[ there is, as ever, a sort of detachment between the Makoto that sits at the table, animated and gregarious, and who this young man truly is inside. Abel knows it - sees it in the brief glimmers of the person lurking beneath the facade, one he cannot help but compare to a wounded child. bitter and angry and furious, writhing and violently striking out like a venomous viper, desperate to be seen and heard and feared--
lest his own fear, inadequacy, insecurity, consume him.
Abel's gaze remains absent, distant, where it sits on the demon across the table for longer than is comfortable in silence; there is a great deal Makoto has left him to digest and a great more that will take time to come to terms with despite that. it wouldn't be right to respond hastily, he feels. he will think on all of it - every last bit "M" has seen fit to give him.
but one thing must be clear. ]
This is not Hell, Mr. M. This is not your home, and that man is not a monster.
[ the gentility of the delivery has not vanished, but its edges are notably firmer, now. but the subtle flat affect of his voice is abnormal, now - and perhaps it makes him seem older, somehow. harder. ]
The war we fought in Venera was not one against one another, but ourselves - and they say a man shows his true colors in moments like that one. I fear the choice you made is not one that speaks to the strength of your character, but its weakness. He deserved better than you gave him.
[ his hands slowly loosen from the glass still left relatively untouched. ]
Estinien did not demean you half as much as you demeaned - continue to demean - yourself with this kind of talk. You deserve better than this, don't you?
no subject
lest his own fear, inadequacy, insecurity, consume him.
Abel's gaze remains absent, distant, where it sits on the demon across the table for longer than is comfortable in silence; there is a great deal Makoto has left him to digest and a great more that will take time to come to terms with despite that. it wouldn't be right to respond hastily, he feels. he will think on all of it - every last bit "M" has seen fit to give him.
but one thing must be clear. ]
This is not Hell, Mr. M. This is not your home, and that man is not a monster.
[ the gentility of the delivery has not vanished, but its edges are notably firmer, now. but the subtle flat affect of his voice is abnormal, now - and perhaps it makes him seem older, somehow. harder. ]
The war we fought in Venera was not one against one another, but ourselves - and they say a man shows his true colors in moments like that one. I fear the choice you made is not one that speaks to the strength of your character, but its weakness. He deserved better than you gave him.
[ his hands slowly loosen from the glass still left relatively untouched. ]
Estinien did not demean you half as much as you demeaned - continue to demean - yourself with this kind of talk. You deserve better than this, don't you?