[ the small, subtle tells of Makoto's inner musings are things Abel absorbs with rapt attention, a slender finger lifting to gently and absently prod the old-fashioned lenses upright where they sit on his nose. the blue eyes behind them carry all the usual affability, no edge of hardness or condemnation as he listens and takes in the demon's explanation of events. but...
...there is a slow, telling slope of his shoulders that belies his dejection. whether it is in hearing the re-telling of Estinien's undoing from another angle, the violence that had broken out at the Sovereign shrine, or Makoto's perspective - his duress - that elicits such a response matters not. because it isn't any of these things, truthfully, that has the stirrings of grief and the slow sink of understanding settling in the priest's stomach. the thing that does it... it's the roiling churn of a bitter, insatiable rage - the sort that does not brew from one instance of indignation, humiliation, or agony. it is the kind forged through many. innumerable. unending counts of them all, stacking up one another, driving the last in just a little deeper than the one before it.
Abel is quiet in the wake of Makoto's impassioned explanation.
his gaze has managed to fixate at some unimportant, unseen point at the tabletop between them. the demon has made no effort to paint his actions as forgivable - in fact, perhaps there is some vitriolic pride in his actions, a lack of remorse that might make another listener bristle. but this, too, speaks to something laying beneath the surface... something that exists, resides, is swept up in the current of wrath burning in those inhuman eyes. the priest knows better than most precisely what it is, knows that in almost all cases... those whose actions are dictated by, demanded by that righteous, indignant, possessed fury--
are no less susceptible to being consumed, devoured, seared to ash in those flames. ]
...I believe you.
[ it is important to acknowledge this, first and foremost: he appreciates "M" was candid with him. he did not mince words, nor did he paint some favorable picture to garner the priest's sympathy - one they both know might've been rather easily won. the truth is not always pretty, but it is necessary, and contrary to what one might discern about Abel - it is important to look reality in the eye, to him. ]
And I believe you when you say you have no regrets, either. That... that frightens me for you far more than your ability to take his life - not because it speaks to any lack of soul, or because I hoped you felt remorse. But because I know you've tossed yourself right into the fire with such veracity I worry you cannot feel yourself burning, Mr. M.
no subject
...there is a slow, telling slope of his shoulders that belies his dejection. whether it is in hearing the re-telling of Estinien's undoing from another angle, the violence that had broken out at the Sovereign shrine, or Makoto's perspective - his duress - that elicits such a response matters not. because it isn't any of these things, truthfully, that has the stirrings of grief and the slow sink of understanding settling in the priest's stomach. the thing that does it... it's the roiling churn of a bitter, insatiable rage - the sort that does not brew from one instance of indignation, humiliation, or agony. it is the kind forged through many. innumerable. unending counts of them all, stacking up one another, driving the last in just a little deeper than the one before it.
Abel is quiet in the wake of Makoto's impassioned explanation.
his gaze has managed to fixate at some unimportant, unseen point at the tabletop between them. the demon has made no effort to paint his actions as forgivable - in fact, perhaps there is some vitriolic pride in his actions, a lack of remorse that might make another listener bristle. but this, too, speaks to something laying beneath the surface... something that exists, resides, is swept up in the current of wrath burning in those inhuman eyes. the priest knows better than most precisely what it is, knows that in almost all cases... those whose actions are dictated by, demanded by that righteous, indignant, possessed fury--
are no less susceptible to being consumed, devoured, seared to ash in those flames. ]
...I believe you.
[ it is important to acknowledge this, first and foremost: he appreciates "M" was candid with him. he did not mince words, nor did he paint some favorable picture to garner the priest's sympathy - one they both know might've been rather easily won. the truth is not always pretty, but it is necessary, and contrary to what one might discern about Abel - it is important to look reality in the eye, to him. ]
And I believe you when you say you have no regrets, either. That... that frightens me for you far more than your ability to take his life - not because it speaks to any lack of soul, or because I hoped you felt remorse. But because I know you've tossed yourself right into the fire with such veracity I worry you cannot feel yourself burning, Mr. M.