Howl stares back at Emet-Selch, mouth slightly agape, as he spits venom at him. He'd seen and felt his sorrow before, but not like this. The ancient had not shared this facet of himself before — this irreconcilable disgust that is both sourced from his sorrow and a source of it. He's still shaken by what he's heard as the room begins to change and does not even look out at the new surroundings. It's when Howl's gaze follows Emet-Selch's to the bed that he manages to glimpse the dead man's death mask just before it disappears.
In this moment, there is no time for the young wizard to make sense of the contradictory things he's learned about Emet-Selch over the past few months. Nor is there any time for Howl to get mad at him for what he's hearing — these new revelations are making him feel very lied to. He must do something, mad at him or not, offended or not, or else Emet-Selch will be trapped in a white prison of apathy, and drag Howl back in with him.
Gritting his teeth, Howl reaches out with a suddenly clawed and feathered hand to roughly grab the front of Emet-Selch's ornate vestments. There is a defiant, determined scowl on Howl's face for when he inevitably looks down at him, but Howl wastes no time, knowing that this gesture will not be appreciated. With a steel grip, he yanks Emet-Selch forward towards the bed. As soon as he reaches the foot of it, he uncerimoniously snatches the white sheet off with his other hand. The blond man's empty, lifeless, unfeeling eyes stare up at the ceiling.
"And what exactly, you useless old man, are you doing about it?"
Howl lets go, pushing him away as he does, before pointing accusingly at the body. This might actually ruin their friendship, he screeches at himself silently, but he could not think of anything else to say, and they both need out of this memory. Fast.
"You can't tell me you sat on some stupid throne, busying yourself with paperwork, while your own child lay dying in some other room? Left him there to suffer, alone, with not even his own father there holding his hand as he perished? Not to mention some supreme mage who I'm quite sure could have fixed his ailment in an instant? Was that Emet-Selch on holiday at the time?"
Howl is trembling, he hear it in his own voice, but he continues, pointing his accusing finger at his friend now. "If this is how useless you are when it comes to saving your own son, you'll never bring your people back. What are you doing, man? What are you really doing about any of this?"
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In this moment, there is no time for the young wizard to make sense of the contradictory things he's learned about Emet-Selch over the past few months. Nor is there any time for Howl to get mad at him for what he's hearing — these new revelations are making him feel very lied to. He must do something, mad at him or not, offended or not, or else Emet-Selch will be trapped in a white prison of apathy, and drag Howl back in with him.
Gritting his teeth, Howl reaches out with a suddenly clawed and feathered hand to roughly grab the front of Emet-Selch's ornate vestments. There is a defiant, determined scowl on Howl's face for when he inevitably looks down at him, but Howl wastes no time, knowing that this gesture will not be appreciated. With a steel grip, he yanks Emet-Selch forward towards the bed. As soon as he reaches the foot of it, he uncerimoniously snatches the white sheet off with his other hand. The blond man's empty, lifeless, unfeeling eyes stare up at the ceiling.
"And what exactly, you useless old man, are you doing about it?"
Howl lets go, pushing him away as he does, before pointing accusingly at the body. This might actually ruin their friendship, he screeches at himself silently, but he could not think of anything else to say, and they both need out of this memory. Fast.
"You can't tell me you sat on some stupid throne, busying yourself with paperwork, while your own child lay dying in some other room? Left him there to suffer, alone, with not even his own father there holding his hand as he perished? Not to mention some supreme mage who I'm quite sure could have fixed his ailment in an instant? Was that Emet-Selch on holiday at the time?"
Howl is trembling, he hear it in his own voice, but he continues, pointing his accusing finger at his friend now. "If this is how useless you are when it comes to saving your own son, you'll never bring your people back. What are you doing, man? What are you really doing about any of this?"