( there is one key barrier to anything gen doing or saying to him actually registering when it came to retaliation: it's all inconsequential when he views it in comparison to how he feels towards J for everything he's done to him and put him through. put up against the fundamental stripping away of each layer of agency and identity he'd had wrapped around the core of who he was as a person, some intimidation and jibes from a glorified schoolyard bully were like nothing at all. not to say, of course, that he would lie down and take whatever undue abuse came his way — he weighs each response with the effort it would take to accomplish, and he tries to keep his eyes set on what might happen several moves ahead. if he ever decided it was best for him to take a firmer hand in the situation (and if he felt he were actually physically equipped to do such a thing), that's when gen might have reason to be concerned, because there were no morals or self-preservation instincts or lasting tethers to sanity to hold makoto back from what he believed was his rightful revenge.
at first his only response is to stare levelly at gen, then he raises his shoulders in a shrug. )
So it seems.
( there's a bitter sort of irony to it. after years of toil and trouble, he'd finally scrounged together a modicum of power and prestige, only to have it immediately stripped away. he's not entirely unconvinced his pathetic dancing at the end of his strings isn't some cosmic joke for God, if He exists at all.
unable to view the shape and the weight of gen's soul, he doesn't have a perfect idea of whether he's lying. fortunately, he doesn't really need to. all humans have the makings of such desires in their hearts — it's just whether or not they are still fledgling seeds, as of yet unsplit and unsprouted, or if they have spread so far throughout the body and the mind that they were no longer able to be pushed aside and ignored. demons, constant and eternal, just have to wait. with gen, it's hard to say whether or not his heart already weighs as heavily with grief, doubt, shame, or regret as makoto's heart had when he had called J to his room, but it doesn't really matter. he smiles knowingly at him as if he had the answer already.
he allows the change in conversational track without issue. )
I can't argue. You're not wrong. ( he won't even bother because the evidence is easy enough to find speaking to any number of the people they were trapped in here with. he momentarily retrieves his sleeve so he can see if the wound on his neck is still bleeding; the two fingertips he touches to it come back red with blood, so he returns the sleeve and pressure. ) I wouldn't still be here if you were, and I'm not the only one. ( he breathes out a sigh through his nose, eyes sinking closed for a long moment before blinking open once more. he continues with a leading smile, ) So, with that being the case, what's there left for us to do here but wait, speculate, and get to know our neighbors?
no subject
at first his only response is to stare levelly at gen, then he raises his shoulders in a shrug. )
So it seems.
( there's a bitter sort of irony to it. after years of toil and trouble, he'd finally scrounged together a modicum of power and prestige, only to have it immediately stripped away. he's not entirely unconvinced his pathetic dancing at the end of his strings isn't some cosmic joke for God, if He exists at all.
unable to view the shape and the weight of gen's soul, he doesn't have a perfect idea of whether he's lying. fortunately, he doesn't really need to. all humans have the makings of such desires in their hearts — it's just whether or not they are still fledgling seeds, as of yet unsplit and unsprouted, or if they have spread so far throughout the body and the mind that they were no longer able to be pushed aside and ignored. demons, constant and eternal, just have to wait. with gen, it's hard to say whether or not his heart already weighs as heavily with grief, doubt, shame, or regret as makoto's heart had when he had called J to his room, but it doesn't really matter. he smiles knowingly at him as if he had the answer already.
he allows the change in conversational track without issue. )
I can't argue. You're not wrong. ( he won't even bother because the evidence is easy enough to find speaking to any number of the people they were trapped in here with. he momentarily retrieves his sleeve so he can see if the wound on his neck is still bleeding; the two fingertips he touches to it come back red with blood, so he returns the sleeve and pressure. ) I wouldn't still be here if you were, and I'm not the only one. ( he breathes out a sigh through his nose, eyes sinking closed for a long moment before blinking open once more. he continues with a leading smile, ) So, with that being the case, what's there left for us to do here but wait, speculate, and get to know our neighbors?