[ Again, that whiplash-inducing gearshift. Gen's voice emerges as a guttural snarl, accompanied by the sound of another step forward, bootsoles bearing down on the decorative bricks underfoot. ]
Look at me if you're gonna waste my time with that self-pitying drivel.
[ 'But I wonder why they couldn't say it?' Is he asking that for real? Is Dokja really that much of a shit-for-brains idiot? It's obvious that he has allies here who care about him far more than he deserves, scrambling to cover for his pathetic ass even as they kindly refrain from blaming him. Dokja, for all his claims of having nothing but a fictional story to cling to, has people here who would suffer for him, and this is how he talks about them?
(He remembers Reiji, asking to die by his hands. Acting if the prospect of death alongside some washed-up former idol is the most he's ever had.)
It pisses him off. Infuriates him. The low burn of frustration crawling through his veins threatens to boil over, and Gen ignores the exhausted complaints of his body to take another step closer to Dokja. The mace -- filthy and battered by now, the metal covered in nicks and dings -- gleams under the moonlight as he adjusts his grip on it. ]
You should've turned and left the moment you saw me. You know that, don't you. But you didn't, 'cause you just can't wait to see how you can fuck things up for everyone else this time. [ Is what he's saying the truth? Maybe, maybe not. He doesn't even care. Gen gives a derisive scoff before continuing. ] What're you gonna do this time? Ask for another beating? Or go crying for your friends to come help you again.
no subject
[ Again, that whiplash-inducing gearshift. Gen's voice emerges as a guttural snarl, accompanied by the sound of another step forward, bootsoles bearing down on the decorative bricks underfoot. ]
Look at me if you're gonna waste my time with that self-pitying drivel.
[ 'But I wonder why they couldn't say it?' Is he asking that for real? Is Dokja really that much of a shit-for-brains idiot? It's obvious that he has allies here who care about him far more than he deserves, scrambling to cover for his pathetic ass even as they kindly refrain from blaming him. Dokja, for all his claims of having nothing but a fictional story to cling to, has people here who would suffer for him, and this is how he talks about them?
(He remembers Reiji, asking to die by his hands. Acting if the prospect of death alongside some washed-up former idol is the most he's ever had.)
It pisses him off. Infuriates him. The low burn of frustration crawling through his veins threatens to boil over, and Gen ignores the exhausted complaints of his body to take another step closer to Dokja. The mace -- filthy and battered by now, the metal covered in nicks and dings -- gleams under the moonlight as he adjusts his grip on it. ]
You should've turned and left the moment you saw me. You know that, don't you. But you didn't, 'cause you just can't wait to see how you can fuck things up for everyone else this time. [ Is what he's saying the truth? Maybe, maybe not. He doesn't even care. Gen gives a derisive scoff before continuing. ] What're you gonna do this time? Ask for another beating? Or go crying for your friends to come help you again.