( it's a very human reflex, to want to paint someone with such a broad brush. mortals liked to believe in neat, tidy, well-packaged contrivances like that — contrivances such as the strength of the heart, the purity of the soul, the guidance of the spirit. morality. justice. karma. it's not as though makoto is a stranger to any of this. when he had been human, terrified of the desires rooting themselves deeply in his psyche and desperate for anything that might resemble an answer, he had searched through plenty of books on history, law, philosophy, and religion just as much as he had attempted to sate his macabre fixation with those on killers and cannibals. part of him had thought that the perceived failing within himself was something that he could fix, that he could cure, if only he could unlock the right way to contextualize it.
it had been a fool's errand. the more he learned, the more entrenched his hopelessness became. he became painfully aware of what people would think of him in a social context, how the law would judge him in a criminal one, and how God would never offer the same sort of redemption to someone like him as he might offer to anyone else. he had grown resentful from that realization. it had been enough to cause him to turn to books of the occult, to activate a summoning circle drawn on the floor of his bedroom with blood and call J to him, knowing he would end up taking his life.
losing his mortality, losing his humanity, and living among demons does much to change one's perspective. he no longer believes in those absolutes that had seemed so prevalent back on earth. as he sees it now, individuals act according to the laws under which they are constrained; they are subject only to these and their own desires. whether the words or actions done to satisfy those desires were just or immoral or not was simply an image imposed from an outside perspective.
there's a part of him that wants to impress that upon ryu. he isn't sure why. perhaps it's because on some level he can sense the indecision still rattling around inside of him. it gives him much more leeway than someone willing to close themselves off for good to him.
his reply is as swift and unerring as the swing of a hammer, the words dry and measured, ) Your friend stabbed me through the chest and left me to die.
( his expression contorts, brow drawing together and lips pursing ever-so-slightly. he... looks like he's pouting, seemingly offended. ) I do not act without reason. I'm not some sort of rabid dog.
( ironic fast-forward to one week from now when he is very much like a rabid dog )
no subject
it had been a fool's errand. the more he learned, the more entrenched his hopelessness became. he became painfully aware of what people would think of him in a social context, how the law would judge him in a criminal one, and how God would never offer the same sort of redemption to someone like him as he might offer to anyone else. he had grown resentful from that realization. it had been enough to cause him to turn to books of the occult, to activate a summoning circle drawn on the floor of his bedroom with blood and call J to him, knowing he would end up taking his life.
losing his mortality, losing his humanity, and living among demons does much to change one's perspective. he no longer believes in those absolutes that had seemed so prevalent back on earth. as he sees it now, individuals act according to the laws under which they are constrained; they are subject only to these and their own desires. whether the words or actions done to satisfy those desires were just or immoral or not was simply an image imposed from an outside perspective.
there's a part of him that wants to impress that upon ryu. he isn't sure why. perhaps it's because on some level he can sense the indecision still rattling around inside of him. it gives him much more leeway than someone willing to close themselves off for good to him.
his reply is as swift and unerring as the swing of a hammer, the words dry and measured, ) Your friend stabbed me through the chest and left me to die.
( his expression contorts, brow drawing together and lips pursing ever-so-slightly. he... looks like he's pouting, seemingly offended. ) I do not act without reason. I'm not some sort of rabid dog.
( ironic fast-forward to one week from now when he is very much like a rabid dog )