[ He looks down at that hand. Doesn't move his arm. Doesn't move any part of himself, just taking it in, before looking back up to meet the priest's gaze.
For a moment, Amos is somewhere else. A campfire, dressed in nothing more than an increasingly dirtying white robe, deadened to everything around him, inside him. Effectively switched off until a voice had broken through, startling him with... a cup of water. A cup of water, and a request for company, and someone he'd responded to by wanting to protect.
And now there's a fucking white aura emanating from Abel's being that jerks him back to reality, even as the words he says bring that instinct right back. To protect Abel from all the shit that's surely happened to him already, that's on the horizon. Not the way Innocence had intended, not with empty promises and a body that'd been twisted into no longer being his, but to place himself between Abel and any threat. Make sure anything would have to go through him first, and it wouldn'tâ
Or to take the shot for him, do the things he might not be able to do. Like accept the Kenoma. Abel hadn't been able to do that, leaving Amos to carry the burden instead. Which is fine, because he knows he can take it; which isn't fine, because he has to snuff out that initial instinct Abel had inspired in him, that he apparently still manages to do.
Amos' smile is small, doesn't reach his eyes, is almost apologetic. ]
You'd get along with him. I dunno if he could put it the way you do, but he'd probably like that. Nodding along in the background and saying some shit like, "Yeah, what he said."
[ He hesitates; he still doesn't move. ]
I asked someone once. A doctor. If something could be done to take away a person's empathy, is there anything that could be done to bring it back? And she said no. Brain gets damaged, it's damaged. I didn't develop properly and there's never gonna be any fixing that. Only making sure others don't gotta experience it.
[ Which essentially is the voice Abel talks about. Everything he's saying is true â it is inside him, it is something he tries to live his life by, and he's completely deaf to it, leaving it buried under a packed concentration of sheer nothingness, all but snuffed out before it so much as got to see the light of day... and yet still clinging to life. Otherwise, he wouldn't give a shit. What the Kenoma and the Regent offer â he wouldn't give a shit, wouldn't care, wouldn't be trying to see it through because as far as he can tell, it's the right thing to do.
Amos withdraws his arm from Abel's touch. Finishes off his drink. Fishes some jools out; more than he needs to, probably, but he likes the place, so might as well tip. Places them on the counter next to his empty glass but still doesn't make any movements to get up, to completely withdraw. ]
There never was anything for me and there isn't ever gonna be anything for me. So I'm gonna tear it all down. And then everyone else can start fresh.
no subject
For a moment, Amos is somewhere else. A campfire, dressed in nothing more than an increasingly dirtying white robe, deadened to everything around him, inside him. Effectively switched off until a voice had broken through, startling him with... a cup of water. A cup of water, and a request for company, and someone he'd responded to by wanting to protect.
And now there's a fucking white aura emanating from Abel's being that jerks him back to reality, even as the words he says bring that instinct right back. To protect Abel from all the shit that's surely happened to him already, that's on the horizon. Not the way Innocence had intended, not with empty promises and a body that'd been twisted into no longer being his, but to place himself between Abel and any threat. Make sure anything would have to go through him first, and it wouldn'tâ
Or to take the shot for him, do the things he might not be able to do. Like accept the Kenoma. Abel hadn't been able to do that, leaving Amos to carry the burden instead. Which is fine, because he knows he can take it; which isn't fine, because he has to snuff out that initial instinct Abel had inspired in him, that he apparently still manages to do.
Amos' smile is small, doesn't reach his eyes, is almost apologetic. ]
You'd get along with him. I dunno if he could put it the way you do, but he'd probably like that. Nodding along in the background and saying some shit like, "Yeah, what he said."
[ He hesitates; he still doesn't move. ]
I asked someone once. A doctor. If something could be done to take away a person's empathy, is there anything that could be done to bring it back? And she said no. Brain gets damaged, it's damaged. I didn't develop properly and there's never gonna be any fixing that. Only making sure others don't gotta experience it.
[ Which essentially is the voice Abel talks about. Everything he's saying is true â it is inside him, it is something he tries to live his life by, and he's completely deaf to it, leaving it buried under a packed concentration of sheer nothingness, all but snuffed out before it so much as got to see the light of day... and yet still clinging to life. Otherwise, he wouldn't give a shit. What the Kenoma and the Regent offer â he wouldn't give a shit, wouldn't care, wouldn't be trying to see it through because as far as he can tell, it's the right thing to do.
Amos withdraws his arm from Abel's touch. Finishes off his drink. Fishes some jools out; more than he needs to, probably, but he likes the place, so might as well tip. Places them on the counter next to his empty glass but still doesn't make any movements to get up, to completely withdraw. ]
There never was anything for me and there isn't ever gonna be anything for me. So I'm gonna tear it all down. And then everyone else can start fresh.