( for ciel, silco, and himself, their duty was done. himeka's and abel's shards had passed through their hands to be borne from the bowels of the citadel and out onto achamoth's streets, where the city's veins and arteries were choked with throngs of people practically humming with anticipation and excitement for their blood to spill. it's ghoulish in a way that to makoto is especially human. mortal. demons certainly didn't delight in such things because their essences were eternal — one might twist a temporary death into something that might make a point, to forcibly put down an adversary (or even a friend) so that their confidence shook and broke and therefore clearly distinguished their assailant as their hierarchical superior. but they would simply reform again days later, and they would have to continue to live with that new reality. in a way, Aions are more like demons in that way. but the way that has been laid out to bring about their deaths — their real, tangible, and permanent deaths — removes that veil and brings about his memories of earth. how witches were burned, how some were weighed to the bottoms of rivers and lakes, and how others were made to die in a myriad of creative ways throughout the centuries for their crimes. it is not at all unlikely that he might have met such a mandated end in his own life, if he had been more unscrupulous, if he had allowed his instincts to run wild rather than seek some sort of way to remove himself before such a thing might come to pass. yes, mortals did so often seem more cruel than their perpetual and unknowable counterparts, simply by the nature of their creativity for cruelty and the joy they extracted from its "righteousness."

makoto doesn't expect to stray from the proceedings for long. he does, after all, feel apprehensive — though he is far less consternated about the warrior of light, there is a storm of conflict within his heart when he considers abel's permanent end. but still... he wants to ensure both. it would be for the best. for the both of him, and for himself, so he wouldn't have to continue to consort with complications he didn't want.

but he had, of course, seen silco earlier as they carried the shards, and he sees him slink away now. he'd been meaning to speak to the man for some time, but other preparations or conversations interjected, so he hadn't had the chance to track him down. this seems like as ample an opportunity as ever. the demon separates from his place in the crowd and threads through it familiarly, knowingly, eventually detaching once more to appear almost seamlessly at silco's side.

he regards the cigar with a type of nostalgia. ) A dear friend of mine had a similar habit, though he preferred cigarettes. ( fjord, his first and only friend on earth and in hell. he supposes he had mourned his loss, in his own way, but friends were hidden dangers among demons; before coming here, he had started to grow wary that the other demon's strength might grow to contend with his, after he had taken over datenshou's brothel. ) I never picked it up, myself.

( though perhaps he should have. it would have been a clever revenge against J — he simply hated it, always yelling at fjord to smoke outside. )

It's good to see that you have much recovered in these last few weeks, Silco.