( paradoxically, makoto least wants to see and speak about what happened with those closest to him. if things had gone differently, perhaps that would have been different. if he had killed estinien and managed to recover his shard or at the very least kill him and get away unscathed, he might have been emboldened enough to report his victory with crowing success to the other Kenoma (and none so much as J), but that hadn't been the end of the story, had it? it's public knowledge at this point that his small act of murder had upset some sort of greater entity, and it had punished him for it. it's only a temporary exile he imposes upon himself. he wants to gather his own thoughts, to come to terms with what he did and what happened and what happened to him completely before he presented himself before the judgment of the rest of their fellow Aions.
because they would. judge, that is. already he's seen and sensed his actions and intentions picked apart, and it brings with it a hideous and cloying sense of déjà vu. it's all too reminiscent of the worst parts of Earth, the parts that had driven him to trade his life away to a demon instead of continue to live it there. he hates the idea of others forcing him through their own pathetically narrow lenses of morality and decency. if he faced it now, it might push him over the edge and into doing or saying something that might be a little too incendiary a little too prematurely, so instead he tries to focus himself, possessed of the thought that if he's found that center he will be unshakable and unassailable even when falling beneath their prying gazes.
having temporarily dismissed his retainer, makoto comes across the letter left at his door when leaving to get food. having received no end to them when working for datenshou, he recognizes its sender by sight. side-tracked, he takes the letter inside, reads it and examines its contents, and spends several hours locked in thought.
it's not until a day or two has passed until a reply arrives much the same, left at J's door — a first, considering he had never sent a reply to any of his letters before. inside, written in makoto's extravagant hand: )
J,
Your congratulations are appreciated, considering they are largely absent in the cloud of noise hanging above the events that occurred toward the end of our stay in Venera.
I've spent some time thinking about your question, and I have decided that it's a difficult one to answer at this time. Whatever thrill I might have felt at the manual dismantling of another's life was tarnished by two outside factors: The first, of course, being what happened directly afterward. The second in that no death in this place is a lasting one without the destruction or control of one's shard.
Despite these detractors, I aim to emerge from this set-back emboldened rather than cowed, so that I do not repeat these unfortunate mistakes.
Thank you for your gift. I look forward to the day in which its purpose is revealed.
Yours sincerely, M
( he had spent just as much time if not more trying to winnow from the words and the token J's intent both present and future, always driven near to mad to try to figure out the demon's ends and where he factored into them. as it is, however, there is relatively little he can do here and now. he ponders over his master's gift, turning the key and its chain over and over again in his hands, at war with himself for whether or not he wanted to spurn any gift out of past bitterness or cling to it for dear life, still starved for the love that he felt he had been falsely promised.
in the end, he keeps it on his person, just not where visible or expected. )
no subject
because they would. judge, that is. already he's seen and sensed his actions and intentions picked apart, and it brings with it a hideous and cloying sense of déjà vu. it's all too reminiscent of the worst parts of Earth, the parts that had driven him to trade his life away to a demon instead of continue to live it there. he hates the idea of others forcing him through their own pathetically narrow lenses of morality and decency. if he faced it now, it might push him over the edge and into doing or saying something that might be a little too incendiary a little too prematurely, so instead he tries to focus himself, possessed of the thought that if he's found that center he will be unshakable and unassailable even when falling beneath their prying gazes.
having temporarily dismissed his retainer, makoto comes across the letter left at his door when leaving to get food. having received no end to them when working for datenshou, he recognizes its sender by sight. side-tracked, he takes the letter inside, reads it and examines its contents, and spends several hours locked in thought.
it's not until a day or two has passed until a reply arrives much the same, left at J's door — a first, considering he had never sent a reply to any of his letters before. inside, written in makoto's extravagant hand: )
J,
Your congratulations are appreciated, considering they are largely absent in the cloud of noise hanging above the events that occurred toward the end of our stay in Venera.
I've spent some time thinking about your question, and I have decided that it's a difficult one to answer at this time.
Whatever thrill I might have felt at the manual dismantling of another's life was tarnished by two outside factors:
The first, of course, being what happened directly afterward.
The second in that no death in this place is a lasting one without the destruction or control of one's shard.
Despite these detractors, I aim to emerge from this set-back emboldened rather than cowed, so that I do not repeat these unfortunate mistakes.
Thank you for your gift.
I look forward to the day in which its purpose is revealed.
Yours sincerely,
M
( he had spent just as much time if not more trying to winnow from the words and the token J's intent both present and future, always driven near to mad to try to figure out the demon's ends and where he factored into them. as it is, however, there is relatively little he can do here and now. he ponders over his master's gift, turning the key and its chain over and over again in his hands, at war with himself for whether or not he wanted to spurn any gift out of past bitterness or cling to it for dear life, still starved for the love that he felt he had been falsely promised.
in the end, he keeps it on his person, just not where visible or expected. )