing out and being replaced by something cut-and-dry that cuts to the quick is the first thing to garner a faint sense of interest from the demon. perhaps it's just an innate intrigue into the changeability of things, of how the circumstances surrounding them have finally managed to shift to the point that the priest would adopt a new method of communication.
there is a cautious, tense pause. )
You have curious timing.
( makoto typically drinks with a purpose. though he often claims to be too young to legally partake (not that it matters here), it's just an easy "out" when offered — to drink with them had very nearly been the social imposition of many of his clients when working for datenshou, and for others... well, it had sometimes been a useful tool to make entertaining them less tedious or irritating. he's not really the type to drown his sorrows, preferring to keep his mind sharp in any moment of perceived vulnerability. the one exception to this was that one night over three years ago — the night after he'd truly been made a demon, and he'd been handed a bottle of liquor by the man who'd taken the last fragment of his humanity from him. they'd stood on the balcony in the chill air; he forced himself to drink from the handle, and fjord had given him advice that he uses to this day. "you have to use days like this. use them as fuel for your motivation, or nothing good will ever happen to you." before coming here, he'd been makoto's first and only friend, and his advice had been far more useful than the alcohol had.
for the moment, he only asks: ) Where?
there is a cautious, tense pause. )
You have curious timing.
( makoto typically drinks with a purpose. though he often claims to be too young to legally partake (not that it matters here), it's just an easy "out" when offered — to drink with them had very nearly been the social imposition of many of his clients when working for datenshou, and for others... well, it had sometimes been a useful tool to make entertaining them less tedious or irritating. he's not really the type to drown his sorrows, preferring to keep his mind sharp in any moment of perceived vulnerability. the one exception to this was that one night over three years ago — the night after he'd truly been made a demon, and he'd been handed a bottle of liquor by the man who'd taken the last fragment of his humanity from him. they'd stood on the balcony in the chill air; he forced himself to drink from the handle, and fjord had given him advice that he uses to this day. "you have to use days like this. use them as fuel for your motivation, or nothing good will ever happen to you." before coming here, he'd been makoto's first and only friend, and his advice had been far more useful than the alcohol had.
for the moment, he only asks: ) Where?
Wherever suits you. I'd prefer you to choose, if you don't mind - I don't want you to think I'm attempting something underhanded or preparing something, you know?
[ for the meeting to transpire tonight with no pre-planning, having Makoto choose the venue - hopefully these are assurances that Abel has no malicious intention, nor is he orchestrating anything other than a means by which to talk.
the subject matter certainly will be heavy enough to necessitate some appropriately hard liquor, right? they both must know what it is Abel wants to discuss; it's as good a time to cash in a 'favor' owed if there ever was one, he figures. ]
[ for the meeting to transpire tonight with no pre-planning, having Makoto choose the venue - hopefully these are assurances that Abel has no malicious intention, nor is he orchestrating anything other than a means by which to talk.
the subject matter certainly will be heavy enough to necessitate some appropriately hard liquor, right? they both must know what it is Abel wants to discuss; it's as good a time to cash in a 'favor' owed if there ever was one, he figures. ]
( thinking about it critically... venera is really their only option. achamoth and greentruth are obviously out (if makoto even knows about greentruth, perhaps in name and rumor but not in detail), and though godsblood is technically more neutral ground, it would be far too uneven given that makoto has no familiarity with the place and it's all too likely that abel (and all manner of other members of the Pleroma) would have advantageous familiarity of it. it's not as though any of the shrines had bars, and he didn't know enough about any of the other smaller towns scattered about horos to feel them valid enough for suggestion.
and so... back to the scene of the crime, it seems. he can't decide if it's tasteless or ideal in its irony. both, perhaps. )
Venera, then. Could you make it there by tomorrow evening?
( with Inoseri passed and the contagion gone with it, the city should be on the slow road to recovery — given what they had all gone through, it seems almost a necessity that the bars would have their doors open. makoto sends abel the impression of a location; a modest and out-of-the-way tavern he had noticed in the brief window of time that he had been investigating, before the illness had started attacking the Aions in earnest. )
So long as you swear to me here and now that this is only a meeting between the two of us — that we will speak, and that's the end of it.
( were he still leashed to hell, both empowered and shackled by its laws, he would have demanded it in writing — a contract that would shatter abel body and soul if it was broken. without that ability, though... he has to bet on his gut instinct that the priest is unwilling to so brazenly lie. )
and so... back to the scene of the crime, it seems. he can't decide if it's tasteless or ideal in its irony. both, perhaps. )
Venera, then. Could you make it there by tomorrow evening?
( with Inoseri passed and the contagion gone with it, the city should be on the slow road to recovery — given what they had all gone through, it seems almost a necessity that the bars would have their doors open. makoto sends abel the impression of a location; a modest and out-of-the-way tavern he had noticed in the brief window of time that he had been investigating, before the illness had started attacking the Aions in earnest. )
So long as you swear to me here and now that this is only a meeting between the two of us — that we will speak, and that's the end of it.
( were he still leashed to hell, both empowered and shackled by its laws, he would have demanded it in writing — a contract that would shatter abel body and soul if it was broken. without that ability, though... he has to bet on his gut instinct that the priest is unwilling to so brazenly lie. )
[ There's no doubt in J's mind that even though his ward's more honest self at its most lethal has climbed the stage to finally debut, there surely exists a number among their ranks who yet remain loyally adhered to his orbit. Other Aions who have likely expressed condolences or reached out to ascertain Makoto's condition. Heartfelt efforts stemming from assumed connections; the saccharine-sweet illusion of camaraderie. All of these efforts are feasible purely by circumstances entirely unique to their collective placement here in this artificial, forced collective and not by means of the sincerest forms of choice. But what if it was any of them in the place of this month's victim of Makoto's inherent cruelty; by necessity or personal gain? How easily will those commiserating now hold true to their sense of brotherhood should the worst of a person end up aimed their way?
If Makoto's own wounded admission holds the weight J trusts it to, his ward has already sensed the tenuous and entirely conditional nature of his new companionships. The murder of an enemy in this war is all it takes for a potent deluge of criticism from his peers. It's the most effective litmus test for what awaits in the future when already those fragile binds have begun pulling apart at the seams. Nothing lasts.
Good, better that Makoto relearns this lesson soon as possible if his ridicule on Earth has been so quickly forgotten. If he's to survive the war just now rising across the horizon, he needs to be reminded, after too long in Hell, how wholly fickle the human heart is. Whereas demons are often much simpler in their goals of reveling in the immediacy of pleasure- not clutching pearls and their moralism that benefits whoever sits within the highest ivory tower.
The most familiar of all ties, J maintains the distance Makoto establishes. Lines are written in the sand which he doesn't trespass over. Neither by demanding entry across the threshold of Makoto's present haven or through a litany of coddling words that infantilize someone who had blazed his meteoric rise through Hell by means of the harshest of paths. Roads littered with a thousand souls, paved in their immortal corpses stacked and hidden away in storehouses, for insanity and extinguishment to claim them with time.
Make no mistake, there is ample advice nestled between the elegant sweeping loops of J's lavish cursive. Those words, however, don't root themselves in any belief that perceives his ward as deceptive first encounters or new impressions paint him to be: merely a teen of inhuman nature. Of course, he knows better than any when it was by his own hand that Makoto was shaped and forged into a weapon that craves to cut down its own maker.
J's wisdom offers itself up to someone reaching ever nearer to the status of an equal; if not within the food chain of Hell's now-debunked hierarchy, then here where he's already usurped J in kill counts and firsthand experience of Horos. ]
Mako,
The chatter will die with time, once concern inevitably shifts to greater matters.
This experience has taught us there are more forces at play than previously thought.
Those not so easily overcome compared to the flesh and blood of an opposing faction.
As for further altercations with the enemy-
Those you plan to go up against will not make the same errors either.
Their numbers will gather close; anticipating your next move against them.
The only way to defeat an enemy expecting your arrival is to do the unexpected.
Take them off guard, attack in a way in which they cannot possibly conceive of.
Most importantly, take what you've said and apply it to yourself:
The impermanence of death in this land, provided the endurance of a shard.
Above all else, Makoto. Protect yours.
P.S. Should the need arise, may this gift provide that means.
Yours,
J
[ As before, there's a second gift bequeathed on the same day he receives Makoto's correspondence. Wrapped in a nondescript brown paper intended to not draw the eye or present of much value to Aions freely gifted with gems and jewels, this small package is placed with the letter outside Makoto's room. Only upon unraveling the several-layer thick packaging does the real gift-wrapping show through. White like the feathers of his master, and faintly textured, there's a quality to the paper that suggests, like everything else he's presented, it was selected with no shortage of cost and careful deliberation.
Under the veil of ostentatious trappings is a trinket box; not composed of flimsy cardboard but pearl-white porcelain, garnished in gold filigree along the corners and in the center of every surface. One look and the style reeks of the same rococo style emanating from every corner or trapping within J's castle.
Not that any of this is of much importance. Once emptied of what rattles within, Makoto could throw the trinket box out his window without any real loss. It's the contents inside that matter. A non-descript leather-covered case is wrapped in a white satin handkerchief of a similiar design to the box it came in; all gold-licked and embrodiered with a swooping, curling "J" in one corner.
Plain as can be, the black leather case gives the impression of practicality and an ability to blend in as a non-descript item like a wallet or notebook. Appearing to be nothing of any particular value. But that's the intent. For when Makoto's paranoia surely goads him into dissecting this item, he'll find the leather cover can be unlatched and pulled away, to expose the harder case hidden within.
There, in forged steel set in a shade of darkest black, engraved with a flourished "M", strong as any of the city's best swords and set on a thick hinge none could easily break, is a case not quite thin enough for cigarettes but close. Clearly pocket-sized for portability, it opens to reveal an interior cushioned on both sides by a red-velvet material that's suade-soft and meant to prevent the jostling or damage to what could be placed within. While the cover's interior is flat, the other side sports a dip that can be felt. Whatever cushioning lies under the fabric, it's been shaped and trimmed to support the placement of an object almost in the precise diameters of the most valuable item in Makoto's possession: His shard.
When placed there, the shape of it carved by the powers here to resemble a vertical eye, it settles snug and immobile. If closed, the case automatically locks, airtight and secure. Unlocking it ought to pose little trouble when it's clear there's a lock built into the case, identical in size to the key Makoto had been given earlier. ]
If Makoto's own wounded admission holds the weight J trusts it to, his ward has already sensed the tenuous and entirely conditional nature of his new companionships. The murder of an enemy in this war is all it takes for a potent deluge of criticism from his peers. It's the most effective litmus test for what awaits in the future when already those fragile binds have begun pulling apart at the seams. Nothing lasts.
Good, better that Makoto relearns this lesson soon as possible if his ridicule on Earth has been so quickly forgotten. If he's to survive the war just now rising across the horizon, he needs to be reminded, after too long in Hell, how wholly fickle the human heart is. Whereas demons are often much simpler in their goals of reveling in the immediacy of pleasure- not clutching pearls and their moralism that benefits whoever sits within the highest ivory tower.
The most familiar of all ties, J maintains the distance Makoto establishes. Lines are written in the sand which he doesn't trespass over. Neither by demanding entry across the threshold of Makoto's present haven or through a litany of coddling words that infantilize someone who had blazed his meteoric rise through Hell by means of the harshest of paths. Roads littered with a thousand souls, paved in their immortal corpses stacked and hidden away in storehouses, for insanity and extinguishment to claim them with time.
Make no mistake, there is ample advice nestled between the elegant sweeping loops of J's lavish cursive. Those words, however, don't root themselves in any belief that perceives his ward as deceptive first encounters or new impressions paint him to be: merely a teen of inhuman nature. Of course, he knows better than any when it was by his own hand that Makoto was shaped and forged into a weapon that craves to cut down its own maker.
J's wisdom offers itself up to someone reaching ever nearer to the status of an equal; if not within the food chain of Hell's now-debunked hierarchy, then here where he's already usurped J in kill counts and firsthand experience of Horos. ]
Mako,
The chatter will die with time, once concern inevitably shifts to greater matters.
This experience has taught us there are more forces at play than previously thought.
Those not so easily overcome compared to the flesh and blood of an opposing faction.
As for further altercations with the enemy-
Those you plan to go up against will not make the same errors either.
Their numbers will gather close; anticipating your next move against them.
The only way to defeat an enemy expecting your arrival is to do the unexpected.
Take them off guard, attack in a way in which they cannot possibly conceive of.
Most importantly, take what you've said and apply it to yourself:
The impermanence of death in this land, provided the endurance of a shard.
Above all else, Makoto. Protect yours.
P.S. Should the need arise, may this gift provide that means.
Yours,
J
[ As before, there's a second gift bequeathed on the same day he receives Makoto's correspondence. Wrapped in a nondescript brown paper intended to not draw the eye or present of much value to Aions freely gifted with gems and jewels, this small package is placed with the letter outside Makoto's room. Only upon unraveling the several-layer thick packaging does the real gift-wrapping show through. White like the feathers of his master, and faintly textured, there's a quality to the paper that suggests, like everything else he's presented, it was selected with no shortage of cost and careful deliberation.
Under the veil of ostentatious trappings is a trinket box; not composed of flimsy cardboard but pearl-white porcelain, garnished in gold filigree along the corners and in the center of every surface. One look and the style reeks of the same rococo style emanating from every corner or trapping within J's castle.
Not that any of this is of much importance. Once emptied of what rattles within, Makoto could throw the trinket box out his window without any real loss. It's the contents inside that matter. A non-descript leather-covered case is wrapped in a white satin handkerchief of a similiar design to the box it came in; all gold-licked and embrodiered with a swooping, curling "J" in one corner.
Plain as can be, the black leather case gives the impression of practicality and an ability to blend in as a non-descript item like a wallet or notebook. Appearing to be nothing of any particular value. But that's the intent. For when Makoto's paranoia surely goads him into dissecting this item, he'll find the leather cover can be unlatched and pulled away, to expose the harder case hidden within.
There, in forged steel set in a shade of darkest black, engraved with a flourished "M", strong as any of the city's best swords and set on a thick hinge none could easily break, is a case not quite thin enough for cigarettes but close. Clearly pocket-sized for portability, it opens to reveal an interior cushioned on both sides by a red-velvet material that's suade-soft and meant to prevent the jostling or damage to what could be placed within. While the cover's interior is flat, the other side sports a dip that can be felt. Whatever cushioning lies under the fabric, it's been shaped and trimmed to support the placement of an object almost in the precise diameters of the most valuable item in Makoto's possession: His shard.
When placed there, the shape of it carved by the powers here to resemble a vertical eye, it settles snug and immobile. If closed, the case automatically locks, airtight and secure. Unlocking it ought to pose little trouble when it's clear there's a lock built into the case, identical in size to the key Makoto had been given earlier. ]
Edited (edits) 2022-06-08 06:24 (UTC)
For you? Consider it done.
[ he's doing his best to inject some of the usual levity into their exchange, bereft the opportunity to convey much else in the way of emotion - but it's important that Makoto feel Abel is not here to drag him over hot coals, that his only interest really is in a discussion.
what comes after that... it will depend entirely on Makoto. ]
Just you and I, Mr. M. You have my word, my hand to the Lord, alright...? And if there might be anything I may do to put your mind at ease, then... you have but to say it.
[ Venera, tomorrow evening... their destination laid out. suppose it's good as a date, now, isn't it? ]
[ he's doing his best to inject some of the usual levity into their exchange, bereft the opportunity to convey much else in the way of emotion - but it's important that Makoto feel Abel is not here to drag him over hot coals, that his only interest really is in a discussion.
what comes after that... it will depend entirely on Makoto. ]
Just you and I, Mr. M. You have my word, my hand to the Lord, alright...? And if there might be anything I may do to put your mind at ease, then... you have but to say it.
[ Venera, tomorrow evening... their destination laid out. suppose it's good as a date, now, isn't it? ]
I will take that pledge for what it means to you and not what it means to me.
( considering that swearing by God would have meant incredibly little to him even before he'd consigned his soul over to a demon and become one of them. but, really, what's important to him in this moment is that abel means this promise and not how the same words would weigh in his mouth. )
No, my friend, that's not necessary. I will see you there at the given time.
( and the line of Communion narrows to a close.
sure enough, makoto can be found in the same tavern that he sent abel the location of the previous evening. it's a smaller establishment, warmly lit and populated by a scattered crowd of patrons that are understandably subdued from what they and their city had recently weathered. the demon himself is sequestered away in a narrow booth against the far wall. he's made a concerted effort to dress more nondescript and in more drab colors, his hair tied back plainly, but there's not much he can do to hide his unique eyes. the venerans aren't to the point of ejecting him from the tavern if he's peaceable and paying jools, but they seem to be giving the table a wide berth.
which works all the better for them. )
( considering that swearing by God would have meant incredibly little to him even before he'd consigned his soul over to a demon and become one of them. but, really, what's important to him in this moment is that abel means this promise and not how the same words would weigh in his mouth. )
No, my friend, that's not necessary. I will see you there at the given time.
( and the line of Communion narrows to a close.
sure enough, makoto can be found in the same tavern that he sent abel the location of the previous evening. it's a smaller establishment, warmly lit and populated by a scattered crowd of patrons that are understandably subdued from what they and their city had recently weathered. the demon himself is sequestered away in a narrow booth against the far wall. he's made a concerted effort to dress more nondescript and in more drab colors, his hair tied back plainly, but there's not much he can do to hide his unique eyes. the venerans aren't to the point of ejecting him from the tavern if he's peaceable and paying jools, but they seem to be giving the table a wide berth.
which works all the better for them. )
[ Abel is - as ever - ""fashionably"" late, jogging in the door of the quaint establishment in a hasty rush and nearly plowing into some poor sod trying to make their exit; out goes a soft but audible exclamation of apology as he side-steps to let the other party though, ducking his head down in a repentant bob. he makes for a tall and sheepish shape among the demure patrons of the tavern, many of which are attempting to drink away their stresses after a harrowing few weeks; somehow, he sticks out like a sore thumb despite nothing about his dress nor person being remarkable - but most roll their eyes and dismiss him as little more than a buffoon rather than a worthwhile oddity.
it takes the priest a moment to locate Makoto, but a pair of blue eyes are soon falling upon the demon as Abel nudges back the hood of his cloak and begins his meandering approach. though there is nothing hesitant nor unkind in his gait nor his posture, it would be hard not to note the sense of... something. some sense of hesitation, something vaguely guarded - but not wary - about his disposition.
it doesn't take long for his footsteps to come to a halt before the booth that the other tavern-goers refuse to Perceive, and he offers his hand in the way of a shake down to the Kenoma. ]
You look much better than when I saw you last, Mr. M.
[ a collapsed heap, the Being's influence having rendered him unconscious.
yes... decidedly better today, Makoto. ]
it takes the priest a moment to locate Makoto, but a pair of blue eyes are soon falling upon the demon as Abel nudges back the hood of his cloak and begins his meandering approach. though there is nothing hesitant nor unkind in his gait nor his posture, it would be hard not to note the sense of... something. some sense of hesitation, something vaguely guarded - but not wary - about his disposition.
it doesn't take long for his footsteps to come to a halt before the booth that the other tavern-goers refuse to Perceive, and he offers his hand in the way of a shake down to the Kenoma. ]
You look much better than when I saw you last, Mr. M.
[ a collapsed heap, the Being's influence having rendered him unconscious.
yes... decidedly better today, Makoto. ]
( "there is always more to lose."
regardless of what whip-crack defense he might have had at the time of the Regent's admonishing reminder, their words still remain with him now, even as the reality of his situation has had time to sink in beneath the skin. in a way, how much makoto has had stripped away from him was a bizarre sort of freedom — with so little to lose now (little more than his body, his name, and his agency), he felt largely unburdened by shackles that had chained him before but were now left behind in his wake. family, law, society, morality, hierarchy... now the only thing to bind them is there adherence to the Kenoma (and, by extension, its keeper, though the loyalty to that shadowy figure tended to vary wildly between the Aions). that perceived freedom, however, could be harshly curtailed at a moment's notice. if some force actually did have the ability to threaten those few pillars of individuality that he still clutched tightly to himself... well, he found it was all too easy for the last vestige of his self-preservation to betray what he might actually need to do to continue to move forward.
makoto receives the written response and its accompanying gift shortly after they arrive. he reads the letter and then opens the gift, separating each of the obfuscating layers until the arrives at its heart: the small, nondescript leather case, something so ordinary that it would fit in among any personal effects: as completely normal to find on one's person as a journal, a wallet, a flask, a lighter, or a handkerchief. he already understands what he might find even before he intuits to remove the more unyielding case from its leather skein and open its latch with the key that he had kept in an interior pocket on his person. from there, he sits at his desk for a long moment, looking into the cushioned hollow that he finds within.
he understands very clearly what is meant by the gift, even without the additional context of the letter. it's not that it surprises him. despite it all, J has always been all too concerned with his safety — any nonchalant comments about casual dismembering and scattering throughout warehouses aside, he likely would have found himself savaged by kieran or worse had it not been the activation of his master's protective glyph to summon him and dispatch his unruly brother. J has learned just as quickly as he had that they play by different rules here, and so that would necessitate a new gambit: a way to safeguard his shard by hiding it in plain sight, or at least until it could be recovered by J or anyone else who knew of its whereabouts.
as is his wont, the first feeling he gets from it is an impish sort of impertinence: it's so fiendishly simple, so why hadn't he thought of something like it? but once the youthful heat of his blood dies down and he's able to think on it more...
gratitude towards J always feels forced and torturous, like mercury drawn through his veins.
his reply is a far shorter message: )
J,
Everything I've learned, I have learned from observing one of the most well-feared demons in Hell.
I will take your advice to heart, only if you hear my one wish in return:
Preserve yourself by any means necessary.
After all, it would be unacceptable to hear that you fell by anyone's hand but my own.
Until next we meet,
M
regardless of what whip-crack defense he might have had at the time of the Regent's admonishing reminder, their words still remain with him now, even as the reality of his situation has had time to sink in beneath the skin. in a way, how much makoto has had stripped away from him was a bizarre sort of freedom — with so little to lose now (little more than his body, his name, and his agency), he felt largely unburdened by shackles that had chained him before but were now left behind in his wake. family, law, society, morality, hierarchy... now the only thing to bind them is there adherence to the Kenoma (and, by extension, its keeper, though the loyalty to that shadowy figure tended to vary wildly between the Aions). that perceived freedom, however, could be harshly curtailed at a moment's notice. if some force actually did have the ability to threaten those few pillars of individuality that he still clutched tightly to himself... well, he found it was all too easy for the last vestige of his self-preservation to betray what he might actually need to do to continue to move forward.
makoto receives the written response and its accompanying gift shortly after they arrive. he reads the letter and then opens the gift, separating each of the obfuscating layers until the arrives at its heart: the small, nondescript leather case, something so ordinary that it would fit in among any personal effects: as completely normal to find on one's person as a journal, a wallet, a flask, a lighter, or a handkerchief. he already understands what he might find even before he intuits to remove the more unyielding case from its leather skein and open its latch with the key that he had kept in an interior pocket on his person. from there, he sits at his desk for a long moment, looking into the cushioned hollow that he finds within.
he understands very clearly what is meant by the gift, even without the additional context of the letter. it's not that it surprises him. despite it all, J has always been all too concerned with his safety — any nonchalant comments about casual dismembering and scattering throughout warehouses aside, he likely would have found himself savaged by kieran or worse had it not been the activation of his master's protective glyph to summon him and dispatch his unruly brother. J has learned just as quickly as he had that they play by different rules here, and so that would necessitate a new gambit: a way to safeguard his shard by hiding it in plain sight, or at least until it could be recovered by J or anyone else who knew of its whereabouts.
as is his wont, the first feeling he gets from it is an impish sort of impertinence: it's so fiendishly simple, so why hadn't he thought of something like it? but once the youthful heat of his blood dies down and he's able to think on it more...
gratitude towards J always feels forced and torturous, like mercury drawn through his veins.
his reply is a far shorter message: )
J,
Everything I've learned, I have learned from observing one of the most well-feared demons in Hell.
I will take your advice to heart, only if you hear my one wish in return:
Preserve yourself by any means necessary.
After all, it would be unacceptable to hear that you fell by anyone's hand but my own.
Until next we meet,
M
( ah, but he can always rely on abel to make just enough of a ruckus that it's impossible to miss his arrival if paying even a modicum of attention. the brief hubbub at the doorway to the tavern is enough to cause makoto to look up from what he was doing — he has a small leather-bound journal in one hand and a pen in the other, and he seems to have either been reviewing old notes or jotting down new ones. as it is, he closes the book and stows it and the pen away within an interior pocket of his coat, pale gaze tracking ever-so-slightly halting approach of the priest.
that gaze slowly switches to the outstretched hand, then up to abel's face. he feels as though he can read some entreaty there, but... yes, he is being a bit more guarded today than he has been in their previous meetings, isn't he? well, it's probably for the better. he would be more disturbed if he was acting as though nothing at all had happened.
he reaches out to give the man's hand a firm shake, then dropping it and sweeping out into a gesture toward the seat opposite him. )
Please, Abel, take a seat.
( his mouth forms a somewhat grim smile, perhaps colored that way by the thought of that last "meeting" that they had had, over the broken remains of estinien's corpse and below the roiling mass of wings that was that entity of the Innocent.
yes, he is doing much better than he had been doing then, though that was very likely not the preferred outcome of most of abel's compatriots. )
I'm glad to see that you're none too worse for wear either.
( he takes glances toward the bar, signalling for its tender that they would be ready to order soon. )
that gaze slowly switches to the outstretched hand, then up to abel's face. he feels as though he can read some entreaty there, but... yes, he is being a bit more guarded today than he has been in their previous meetings, isn't he? well, it's probably for the better. he would be more disturbed if he was acting as though nothing at all had happened.
he reaches out to give the man's hand a firm shake, then dropping it and sweeping out into a gesture toward the seat opposite him. )
Please, Abel, take a seat.
( his mouth forms a somewhat grim smile, perhaps colored that way by the thought of that last "meeting" that they had had, over the broken remains of estinien's corpse and below the roiling mass of wings that was that entity of the Innocent.
yes, he is doing much better than he had been doing then, though that was very likely not the preferred outcome of most of abel's compatriots. )
I'm glad to see that you're none too worse for wear either.
( he takes glances toward the bar, signalling for its tender that they would be ready to order soon. )
[ the invitation to sit is accepted, and Abel slides to sit opposite his company after quickly shrugging out of his cloak, leaving it to drape over the back of the booth with careless indifference; once he's good and settled, he finds himself casting a glance over the interior of the tavern in earnest to take it all in. it is... mildly disheartening, perhaps, to see the note of dejection, the quietness of the din here. the Venerians are still bouncing back from their ordeal - and such things take time.
but it's also a comfort to see them slowly returning to the normal trappings of life. to enjoy a drink, to socialize with friends and family, to try and find some semblance of routine in times like these is important.
his gaze is absently following a man a few tables down, the fellow leaned over and talking in a quiet voice to a woman whose expression betrays she is Feeling Some Type Of Way about whatever he's saying. Abel's smile is a tad distracted as he leans his cheek in a palm, elbow atop the table. ]
It's funny, isn't it?
[ what, pray tell, he's talking about might not be immediately evident - but Abel sends his gaze back to Makoto a moment later to continue, ]
They suffered rather grievously here. Didn't they? [ everyone did. ] But life goes on, and despite it all... they're getting back to their lives, picking up the pieces... going back to work... having a drink at the bar they've always gone to. Flirting with a pretty girl, maybe?
[ or, perhaps... talking with a friend across the table. ]
but it's also a comfort to see them slowly returning to the normal trappings of life. to enjoy a drink, to socialize with friends and family, to try and find some semblance of routine in times like these is important.
his gaze is absently following a man a few tables down, the fellow leaned over and talking in a quiet voice to a woman whose expression betrays she is Feeling Some Type Of Way about whatever he's saying. Abel's smile is a tad distracted as he leans his cheek in a palm, elbow atop the table. ]
It's funny, isn't it?
[ what, pray tell, he's talking about might not be immediately evident - but Abel sends his gaze back to Makoto a moment later to continue, ]
They suffered rather grievously here. Didn't they? [ everyone did. ] But life goes on, and despite it all... they're getting back to their lives, picking up the pieces... going back to work... having a drink at the bar they've always gone to. Flirting with a pretty girl, maybe?
[ or, perhaps... talking with a friend across the table. ]
( there's nothing in their surroundings that gives makoto much pause. commiseration is often the first step of healing — to lick one's wounds and convalesce in both mind and body by banding together with survivors that shared the same experiences you did is exactly what he expected to find here. it would be far worse if the place was shuttered or near-empty, the inhabitants of the city so emotionally-scarred from what they went through that they didn't even want to open their hearts to the itch and burn that often came with healing. it's challenging to learn to live, but it's far more challenging to learn to live again, and again, and again — reforged and remade in the wake of each tragedy, finding which rules that were once taken for granted remain and which have fallen to the ground to tarnish and be forgotten.
or perhaps that's just from makoto's own experience.
it's difficult for him to care about these people. the most he can say he feels for them is a vague sense of gratitude for not causing any undue trouble to a couple of strangers in their midst; other than that, they're just another tangle of souls that will be swept into oblivion at the universe's inevitable end.
as abel voices the hypothetical, makoto's pale eyes slide over to fix him in their eerie gaze.
there's something dubious and unsatisfied in makoto's expression that seems to suggest he doesn't think they suffered nearly as much as abel seems to believe — not in comparison to what he had gone through, at least — but he keeps it to himself. ) No, that's not really the word I would use. It's "expected," is what it is. ( he leans back against the wooden booth, expression assuming an ennui that looks out-of-place given his youth but perhaps less so considering the depth in his eyes. ) Regardless of what they've suffered, they tend naturally toward the equilibrium of familiarity and routine. It's a survival mechanism.
( he cants his head to one side. ) I would hope we're not here to spy on first dates. ( his gaze rolls almost lazily toward the same couple that abel had spotted, whom makoto had already clocked when taking note of all of the patrons currently in the building. )
or perhaps that's just from makoto's own experience.
it's difficult for him to care about these people. the most he can say he feels for them is a vague sense of gratitude for not causing any undue trouble to a couple of strangers in their midst; other than that, they're just another tangle of souls that will be swept into oblivion at the universe's inevitable end.
as abel voices the hypothetical, makoto's pale eyes slide over to fix him in their eerie gaze.
there's something dubious and unsatisfied in makoto's expression that seems to suggest he doesn't think they suffered nearly as much as abel seems to believe — not in comparison to what he had gone through, at least — but he keeps it to himself. ) No, that's not really the word I would use. It's "expected," is what it is. ( he leans back against the wooden booth, expression assuming an ennui that looks out-of-place given his youth but perhaps less so considering the depth in his eyes. ) Regardless of what they've suffered, they tend naturally toward the equilibrium of familiarity and routine. It's a survival mechanism.
( he cants his head to one side. ) I would hope we're not here to spy on first dates. ( his gaze rolls almost lazily toward the same couple that abel had spotted, whom makoto had already clocked when taking note of all of the patrons currently in the building. )
[ Abel's gaze lingers on his company across the table for a moment - a moment longer than might be comfortable for the hint of something discerning and uncharacteristically sharp in blue eyes - before it passes. his attention drops to his cuff as he fiddles with some loose thread at his tunic, mumbling under his breath about things falling apart at the seams. ]
Suppose this wasn't entirely a social call, as I'm sure you've already gathered.
[ it doesn't take a genius to put as much together, after all, and Makoto is a smart boy. got a good head on his shoulders (heh) and all that, mm. ]
...It was you. [ even as he plays with that loose string hanging from his sleeve and even if that is where his gaze remains fixed, it is apparent his attention is on the Kenoma comfortably seated in his chair. ]
And I wanted to hear it from you, because... I cannot imagine this was some... some cold-blooded, callous act. I don't want to hear it from anyone else, Mr. M -- I want you to tell me why.
[ why...?
his eyes have finally slid to the demon's, ones that should be unnerving for their inhuman quality - but there is nothing unnerved or unsettled in the priest's attentive, probing expression. if anything, what is most glaring and obvious is the unspoken plea, the deep desire to hear a reason to justify his actions that day in Venera's frozen streets. ]
Suppose this wasn't entirely a social call, as I'm sure you've already gathered.
[ it doesn't take a genius to put as much together, after all, and Makoto is a smart boy. got a good head on his shoulders (heh) and all that, mm. ]
...It was you. [ even as he plays with that loose string hanging from his sleeve and even if that is where his gaze remains fixed, it is apparent his attention is on the Kenoma comfortably seated in his chair. ]
And I wanted to hear it from you, because... I cannot imagine this was some... some cold-blooded, callous act. I don't want to hear it from anyone else, Mr. M -- I want you to tell me why.
[ why...?
his eyes have finally slid to the demon's, ones that should be unnerving for their inhuman quality - but there is nothing unnerved or unsettled in the priest's attentive, probing expression. if anything, what is most glaring and obvious is the unspoken plea, the deep desire to hear a reason to justify his actions that day in Venera's frozen streets. ]
( it's very likely that others might have wilted or squirmed underneath the almost uncharacteristic intensity that's found its way into the priest's icy gaze, but makoto meets it with level certainty, unwavering and unblinking. despite what he had recently perpetrated in this city, he is no fighter, but before coming here he had sharpened his wit and silvered his tongue to do battle the way that immortal demons did. to subvert and unsettle and confound your opponents, you have to be multiple steps ahead or at the very least give the extremely convincing impression that you did. he shows no sign of faltering even as abel does, his gaze falling to his sleeve as he worries at a loose thread.
at first, makoto lets silence speak for him.
and it persists, even at the so-called accusation and his entreaty for an explanation, though there is some small alchemical change to his expression. the careful veneer of assumed impassivity ripples and creases at its edges, dubious at first and then darkly cynical. )
Can't you?
( unfortunately, getting to the heart of the matter will have to wait a moment, because it's now that the bartender has detached himself from his position to take their orders for drinks. considering the layout of the bar, this doesn't seem to be the usual way things operate, but... perhaps he is acting out of cautious deference, not wanting any trouble cast his way. as soon as he asks, the dark expression disappears makoto's face, replaced in the same instant with a bright and genial smile. he orders a local specialty — clear liquor flavored slightly sweet by a type of fruit they are known for — and then looks to abel expectantly until he similarly gives his order. they had come here to share a drink, after all. he's not about to get too entrenched in their discussion without having at least ordered one.
once the bartender leaves to fill the order, the demon's expression slowly resumes its previous configuration, like a curtain slowly falling upon the stage at the conclusion of the first act.
he leans forward, elbows and wrists resting upon the scarred wood of the table, his fingers interlacing loosely. ) You arrived shortly after I did it, Abel. I never tried to obfuscate this from you or anyone else. ( his voice is smooth and liquid, just as chimerical and insidious as the black ichor that had been forced down their throats in the throne room all those months ago. ) Is there really anything I can tell you now that would make it easier for you to accept? Like... if I said I was possessed of an overwhelming sense of duty or justice, or if I said that he was already in such a sorry and miserable state that I took pity on him and decided simply to free him from his torment... Would that change what you think about it? ( a beat, and he tilts his head ever-so-slightly to the side, his strange eyes growing sharper. ) Would it change how any of your allies think about it?
at first, makoto lets silence speak for him.
and it persists, even at the so-called accusation and his entreaty for an explanation, though there is some small alchemical change to his expression. the careful veneer of assumed impassivity ripples and creases at its edges, dubious at first and then darkly cynical. )
Can't you?
( unfortunately, getting to the heart of the matter will have to wait a moment, because it's now that the bartender has detached himself from his position to take their orders for drinks. considering the layout of the bar, this doesn't seem to be the usual way things operate, but... perhaps he is acting out of cautious deference, not wanting any trouble cast his way. as soon as he asks, the dark expression disappears makoto's face, replaced in the same instant with a bright and genial smile. he orders a local specialty — clear liquor flavored slightly sweet by a type of fruit they are known for — and then looks to abel expectantly until he similarly gives his order. they had come here to share a drink, after all. he's not about to get too entrenched in their discussion without having at least ordered one.
once the bartender leaves to fill the order, the demon's expression slowly resumes its previous configuration, like a curtain slowly falling upon the stage at the conclusion of the first act.
he leans forward, elbows and wrists resting upon the scarred wood of the table, his fingers interlacing loosely. ) You arrived shortly after I did it, Abel. I never tried to obfuscate this from you or anyone else. ( his voice is smooth and liquid, just as chimerical and insidious as the black ichor that had been forced down their throats in the throne room all those months ago. ) Is there really anything I can tell you now that would make it easier for you to accept? Like... if I said I was possessed of an overwhelming sense of duty or justice, or if I said that he was already in such a sorry and miserable state that I took pity on him and decided simply to free him from his torment... Would that change what you think about it? ( a beat, and he tilts his head ever-so-slightly to the side, his strange eyes growing sharper. ) Would it change how any of your allies think about it?
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