[ open. ]

[epiprocta]

WHO: Gen & OTA TO KENOMA.
WHAT: Aftermath of the events of Soviseri.
WHERE: Around the Citadel.
WHEN: Late Soviseri into early/mid-Firaseri.
WARNINGS: None at the moment, will add if applicable!

i. citadel halls

[ Shortly after the Kenoma's return to Achamoth from their respective assignments (and though very few of them probably know what's coming, before the public reveal of their 'prisoners,') the Aions of the Citadel might hear some slight commotion. The sounds of an argument muffled past a door, it seems like -- though 'argument' might be a poor definition of whatever's going on, since one voice is definitely speaking far more than the other, and in a much angrier tone of voice. At least it doesn't last terribly long before there's the sound of a door being flung open, followed by the stomp of footsteps, then -- ]

I'm leaving. Don't follow me.

[ That latter bit is snarled in clear irritation, answered by a young man's meek 'Yes, sir.' Gen slams the door shut behind him as he skulks out out of his room and into the halls, giving an irritable click of the tongue. And only then realizes that he has an audience. ]

... what.

[ Gen scowls as he looks to whoever's caught him in that embarrassing little tiff with his retainer, though -- that's not necessarily the most alarming thing about him at the moment. He's clearly been having a rough go of things, face pale save the exhausted shadows under his eyes and hair a disheveled mess in desperate need of a trim. Not to mention his left sleeve, which hangs empty at his side. Though Gen reflexively tries to angle himself to keep that wounded side slightly out of view, there's really only so much he can do for such a glaring injury. ]

ii. citadel grounds

[ He can't remember the last time he got a full night's sleep. Certainly not since they'd been sent to Venera. In any case, it's starting to become routine that the unholy hours of night find Gen wandering about the halls of the Citadel, the sounds of his boots scuffing off tile cutting through the chilly silence. It's usually quiet at this time of night even with the random assortment of servants and guards that often flit past him, though he's not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. Maybe the quiet will help him rest, he thinks sometimes. But the quiet mostly ends up further muddying the turmoil of his thoughts. And given the general state of affairs around the Citadel these days, he struggles to even distract himself with familiar comforts. The lurid sights and attractions of the entertainment district just don't hold the same allure any more.

And so any other Kenoma awake in these small hours of the night might find Gen out around the Citadel grounds, the harsh black of his clothes almost melting him into the darkness. Sorry if he startles you during your peaceful nighttime rest.

a.

Bad days find him slowly trailing a meandering path down a hallway or a path outside, head ducked and hand clutching at his left shoulder. The injury itself might have been healed up, skin and flesh forcibly melded together where his limb ends short, but it still hurts sometimes. Hurts a lot. ... this is what they call phantom pain, right?

The tip of his boot catches on some uneven spot on the ground, sending him stumbling, and Gen groans as he comes to lean against something for support -- a nearby tree, a bit of fencing, whatever -- just so he can stay upright until this godawful sensation stops. Sorry not sorry if he's getting in your way.

b.

But (relatively) good days find Gen outside, staring into the middle distance -- maybe on one of the Citadel's many balconies, or out and about in the gardens. Though the heavy dark circles under his eyes indicate he's not awake at this ludicrous hour just because he's a night owl, at least he seems mostly calm, if tired.

There's the rustle of fabric as he withdraws a cigarette and his lighter, parking the former between his lips and flicking on the latter with a practice swipe of the thumb. Too bad the night air is cold, and the weather refuses to permit him even that small vice; turns out lighting a cigarette in anything but the calmest air is hard when you don't have an extra hand to shield that tiny fire. The lighter's flame sputters and dies once, twice in the face of a stiff breeze, and Gen huffs an irritated noise to himself. ]

Hey. [ Then, realizing he has company, he turns to whoever else might be up at this ridiculous hour. And, barely giving them the chance to respond to his brusque greeting, Gen tosses his lighter their way. Better move fast. ] Do me a favor.

[ He words it like a request, but says it like a demand. Like an order. Rude. ]

iii. wildcard

[ Gen can be found skulking around the Citadel and the streets of Achamoth looking generally exhausted and out of sorts, or in the training fields in the mornings still trying to stick to his usual routine, so please feel free to assume anything else if these prompts don't work for you! Otherwise, I'm available at databomb / inktrashing#5307 for plotting purposes if you'd like to plan something! ]

Comments

[epiprocta]

[ He hasn't really been hungry since getting sent to Venera. Or rather -- he's gotten physically hungry, but his actual appetite's been fucked. Everything tastes weird, and not in the way things had while he'd quit smoking. It's a more familiar way that his sense of taste has been affected, and he hates that he can recognize it for what it is: the same sort of bullshit he'd been through six years back, after that incident. Something about extreme stress. (And trauma, though he'd never admit as much.)

Actually doing anything about the issue, or even thinking about it very much, is absolutely not an option, though. So the days find Gen listlessly trying to keep his mind occupied and only eating when his stomach growls, simply trying to fill his stomach with something that at least tastes decent while filling his stomach.

-- so can he be blamed for perking up the instant he smells something vaguely familiar while wandering around the halls at some ungodly hour one night?

The only warning Ciel will get is the sound of heavy footsteps trudging her way before the kitchen door's swung open roughly, and Gen pokes his head in looking like ... well, looking like hell, mostly. The unkempt tangle of his hair isn't enough to hide the exhausted shadows under his eyes, and his clothes are unkempt. One sleeve hangs tangled at his side; clearly, Gen's yet to acclimate to wrangling that empty sleeve, or doesn't care enough to learn. Still, there's a look of something resembling anticipation in his gaze when he looks around the kitchen.

His eyes do tinge with a sort of weary resignation when he recognizes her for who she is, that emotion further accompanied by one that Ciel might be less familiar seeing on him -- caution. But even that new wariness isn't enough to squelch his desire to pinpoint the familiar scent he'd caught, and Gen gives a blink, looking slightly more alert, when he finally spots the delicious-looking, golden-brown, completed sample Ciel's laid on a platter. ]

... you're making katsu.

[ It's a statement of the obvious, meant to be a simple observation. But, like. She can totally hear the slight note of longing in his voice, right. Gen's never been one for subtlety. ]

[expiera]

[That only warning lets through more than it should, or maybe Ciel is just a freak. It doesn't sound like steps any servant would ever make, decidedly male and with too much behind it. (Too much what? Hard to define honestly, maybe everything?.) Leaning away from the pan in front of her, she turns to get a look at her late night kitchen visitor.

It's a shitty teenager who ambled straight out from the gates of hell with one arm missing, looking like a weary animal more than a human being. She keeps her composure, but she won't deny the vague tinge of something resigned and exasperate at the sight of him too.

He went and did it, hasn't he? Put himself through the very sort of thing she wanted him to avoid, the sort of thing that hollows someone inside out and makes them lose what they can never get back ever again.

...]

The bread crumbs aren't as good here.

[A sigh, and she peeks back into her pan before turning the fire off with a wave of her hand. (Magic bullshit, man.) Picking up a pair of chopsticks resting at the edge of the plate where several pieces of golden fried pork cutlets were already piled, she plucks out two more from the pan to stack atop it.]

Katsusando, to be exact. I didn't make rice. [There's only bread and other ingredients for sandwiches around, if he were to tear his eyes off the plate and take a more comprehensive look around.] Is that okay?

[Because as rude and shitty as this normie teenager had been, irrespective of if he's done Bad things while Bad things have definitely been done to him in turn, he's here and he's obviously hungry. What's she supposed to do, not feed him?]

[epiprocta]

[ Is he totally transfixed by the sight of a familiar comfort food? Maybe. Just a little bit. (Yes.) Shut up, it's not like he misses some elements of his hometown, as shitty as it was. And ah, he can definitely feel his mouth watering a little bit, and over the sounds of the fire puffing out Ciel might be able to hear the faint noise of his stomach growling.

But still, Ciel poses him with that question, snapping him out of his thoughtless little reverie thinking about how much he misses the katsu set from that shitty family restaurant back home that he used to go to like three times a week, and Gen looks at her with a start. Staring for a moment before hurriedly looking away and mumbling, ]

-- what're you asking me for.

[ It's in strange contrast to how shamelessly Gen had stolen half of Ciel's cupcakes last time, isn't it? But there's a difference between 'taking something' and 'being offered something.' The former is easy, effortless, and lets him retain control of the situation. The latter? It's like voluntarily admitting even the slightest bit of weakness and giving up control of the situation. Ergo, it's unthinkable.

... mostly.

Turns out it's harder maintaining his usual pretense at aloof, controlling toughness when he's exhausted, sleep-deprived, and now his head is genuinely just full of longing for one specific food item. So there's another pause before Gen eases himself into the kitchen. Still leaning on the half-open door, but with his foot past the threshold as he gives Ciel a sullen stare, brow furrowed. Then, he buckles, trying to keep his voice flat as he drones, ]

I'll take whatever extras you have, though.

[ Ciel could not possibly be blamed for being reminded of a feral street dog being slowly lured out of its gross little hiding spot by the promise of a juicy bone. ]

[expiera]

[...Sigh.

It's a literal one. Adjusting her apron, she washes her hands at the sink and dries them with a nearby towel before returning to the table where all the ingredients are laid out. His sullen stare is ignored, she'll be much more preoccupied with the meaningful work of actually putting together those katsusandos in question. At least it's easy and relatively quick work with everything already prepared and laid out; just a matter of stacking a sandwich together, something anyone without cooking experience could also have done.

Even self-destructive teenagers who only possess one arm, they just need to be more careful and patient about it. Knowing for a fact that neither 'patient' nor 'careful' are part of Gen's vocabulary, however, can Ciel be blamed for simply taking it up on herself to work in silence?

In any case, within minutes, the first katsusando is done, cleaved neatly into two little rectangles. As per tradition, but also easier to hold with one hand. Serving it on a different plate, she pushes it in his direction. Convenient that there's a chair on that side too, isn't it?]

You can help me taste test then, I don't know how well they turned out anyway. It's hard to tell if I got the sauce to taste right.

[Would he still bristle at the prospect of getting roped into the tedious work of being a taste tester? Frankly, Ciel does not care. If he's hungry, just come eat??]

[epiprocta]

[ Normally, yes. Of course he'd bristle. A teenage boy's pride is truly one of the most insufferable qualities known to mankind. But lucky for the both of them, Gen's tired enough that his desperate longing for some familiar creature comfort far outweighs his desire to guard his wounded pride. So.

Once Ciel slides the plate of sandwich halves forth, Gen huffs a quiet exhale before slinking into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him; she might notice that his gait is a little awkward as he acclimates to the shift in his body's center of balance. And while he favors simply leaning against the countertop as opposed to actually taking a seat (so far), he takes up one of the sandwich halves without hesitation, looks it over for a moment, then takes a modest bite. ]

... the sauce is too weak.

[ So he says, but that ungrateful comment is made as more of an observation than a complaint, words spoken at a low mutter. And at any rate, he barely waits a moment after swallowing to take another bite, much bigger this time. Even if the sauce is a little weak, it's more than close enough to what he's familiar with that he'll gladly take it.

Gen eats in silence for a few moments. Though he offers no further comment, his posture alone says plenty about how much the food is helping to soothe his frazzled nerves -- some of the tension drains out of his shoulders as he chews, his next exhale coming slow with relief, and he closes his eyes as he swallows. Licking crumbs off the corner of his mouth, Gen looks at the half-eaten remains of his sandwich for a moment before speaking again, his voice quiet. ]

Why d'you do this shit for me, anyway.

[ Not just the food; not just this sandwich, and not just the familiar dishes he's periodically spotted left in the pantry. What he's asking is basically, 'Why do you care?' ]

[expiera]

[Forget teenagers, any regular joe human being struggling with the loss of an entire limb would understandably have bigger things to worry about than their sense of pride. Frankly, it'd be far more worrisome if he somehow managed to cling on, then he'd really be either delusional or not really human anymore.

...

Well, that's fine. She asked him to taste test, and he's doing exactly that. Honest opinions are a good thing, so she simply nods as she comes to cup her chin with a hand in thought. More salt next time? Or soy sauce? Hm...

She's broken out of her musings when he asks a uncharacteristic question. She's glad he's eating, but... He's really, truly exhausted, isn't he? This isn't just about pride or personal bias anymore, it's gone past that. There's something almost akin to resignation in how he throws the question, and it gives her pause.]

Because it's something I can do, and I wanted to.

[They did talk about food before, and she does find it helpful in many ways, stress cooking. There's work, but it's not as busy as what she was used to. She has time to meddle do other things here, during the lulls when they aren't sent out on active missions. But more importantly, is there a particular answer he's looking for? Can she even give one he'd ever be satisfied with? He'll always be able to pick out something to complain about, she already knows this, and it's part of why despite how benign their last food conversation ended, she never tried to feed or inform him directly of the pantry's subtle changes. Counting on the servants, the meek retainer who never seemed able to pronounce "sir Minegishi" just right, and Gen's own teenager whims worked out more than well enough.

So her own answer is plain, just like how craving for the taste of something familiar is plain. It doesn't have to be any more complicated than that, does it?]

[epiprocta]

... you wanted to.

[ He repeats those words quietly, following them with a breathy exhale -- something that sounds a bit like a droll, disbelieving laugh. But Gen offers no further explanation at first, opting to instead finish the first half of the sandwich. It doesn't take him that many more bites anyway, because even exhausted and teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown, he's still a teenage boy; half a sandwich is barely more than a snack.

(A snack that does a great deal to soothe his frazzled nerves, but a snack nonetheless.)

It's only after he's finished that sandwich half and idly brushed the crumbs from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand (bad manners) that Gen looks to Ciel once more. ]

You're out there dragging in prisoners so god-knows-what can be done to them, and you wanna waste your spare time and energy indulging someone who doesn't even like you? Thinks you're annoying? [ Gen's never been subtle about his distaste for her, but he's never been this matter-of-fact about it, either. But here and now, he speaks without much filter, too weary to maintain his usual habit of picking out only the most deliberately obnoxious things to say. ] You know how messed up that sounds? Get a fucking life for yourself.

[ He reaches forward to fetch the remaining half-sandwich, but doesn't bite into it just yet. Instead stares at its cross-section; he'd never thought he'd miss anything of his hometown, but right now, he'd give almost anything to be back in that familiar shitty family restaurant, just eating a too-late meal on a weekday night. The thought merits another moment of silence before he adds at a quiet deadpan, ]

... did you want to take them in as prisoners, too?

[expiera]

[The other shoe drops.

For a moment, she thinks back to how tiresome this had all been. Neither she nor Emet-Selch expected being handed celebrity status for something like this, even more ironic in the Ascian's case since he was once scorned and avoided by all Citadel staff before for drawing the Regent's ire. And here they are now, praised and revered like war heroes.

It doesn't do anything to the hollow she carries other than tinge it with a bitter aftertaste. What's done is done. Plans are proceeding forward. There's only one silver lining to this, but regardless of how she feels, time on Horos marches forward.

Life goes on.]

Prisoners are a reality of war. Did you not ask me yourself once, why I didn't 'go after them'? [Her tone and expression remains neutral, almost as if she was merely confirming with him when his training session is scheduled later in the week. As if the subject is both plain and obvious, and doesn't merit any more gravity precisely because it's so basic.

She didn't have to ask that though, and she knows it. But she won't let him bury that hypocrisy, brush off the hint that he may be struggling—and it's not just because of his missing arm. In any case, he has definitive confirmation for it too, now: she is fully capable of taking prisoners, maybe even killing, if she truly wanted and made the effort to.]

War doesn't change the fact that we have our own lives to lead, either. We wouldn't have had that conversation about food in the first place, if all you and I are here to do is cause hurt and get hurt.

[She doesn't look at his arm as she says that though, focusing on taking out several bottles containing liquid from one of the kitchen cabinets instead. The sauce was too weak, he did say.

So life goes on.

What does he really want to ask her? He'll have to rephrase, if he wants an answer.]

[epiprocta]

[ What does he really want to ask her? He's not sure himself.

And it's not like him to struggle so much with words -- not that Gen's ever been an eloquent creature, but he'd thought he'd always had a firm grasp on his own thoughts. He'd had to in order to maintain some presence of normality after that incident six years ago. But here and now, it takes him far too long to even process what Ciel is saying, let alone figure out what it is he wants to say. It feels like there's a gaping, hollow black hole somewhere deep in his mind, and everything keeps falling into it; simply stringing together his thoughts in a coherent manner is hard. His gaze is still fixed on the cross-section of the sandwich, processing it as little more than smears of colors stacked on top of each other, when he finally asks, ]

Why didn't you just kill them.

[ He's the one who says it, but his breath still escapes shaky the next moment. (His mind recalls the feel of flesh trembling and convulsing beneath his fingers. Dokja's rattling gasps. Blood in the gently-churning waters of a fountain. The starry night sky above that he now cannot unlink from the iron stench of gore.) Gen abruptly squeezes his eyes shut, tenses, then shakes his head.

He wasn't wrong for killing Dokja. And Ciel wouldn't have been in the wrong for killing Abel and the other one, either. This is war. ]

... you're saying this is war. So -- you could've just killed'em. Instead of this. Dragging it out. If they're dead, it's over and dealt with. But taking them prisoner ... [ His face has gone a touch paler, a bead of cold sweat at his brow, but Gen either doesn't notice or decides to ignore those factors. Somehow managing to force himself to meet Ciel's eyes as he continues hoarsely, ] Is that what you wanted to do? Leave'em hanging like that?

[ It's not that he takes murder lightly. But death is an endpoint, a conclusion. Causing a death is a burden to bear, but one could keep on moving while enduring that weight. This situation with the prisoners, instead -- it's a slow gnaw of wretched tension that he can't stand, and he wasn't even the one responsible. It's a steady reminder of something being wrong in a way that can't just be buried. Why the hell would Ciel choose this? How can she endure having that blood on her hands, instead? ]

[expiera]

[Gen should be resting. He hasn't been eating or sleeping well, just looking at him for a few minutes made the fact glaringly obvious. But he can't, not after what he's done, not after what he's seen. For a moment, she entertains the impulse of simply forcing him to sleep. She could cast Suggestion on him and knock him out against his consent to a dreamless sleep, a silent void. She's already treated his wounds before with similar callousness, what difference will strong-arming him into resting make at this juncture?

But they have to talk, about things no normal teenagers should talk about. Not the latest manga release of what's popular, not some movie that topped the charts at the box office, not about the final score and play highlights of last night's baseball game, not about school events, but about death and war.]

Yes. Himeka Sui and Abel Nightroad must be taken alive in order to lure Estinien Wyrmblood to Achamoth. Faces make for better hostages than shards.

[She replies clinically, icy blue eyes locked on the messy blur of unkempt black-and-white. Emet-Selch almost killed them, and Ciel herself stopped him. She didn't know this was going to happen to them, she didn't know this is the treatment that awaited the Pleroma prisoners.

But it's the consequences to her own actions, and she has no interest in making excuses for herself. She did cause this, it's indelible fact. So it didn't matter whether or not she intended this, wanted this, or how she feels about any of it. It doesn't change the fact that it's happened, and that's that.

What's a bit more of blood on her hands, after everything she's already wrought?]

You fought against Estinien backed by that Entity in Venera. It defeated you and M without effort, dispelled the Kenoma in Silco and Eustace too. [He still had his arm during that altercation, Ciel was privy to both Eustace and Silco's memories to be certain. When Silco shimmered Gen, he was whole.] We now have the pieces necessary to engage it on our terms, the Regent themselves will act once Estinien comes to Achamoth.

[It's not just about murder. It's cold-blooded strategizing and dispensing all morals and human empathy for a greater goal. No human should be able to do that, so naturally, only monsters can get such work done.

Doesn't make it any more palatable with a "justification", does it? That this is a trap for Estinien, with the ultimate goal of actioning upon the Innocence?

What an awful late night snack conversation topic.]

[epiprocta]

It wasn't 'without effort'.

[ Yes, it's obvious that Gen's in dire need of proper rest, his body struggling from an onslaught of nightmares and irregular meals. But at least he still has the energy to bristle at that uncharitable interpretation of what had happened in Venera. His brow's furrowed sharply beneath the shadow of his tangled hair, his mouth a hard slash of disapproval, and there's a more irate edge to his voice when he mutters, ]

We came damn close to snuffing him. If things had worked out a bit different -- if we'd been a little faster, if that lame fuck with that bubble hadn't gotten in the way ... We could've killed him before he could pull any of that bullshit, he just got lucky.

[ He knows, though. Even as he says these things, he knows that the hypotheticals he's throwing out mean nothing. 'If's are worthless in the face of what actually happens. It's just that ... a part of him can't help wondering if things might have turned out differently, if he and M had been able to kill Estinien before that turning point. If they'd been able to ambush him from the get-go before the fight could escalate. If there was simply no need to keep Abel and Himeka here as hostages to draw him here into foreign territory.

(But then what. Then Abel might simply be dead, instead. Is that really better?)

He might have bristled for a moment, but Gen's anger sputters out incredibly quickly, nothing like the stubborn ire he can usually muster. Gen drops his gaze as he starts raising the remaining half of the sandwich to his mouth to eat, pauses, then gives up on it and lowers it once more. His appetite's already starting to wane again; it never seems to stick around for long these days, leaving him with a persistent sickly feeling sitting heavy in his gut. Gen swallows thickly before speaking again, his voice forced flat like he's fine with this subject of conversation. Refusing to acknowledge that he hates every second of it. ]

... so if Estinien ends up here -- what then? It's all over as long as he dies? What happens to -- [ Abel. His lips start to form that name before he catches himself, that first syllable dying in his throat so he can change tack. ] -- to the prisoners, once Estinien croaks. We kill them then?

[ Does he even really want Abel dead? He'd thought he did, at a certain point. Now he doesn't know any more. It feels like his lungs threaten to cave in on themselves if he thinks about it too hard. -- Gen's barely aware of it himself, his expression is tinged with a quiet desperation when he looks to her after that question, blindly searching for something. What he's seeking, he doesn't know himself. ]

[expiera]

[There's no use splitting hairs and arguing over semantics. She knows they were on the verge of overpowering Estinien, Silco's memories showed it quite clearly. But then, it appeared. The Innocence, it took over Estinien's body and swatted them aside like flies.

(Gen still lost his arm somewhere else.)

Yet for all his bad attitude and spitfire temper, tonight, it sputters out fast. He's really running on fumes, he can't sustain himself on doubt, fear, uncertainty, regret, his inability to parse through his own raging and conflicting emotions he definitely doesn't know what to do with.

(That priest really got to him, hasn't he. How... unsurprising.)]

What do you want to do?

[She asks him a worthless, maybe even dangerous question, as she looks back at him in the eyes with an unreadable expression. They ARE alone here, and it is late at night. It's still inside the Citadel, however.

...]

[epiprocta]

[ Ciel's right. It's a worthless question. Because Gen only narrows his eyes at it -- his expression tinging not with anger, but with exasperation -- before he deadpans, ]

Don't change the subject.

[ Is that a strange answer to give? Maybe.

But for Gen, that question -- 'what do you want to do?' -- has nothing with what he'd asked. What he wants, he's learned over the years, is rarely a factor in reality. Unless he can manifest those desires through force, through violence, they simply don't matter. And here, his attempts at control have already failed him.

The reality of the matter is that because Estinien still lives, Abel and Himeka will suffer until he dies. And what happens afterward is out of his control. His role is to simply accept and adapt to it. ]

Once Estinien's dead, they've served their role, right. So -- that's it, then. Once he's dead, they have to die, too. Isn't that it.

[ His voice stays level enough, and his words don't falter. Any passerby would only hear it as a statement of fact, weary but resolved. But Ciel alone might notice the way Gen's gaze stays distant and hazy, like he's desperate to escape reality.

He can accept this. He can. He will eventually, because he has to. But ... fuck. He's so tired. ]

[expiera]

[He's not cut out for this.]

I don't know.

[It almost sounds like "I don't care."]

I will do whatever the Regent asks of us. That's all.

[Not much of a joke anymore, how he'd call her "miss model student" (derogatory) before. She really is an obedient tin soldier, and now she has the rap sheet to prove it.]

To a soldier that understands their position, what will happen doesn't matter, they only need to concern themselves with carrying out orders. You're incapable of doing that, Minegishi. You keep asking because you're struggling.

[It almost sounds like he's looking for validation, from her of all people, even though she has a feeling she knows what he's trying to do. He's trying to brace himself for the worst case scenario, isn't he. Something he genuinely does not want deep down, once everything's said and done.]

That's why you should think about what you want, instead. What are you trying to do, looking for answers out of machines and monsters while you're still human yourself?

[An abrupt turn if there was one, from the time she tried convincing them they had anything in common. There's no point continuing that charade now, however: they're from completely different worlds in more ways than one, it's never been as glaring as it is now.]

[epiprocta]

[ For better or for worse, Gen simply gives her an exhausted, skeptical look for a moment. Then drones, his voice hoarse: ]

Machines? What the hell are you even talking about.

[ Ciel's a person. One he personally doesn't like, and can't really see eye to eye with. Perhaps one capable of doing monstrous things, if she really can condone the capture and imprisonment of two people without batting an eye. But that's just how people are, aren't they? People are capable of being cold-blooded and cruel when they find it necessary, and Ciel is simply someone with that resolve.

He'd thought he was, too. But it turns out maintaining the same resolve he'd clung to in his hometown is much harder without the person he'd always kept in his thoughts. With just himself to defend, he can't bring himself to care as much.

Gen drops his gaze after a moment and puts down the remaining half of the sandwich. His appetite really has dissipated completely; it feels like anything else he tries to eat will just taste like ash gritting between his teeth. He stares at the plate without really seeing it as he speaks quietly, flatly: ]

... I'll do everything I have to. I've done everything I was supposed to so far, and I'm ready to see things through to the end. But I'm not a soldier, and I just want to know what's going to happen. ... I can't give up on that.

[ If he's going to watch everything go to ruin again, at least this time, he wants to know what's coming. ]

[expiera]

...I've been called a machine before.

[She answers absentmindedly, almost without thinking as she continues watching him through lidded eyes. He's really set on trying to convince himself that he can shoulder all this, that he can power through if he just grits his teeth hard enough even if they crack and turn to powder in the process. Telling him he can't won't change anything. He's stubborn, obstinate, and astoundingly committed to the self-destructive path he's chosen for himself.

...Minegishi.]

Then let's speak in hypotheticals instead. What will you do, if they are successfully rescued and live? And what will you do, if their shards are destroyed?

[epiprocta]

[ Ciel. A machine. That's fucking stupid. A machine wouldn't waste her time even pretending to be capable of niceties. Ciel is just a person like the rest of them.

The thought has his gaze flickering up to fix on her for a moment before drifting away once more in the face of that question. What's left of his arm is starting to hurt like it periodically does these days, and Gen distractedly reaches up rub at his shoulder, trying to squelch the vicious prickling of his nerves. ]

What would there be for me to do. [ Whether Abel and Himeka are somehow lucky enough to be rescued or not, that doesn't mean he's going to do anything. His decided course of action hasn't changed. He knows his place. ] They'll both be dead in the end, one way or another. Whether it's here, as prisoners, after Estinien dies, or after everything's over and we've won. They have to die in the end. It's just ...

[ His next breath catches in his throat, and his fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, close to where the scarring at his arm starts. But that spike of pain isn't the only reason his next words come low and hoarse. ]

... we all at least want to die free. Die in a way that makes sense to us.

[ 'We.' Because he hasn't forgotten what he's seen of Ciel's memories. She understands that much, doesn't she? That desperate desire to reach an end that grants some sense of agency and closure. Not wasting away in a prison cell, being used as a pawn. Even if the Kenoma will be victorious and the end will come for everyone someday ... is that desperation not something that should be acknowledged? Even for their prisoners? ]

1/2

[expiera]

Following that line of reasoning, there would be no point to anything. You may as well ask what's the point of living, if everyone is just going to die in the end.

[She remarks with some dryness, holding back a sigh at his comment. Watching him grip his arm, her eyes narrow without her own noticing at his wording.

...]

2/2

[expiera]

That can be a luxury, too.

[How someone wants to die, ends up dying, not very different from how someone may want to live instead. There's an almost resigned quality to her tone, though she looks away the next moment as she has no intention of explaining herself. It must not make sense to him. There's no way she can articulate what brought upon the last five years of her life, why she sought her own death the way he saw her that one time far too similar memories blurred. She herself very nearly ended up in a position of "wasting away", except instead of a prison cell, it would have been a ward where she would spend the rest of eternity sealed.

It was more beneficial to make use of her, was the ultimate decision from above. Just like now, again. They're from different worlds, and she would rather he never come to know hers period if it can be helped. She deals in death bereft of dignity or humanity, because among monsters is where she worked. But as they are both on Horos, and things have already escalated to this point...]

The Pleroma are more resilient than you give them credit for.

[It isn't some endorsement to their enemy. Just plainly, like saying the grass is green and water is wet, and it really is getting quite late and good people should be in bed.]

Did you think that too, in the fight that made you lose your arm?

[She's still not looking at him, focused now on packing the rest of the katsusando away in pseudo-bento boxes for later. They're still good for lunch tomorrow, maybe the rest of the week event.]

[epiprocta]

[ Yes, he does sometimes wonder what's the point of living -- at least for himself. And yes, he knows that choosing the way one dies is a luxury, too. It just ... seems like a realistic one to aim for. Something that doesn't seem like too much to ask for. For himself, certainly, and maybe for others as well.

At least he has the good sense not to voice that grim sentiment out loud, answering Ciel with only a moment of prolonged silence as he stares at the countertop without really seeing it.

It's only the mention of his arm that properly draws his focus once more. ]

... this doesn't have anything to do with that.

[ 'This,' he calls it. It's hard breaking habit -- he's far too accustomed to using abstract terms or straight-out lying when discussing things that disturb him, if he'll even permit any discussion of them at all. Case in point, he's clearly reluctant to discuss the matter in any detail, averting his gaze and shifting position to angle that truncated arm away from Ciel's view. Even as he continues to dig his fingers into the tense line of his shoulder, willing that pressure to override the phantom pain prickling through his nerves.

Even as his words come forced unnaturally flat when he mutters, ]

I only did what I had to.

[expiera]

It very much does. You "did what you had to", as you say, just like how you're trying to figure out what you will have to do now.

[How is it different? It isn't, she doesn't think so even if he insists otherwise, so she doesn't ask the obvious. If he wants to cling onto semantics, he can do that, she won't stop him. He doesn't even need to turn, she's not watching him. She's still busy packaging the katsusandos away, even as she vaguely sees him fidget from the corner of her peripheral vision.

It's with her back to him that she makes the offer.]

If I show you my battle that led to the prisoners' capture, will you show me the battle of what happened to your arm?

[No preamble, no pretense. Just memory for memory, information for information. She did claim they relate, even as he refuted it. Is asking that way okay...?]

[epiprocta]

[ It's a shrewdly put request. One answered by a quiet creak of the chair as Gen stiffens in response.

Of course Gen doesn't want to share his memories of what had happened in Venera between him and Dokja -- that entire feud had been a personal affair from beginning to end. Even if he hadn't been bothered this whole time by people like Ciel and Eustace attempting to dissuade him from his goal of killing Dokja, the intimate nature of his loathing towards the man makes those memories difficult to hand over to anyone. Habit is a hard thing to break, and it simply isn't in Gen's nature to discuss matters that affect him so much. His sins and hurt must be kept hidden close to his chest always.

But ... ]

... what do you get from something like that.

[ Gen struggles to keep his words flat, but without even realizing it, he's leaned forward ever so slightly in his seat. His tone of voice, too, comes out a little too hurried to convey the sort of apathy he wants to. He does desperately want to know exactly what happened during that bout in Godsblood, if only to help organize his own thoughts. It's simply a question of how high a price he's willing to pay for them; what repercussions he might expect for revealing the exact nature of his encounter with Dokja to Ciel. ]

[expiera]

[It's been a few months since that night in his room. When he threw a glass at her, missed her head by a few hairs, and all but demanded that she leave him alone. She "knows better", now. Her opinion of him hasn't changed much, he's a teenager way over his head. But he did manage to hang on, built relationships with the people around him whether he liked it or not. (Misa. Amos. Emet-Selch. Eustace. Abel.)

Still impressively self-destructive though, and there isn't anything she can do but maybe pick up the pieces, if she just so happens to be around the day he comes apart. Suppose that's what she's doing now: giving him a tool to something, whether he makes more pieces of himself from it or less remains to be seen.

She's got his interest, in any case: the refusal isn't immediate, she doesn't even need to look at him to pick it up. Flat as he may try keeping his voice, tired as he may be, the very fact that he's asking said enough.]

You've been training tirelessly with Eustace and Emet-Selch for the past several months. If your opponent could still manage to take an arm from you, then that's someone with ability we should know about.

[Snapping close a glass container she just fit four sandwiches in, she brings it to the cooling box further off to the side. As much as she can guess, she really hasn't looked into whatever Gen may have gotten himself into after the Innocence. She essentially knows nothing, so she acts as such. On the other hand, she doubts he'll ever need the knowledge to fight Abel or Himeka, but... that's not what this is about, and they both know it, don't they? It's an information trade, and if she needs to fluff her excuse up a bit to make it more palatable for him, then so be it.]

[epiprocta]

[ That's bullshit.

That's bullshit and they both know it. Gen knows Ciel knows they both know it. (And yet.)

The chair creaks Gen uneasily shifts his weight, averting his gaze as he tries to think past the exhausted fog that's been filling his head for days on end, now. He can feel his pulse ring in his ears every time he thinks too hard about that fight with Dokja. But the same time, it's not like he can not think about it -- he's not like Misa, not able to simply turn his thoughts away from it. So if he's going to be plagued by reminders of it constantly, without warning, those intrusive thoughts persistently slipping before his eyes no matter what else he tries to distract himself with ... maybe it's worth at least exchanging them for some answers.

(Maybe. His gut instinct insists that it's not -- he's not someone meant to be honest, he's meant to hold things close to his chest forever, until he dies. He tries to fight past that knowledge.) ]

Then -- ...

[ His voice comes halting, and Gen stops almost immediately. Swallows thickly, then sits forth in his chair, leaning heavily against the countertop in some vague attempt to seem more steadfast about this decision. But there's just no way to hide the deepset anxiety that he practically exudes as he forces himself to continue, his voice hoarse with more than just exhaustion. ]

-- then you go first. I'll do it. But ... I want answers, first.

[ But more than that, he doesn't want to linger after having shown Ciel his side of the story. Wants to exit the scene immediately afterward. Already, his desire to simply leave is obvious from the tension rife in his posture, but he still fights against it to tug down the high collar of his shirt, his shard gleaming where it sits at his throat. ]

No deal, otherwise.

[expiera]

[The box put away, she saunters back to the table Gen is sitting at with visible strain. Her gaze fixes onto him properly now, no more looking away.

He looks like shit.

Will this only burden him further? Or will it absolve him? She can't tell as she is, but it's been well known to her ever since a crashed dinner-not-date in Godsblood that this boy has been in contact with that foolish self-professed priest with an ever-bleeding heart. She can see it far too easily, honestly, how that brand of patience could worm its way under this scarred and volatile teen's rough exterior and straight into a starving and self-denying heart.

Minegishi Gen shouldn't have to go through any of this. But since there's no means to remove him from Horos in any way she knows of or would care to entertain, the only compromise would be...

(...)

Drawing in a quiet breath, she lifts a hand to her chest and phases her shard through her robes at her sternum without shifting her gaze away from him. She's done it many times now, it comes as easily as breathing.]

That's okay. I don't mind answering questions you may have to ask out loud either, I also won't ask anything of you after. [She considers telling him it's getting late and he should get some rest, but ultimately decides against it after a few seconds of deliberation.]

The sandwiches will still be here tomorrow. You can ask a kitchen staff to help you reheat them, or just send down your retainer.

[What a pointless detail to voice. But since it's through food that they maintained this strenuous relationship the past few months, it seems only fitting too, almost poetic really, to close off the last remnants of what may pass off as normalcy between them before they leave that world behind.

She'll show him, just how mercilessly Abel and Himeka were ambushed. How seamlessly and ruthlessly she fought together with Emet-Selch as a unit. She knows where she'll cut the feed, too: right after the clumsy Pleromas fall into the sea, before Emet-Selch begins gathering a spell of thundering fury and Ciel herself had to step in to stop him.

Thus dragging the prisoners back as people and not shards, it would've been a kinder fate than how they've been treated ever since their confinement began.]