( it's uncertain whether or not he knows that there's any other way to live. has there ever been any portion of makoto's short life where he's been genuinely happy? content? hopeful for the future? it's questionable — even when he had been young, he had been a withdrawn and strange sort of child, and one that didn't perform to the stringent social or academic standards that his parents had set out for him. living in his elder brother's longer shadow, a constant discomfort or disappointment to his family, he had given up trying to unearth some piece of affection from their scorn. and when he'd been brought into hell... well, if you ignore those days he had spent with his head sewn onto the body of a dog, living chained up to a doghouse outside of J's mansion (and it's rather hard to ignore or forget those days), maybe. maybe there had been a total of three or so days after he'd been given his new body and before J had thrown him into datenshou's brothel that he had felt happy. he thought he would be living in the lavish home of a kind demon — his own personal messiah — who would help him learn to live in this new world that wouldn't reject him like his last one had.
a maximum of three days he had felt that new, bizarre, heart-racing sensation of hope. and then J had told him he would be accelerating his studies on hell by working elsewhere, and he had thrown him to datenshou with the promise that if he proved to be too troublesome, he could be dismembered and thrown into different warehouses for the harm he'd caused. it had been a sobering lesson — whenever he felt the traitorous and fledgling feelings of optimism stirring in his chest, he needed clamp them down in a vice grip and brace for whatever fresh torment awaited him around the next corner. it always did.
once again putting on his cordial mask for the barkeeper, makoto accepts his drink and slides it over in front of him, fingertips tracing the cool glass until the moment that abel continues.
of course not is the obvious answer. their brush with that entity of the Innocent in venera had taught him a brand new sort of fear: that of losing himself, of losing his edge and his drive, of wasting away as exactly the kind of slovenly churl that he held in the greatest contempt. but as abel speaks, makoto likely has... a reaction that he doesn't expect. something seems to surprise him in what he says, and a bitter sort of smile squirms across his face; he starts to laugh, first as a chuckle and then escalating into a silent spasm that shakes his shoulders as he slumps forward onto the table between them, his head falling into one hand supported by an elbow.
it's one of makoto's more disconcerting social qualities, to be so chimerical — to fluctuate from deathly severity to tremulous vulnerability to a cascade of laughter from moment to moment. it's something that had even put seasoned demons of hell on edge. he ends up regaining himself, looking up at his friend through a fringe of wavy dark hair, replying in what sound like fairly good spirits, ) Ah, my apologies, my friend. It's just funny — you would be shocked to learn who told me something very similar just recently.
( though... the context was quite different when it came from the Regent, yes? less of a warning, more of a threat.
he straightens up enough to sample his drink; as he does so, he wonders how he gives off this impression. early on in life, makoto had been flung from the highest reaches of the canopy (or had he jumped?), and he'd managed to hit every miserable branch on the way down. he knows he hasn't reached the bottom yet, and he's sure he will discover new and exciting ways to lose, to feel pain, to steep in despair. isn't that just a given? isn't that just how life plays itself out?
abel acts as if there's some alternative. ridiculous.
he returns to how he'd been sitting a moment ago, leaning back against the straight back of the booth's bench seat. ) And how, pray tell, do you suggest I avoid that at this point?
( wrists resting on the edge of the table, his hands open, palms splaying upward in a gesture which seemed to suggest he'd asked abel to explain how storks managed to deliver every human baby to its parents — or something similarly absurd. )
There are many who would argue I deserve it.
( personally... it's not as though he doesn't understand that his actions are wrong, or that the path that he walks is one that is inherently self-destructive. but he doesn't really place much personal stock in the cosmic, karmic weight of thoughts, words, and actions. what he does believe in, however, are consequences. if they came to find him, then that was his own short-sightedness; it's also why he's been hastily plotting out no fewer than two or three separate contingencies. )
no subject
a maximum of three days he had felt that new, bizarre, heart-racing sensation of hope. and then J had told him he would be accelerating his studies on hell by working elsewhere, and he had thrown him to datenshou with the promise that if he proved to be too troublesome, he could be dismembered and thrown into different warehouses for the harm he'd caused. it had been a sobering lesson — whenever he felt the traitorous and fledgling feelings of optimism stirring in his chest, he needed clamp them down in a vice grip and brace for whatever fresh torment awaited him around the next corner. it always did.
once again putting on his cordial mask for the barkeeper, makoto accepts his drink and slides it over in front of him, fingertips tracing the cool glass until the moment that abel continues.
of course not is the obvious answer. their brush with that entity of the Innocent in venera had taught him a brand new sort of fear: that of losing himself, of losing his edge and his drive, of wasting away as exactly the kind of slovenly churl that he held in the greatest contempt. but as abel speaks, makoto likely has... a reaction that he doesn't expect. something seems to surprise him in what he says, and a bitter sort of smile squirms across his face; he starts to laugh, first as a chuckle and then escalating into a silent spasm that shakes his shoulders as he slumps forward onto the table between them, his head falling into one hand supported by an elbow.
it's one of makoto's more disconcerting social qualities, to be so chimerical — to fluctuate from deathly severity to tremulous vulnerability to a cascade of laughter from moment to moment. it's something that had even put seasoned demons of hell on edge. he ends up regaining himself, looking up at his friend through a fringe of wavy dark hair, replying in what sound like fairly good spirits, ) Ah, my apologies, my friend. It's just funny — you would be shocked to learn who told me something very similar just recently.
( though... the context was quite different when it came from the Regent, yes? less of a warning, more of a threat.
he straightens up enough to sample his drink; as he does so, he wonders how he gives off this impression. early on in life, makoto had been flung from the highest reaches of the canopy (or had he jumped?), and he'd managed to hit every miserable branch on the way down. he knows he hasn't reached the bottom yet, and he's sure he will discover new and exciting ways to lose, to feel pain, to steep in despair. isn't that just a given? isn't that just how life plays itself out?
abel acts as if there's some alternative. ridiculous.
he returns to how he'd been sitting a moment ago, leaning back against the straight back of the booth's bench seat. ) And how, pray tell, do you suggest I avoid that at this point?
( wrists resting on the edge of the table, his hands open, palms splaying upward in a gesture which seemed to suggest he'd asked abel to explain how storks managed to deliver every human baby to its parents — or something similarly absurd. )
There are many who would argue I deserve it.
( personally... it's not as though he doesn't understand that his actions are wrong, or that the path that he walks is one that is inherently self-destructive. but he doesn't really place much personal stock in the cosmic, karmic weight of thoughts, words, and actions. what he does believe in, however, are consequences. if they came to find him, then that was his own short-sightedness; it's also why he's been hastily plotting out no fewer than two or three separate contingencies. )