Makoto isn't here anymore. Not in the sense of being wiped from the face of this new world, but absconded by opposing forces that give no promises that they won't inflict vengeance upon him for all their side has endured. From Abel and Himeka's torture, humiliation and the narrowly avoided destruction of their souls to Einstein's capture and what the Pleroma must know spells the destruction of the Innocent entity.
They could easily shatter Makoto's shard in revenge. Or slowly carve it up in a manner of torture that is far worse than any bodily abuse. As a demon, a creature that has been shaped in his most formative years by misuse, rejection and then a loss beyond compare, J knows the mind suffers worse than anything else.
If he is returned, on the slim chance Abel and Himeka will release back into the wild a monster that rumor has told him visited them for an extended time, would he be the same? Would they crack and chip away at his shard until he's forgotten himself, his memories, and lost any recognition of his own master? Perhaps he'll have gone mad, like every one of the other mortals J had tried to usher into a second life at his side. In some twisted act of cosmic retribution against the demon, the Universe may finally succeed in exposing the sheer hopelessness of his desires after nearly a thousand years of trying to drive that point home.
Or so the nightmares say, as they creep upon him in the dead of night while he holds vigil over a body that may, one day, simply dissipate under J's unwavering gaze. Without giving him any indication if that end is from the destruction of the piece of him the Pleroma hold- or the erasure of his shard-bound soul.
J is not some ignorant child, nor obtuse enough to miss the cyclical nature of this moment, and it's imitation to an age-old loss. And while his ward isn't yet dead, not knowing what tomorrow brings, living on an endless drawn-out stream of uncertainty that sinks tooth and nail into him deeper every day, feels like grief.
Just has J has done every day since Wald has died, he searches for an outlet, a distraction for the emotions that doggedly chase at his heels. Seeing Barnaby make an attempt to separate himself from the spectacle gives J the answer as to what that will be.
J steps over to the exit and feels himself relive that moment from the Regent's courtroom, when Barnaby had made up his mind about defecting. But this time, when Barnaby approaches where he's come to lean against the exit, J simply tilts his head and offers the both of them an excuse to leave, dropped almost conversationally, "I've had enough of rubbing elbows this evening, how about you?"
The Regent is surely watching everyone's reaction, including Barnaby's. He's obviously discomforted, to say the least. Should he rush out in a hurry, that may reflect poorly upon him. But if he leaves with someone else, leisured and wrapped up in J's overly familiar way of interacting with him, well. People can assume what they want, but it won't be that Barnaby is showing hints of rebellion again.
no subject
They could easily shatter Makoto's shard in revenge. Or slowly carve it up in a manner of torture that is far worse than any bodily abuse. As a demon, a creature that has been shaped in his most formative years by misuse, rejection and then a loss beyond compare, J knows the mind suffers worse than anything else.
If he is returned, on the slim chance Abel and Himeka will release back into the wild a monster that rumor has told him visited them for an extended time, would he be the same? Would they crack and chip away at his shard until he's forgotten himself, his memories, and lost any recognition of his own master? Perhaps he'll have gone mad, like every one of the other mortals J had tried to usher into a second life at his side. In some twisted act of cosmic retribution against the demon, the Universe may finally succeed in exposing the sheer hopelessness of his desires after nearly a thousand years of trying to drive that point home.
Or so the nightmares say, as they creep upon him in the dead of night while he holds vigil over a body that may, one day, simply dissipate under J's unwavering gaze. Without giving him any indication if that end is from the destruction of the piece of him the Pleroma hold- or the erasure of his shard-bound soul.
J is not some ignorant child, nor obtuse enough to miss the cyclical nature of this moment, and it's imitation to an age-old loss. And while his ward isn't yet dead, not knowing what tomorrow brings, living on an endless drawn-out stream of uncertainty that sinks tooth and nail into him deeper every day, feels like grief.
Just has J has done every day since Wald has died, he searches for an outlet, a distraction for the emotions that doggedly chase at his heels. Seeing Barnaby make an attempt to separate himself from the spectacle gives J the answer as to what that will be.
J steps over to the exit and feels himself relive that moment from the Regent's courtroom, when Barnaby had made up his mind about defecting. But this time, when Barnaby approaches where he's come to lean against the exit, J simply tilts his head and offers the both of them an excuse to leave, dropped almost conversationally, "I've had enough of rubbing elbows this evening, how about you?"
The Regent is surely watching everyone's reaction, including Barnaby's. He's obviously discomforted, to say the least. Should he rush out in a hurry, that may reflect poorly upon him. But if he leaves with someone else, leisured and wrapped up in J's overly familiar way of interacting with him, well. People can assume what they want, but it won't be that Barnaby is showing hints of rebellion again.