( makoto stares back at him just as readily, not once allowing a crack or lapse in his smooth, affable veneer. call it a habit left over from navigating the social hierarchy of demons, even if this stranger is as human as they come — he can tell easily enough, even with his sense that would be able to tell him without fail temporarily quashed.

why? because he reminds him of some of the kids he'd gone to school with, back when he had been human himself. they were not kind or enjoyable memories. it's with some effort that makoto keeps his smile from gaining more of a sharp, antagonistic edge. )

Hm. I thought as much, as well. ( though his tone of voice seems to disagree — that he's either conceding this to him or mocking him.

he's been keeping tabs on all of the other captives in the camp, but it's true that gen has drawn his attention more than others have. the aforementioned faux-familiarity aside, he's his own age, which is a similarity he rarely gets to enjoy in hell. this stranger had grappled with their untenable situation in a way that makoto had found as honest as it was stupid: fighting with the guards would only garner bruises and blood, as he sported now, or the embarrassment of one of those whips dousing the fire of your indignation. still, those actions had seemed more genuine than what he says now. really, the answer doesn't matter — it's all baseless speculation. he just wants to hear the first things that come to people's minds, allowing it to paint in their silhouettes with unique, individual context.

the perceived defensiveness of the question just makes his smile broader. ) Is curiosity a crime? ( he makes a show of shrugging his shoulders, sighing. ) It's not as though there's much we can do in this situation. Having some idea of what they intend to do with us is just about as much as we can.