[ No -- the truth of the matter is, Gen really had expected Abel to fight back when cornered like this. Because the sort of brainless, unquestioning altruism that the man crows about is a farce, just pretty words that should crumble before pressure. It doesn't make sense that the man's determined to remain a pacifist even in the face of these threats; it would make even less sense if he weren't punished for it.
Gen stares blankly at the offered hand, only half-seeing it and completely failing to absorb any meaning or intention behind the gesture. His focus is instead drawn to those gentle words that Abel offers him, his eye twitching when he hears that nauseating question. 'This isn't you, is it?' ]
... what do you think you know about me?
[ It's said softly, but perhaps Abel can feel a twinge in his gut telling him that the low volume of Gen's voice is not an indication of mercy. That uneasy feeling must only be bolstered by the faint tremors in the ground below his feet, the skitter of dirt vibrating against the flooring, the sound of the earth groaning beneath them. ]
Fine. I'll deal with you both.
[ There's a resigned quality to those words, but it might be hard to make out past the sound of something cracking. Hairline fractures in the floor abruptly cobweb outwards from where Gen's standing, and there's a weight to his movements when he begins his slow approach once more. Vaguely, at the back of his mind, Gen recalls Emet-Selch's warning -- that magic uses one's own energy as well as that of the environment -- but he can't bring himself to care. His rage has hit a peak, overflowing from the constraints of his meager self-control, and he needs to get rid of the cause of this anger. Destroy it. Make it so his chest stops hurting like this.
If there was ever a time for Abel to start running with his precious cargo, it would be now. ]
no subject
Gen stares blankly at the offered hand, only half-seeing it and completely failing to absorb any meaning or intention behind the gesture. His focus is instead drawn to those gentle words that Abel offers him, his eye twitching when he hears that nauseating question. 'This isn't you, is it?' ]
... what do you think you know about me?
[ It's said softly, but perhaps Abel can feel a twinge in his gut telling him that the low volume of Gen's voice is not an indication of mercy. That uneasy feeling must only be bolstered by the faint tremors in the ground below his feet, the skitter of dirt vibrating against the flooring, the sound of the earth groaning beneath them. ]
Fine. I'll deal with you both.
[ There's a resigned quality to those words, but it might be hard to make out past the sound of something cracking. Hairline fractures in the floor abruptly cobweb outwards from where Gen's standing, and there's a weight to his movements when he begins his slow approach once more. Vaguely, at the back of his mind, Gen recalls Emet-Selch's warning -- that magic uses one's own energy as well as that of the environment -- but he can't bring himself to care. His rage has hit a peak, overflowing from the constraints of his meager self-control, and he needs to get rid of the cause of this anger. Destroy it. Make it so his chest stops hurting like this.
If there was ever a time for Abel to start running with his precious cargo, it would be now. ]