[ 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. ]