[ Gen is quiet once his memories peter off. Without even replacing his shard where it belongs at his throat, he simply sits quietly on the bench, staring blankly at the floor. Those memories from Venera feel both oddly distant and so close, and revisiting them in such vivid fashion is almost a little too much to handle in his current state, a sickly feeling sitting heavy in his stomach. (He remembers the streets of Venera. The look on that man, Gibraltar, had given him while being dragged off by the Achamite guards. The garden behind that church in Venera. The fountain red with blood and the sounds of Dokja's dying breaths and )
-- it's the gentle weight of Emet-Selch's hand coming to rest upon his shoulder that snaps him out of his dark spiral of thoughts.
He looks up with a small start, fingers reflexively grasping tighter around his shard to keep it safe. And while it's not much that Emet-Selch offers him ... it's enough. ]
... yeah. [ He finally gives a small nod as Emet-Selch's hand withdraws from his shoulder, and Gen swallows thickly, nods again, then replaces his shard where it belongs. His gaze lingers on Emet-Selch for a moment longer than might have been expected, as if reluctant to let go, before finally ducking away. ] Okay. I'll rest.
[ That moment of eye contact, the warmth of his hand, the tangible proof of his presence. The small acknowledgement of what he'd been through. The quiet statement of thanks. -- it's more than he'd ever been offered when he'd been most troubled in his younger days, and it's all he'd wanted back then. It might not fully ease that acrid sensation that burns in the pit of his stomach, but it at least lets him breathe easier.
Gen doesn't have any thanks of his own to offer. But given his usual attitude, the simple fact that he acquiesces so quietly probably speaks volumes.
He'll go back to his room and he'll rest. And maybe, if he reminds himself that this time, at least one person has acknowledged him, it'll help ward off the nightmares. ]
no subject
-- it's the gentle weight of Emet-Selch's hand coming to rest upon his shoulder that snaps him out of his dark spiral of thoughts.
He looks up with a small start, fingers reflexively grasping tighter around his shard to keep it safe. And while it's not much that Emet-Selch offers him ... it's enough. ]
... yeah. [ He finally gives a small nod as Emet-Selch's hand withdraws from his shoulder, and Gen swallows thickly, nods again, then replaces his shard where it belongs. His gaze lingers on Emet-Selch for a moment longer than might have been expected, as if reluctant to let go, before finally ducking away. ] Okay. I'll rest.
[ That moment of eye contact, the warmth of his hand, the tangible proof of his presence. The small acknowledgement of what he'd been through. The quiet statement of thanks. -- it's more than he'd ever been offered when he'd been most troubled in his younger days, and it's all he'd wanted back then. It might not fully ease that acrid sensation that burns in the pit of his stomach, but it at least lets him breathe easier.
Gen doesn't have any thanks of his own to offer. But given his usual attitude, the simple fact that he acquiesces so quietly probably speaks volumes.
He'll go back to his room and he'll rest. And maybe, if he reminds himself that this time, at least one person has acknowledged him, it'll help ward off the nightmares. ]