( he would think that it would change the whole equation, if it was something he needed to do — if his body would break down altogether due to some deficiency that required such a thing to satisfy. while prior to his death he did fear that it might one day become a compulsion that might force his hand to act in a way that he didn't necessarily want to happen, that had never ended up being the case. for him, it's simply... fixation. fascination. all of that, extending to the point of becoming a fetish. given that it's all selfish and meant for personal gratification rather than any other deeper or metaphysical meaning (not that he can put into words, anyway), he would draw an obvious delineation between himself and anyone who found themselves driven to requisite cannibalism.
regardless of those differences, however, dextera doesn't comment or question. instead he removes the contents of the bag and places them upon it, and even with the display of them so separated from the body that they had come from, he can tell that dextera really has kept them far fresher than he might have imagined — makoto can't help but think back to how J had looked when he had first torn him apart on his bedroom floor, the pale white of bone peeking through bloody viscera and entrails still pulsing with life where the flesh had been ripped away. he had been — it had been so...
without him noticing, his breathing had started to pick up, his heart beating away at a clip inside his chest. he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to regain his composure.
when he opens them again, ) I would hazard a guess as to your favorite.
( it's not just that a heart had been what dextera had brought him all those months ago in the cavern. it had been obvious enough to infer from the memories that he had sent him through Communion as well — the feverish haze of violence had seemed to tunnel vision on the heart as it throbbed in its place in the chest, in the palm of his hand. he's still... guessing out the etiquette of this sort of thing (would dextera even have something like that?). given that he had procured their little "feast," it seems rude to makoto to reach first. )
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regardless of those differences, however, dextera doesn't comment or question. instead he removes the contents of the bag and places them upon it, and even with the display of them so separated from the body that they had come from, he can tell that dextera really has kept them far fresher than he might have imagined — makoto can't help but think back to how J had looked when he had first torn him apart on his bedroom floor, the pale white of bone peeking through bloody viscera and entrails still pulsing with life where the flesh had been ripped away. he had been — it had been so...
without him noticing, his breathing had started to pick up, his heart beating away at a clip inside his chest. he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to regain his composure.
when he opens them again, ) I would hazard a guess as to your favorite.
( it's not just that a heart had been what dextera had brought him all those months ago in the cavern. it had been obvious enough to infer from the memories that he had sent him through Communion as well — the feverish haze of violence had seemed to tunnel vision on the heart as it throbbed in its place in the chest, in the palm of his hand. he's still... guessing out the etiquette of this sort of thing (would dextera even have something like that?). given that he had procured their little "feast," it seems rude to makoto to reach first. )