It makes something in him sink, feeling guilt’s fingerprints stick along the surfaces of synthetic insides. Is he doing that, forgetting himself in this place, lost in the Circle’s goals? Casting his eyes back to the fighters below, his eyes ground to a similar, nondescript spot. He’s made friends, he’s expanded his horizons in the way of new experiences. Learned of magic, abilities, people, things that CyberLife could’ve never prepared him for, and he’s still here. Still functioning. But is he better for it?
Can he ignore his mission, when the mission is so… beyond him now? Amanda would still look at him with disappointment glittering in cold eyes, as she clipped a rose’s head off of its stem. No, he’s not doing enough. No, he’s straying too far. No, maybe he’s not doing like what Lucina is telling him, thinking back on the faces of the dead every day, or the look in each deviant’s eyes as they declared to them their reasoning, strained with anger or desperation or sorrow. Their breaking points. Maybe he should, but when he does, the world tilts a little. Doubt rakes at him. It scares him.]
You're stronger than me. [The words come almost unbidden.] You’ve lost more and you still… have perspective, Lucina. Even if the guilt is inevitable. I find that admirable.
[Could he keep himself in that feedback loop of memory? Some small, treacherous part of him realizes that he’s gone to lengths to avoid it.]
no subject
It makes something in him sink, feeling guilt’s fingerprints stick along the surfaces of synthetic insides. Is he doing that, forgetting himself in this place, lost in the Circle’s goals? Casting his eyes back to the fighters below, his eyes ground to a similar, nondescript spot. He’s made friends, he’s expanded his horizons in the way of new experiences. Learned of magic, abilities, people, things that CyberLife could’ve never prepared him for, and he’s still here. Still functioning. But is he better for it?
Can he ignore his mission, when the mission is so… beyond him now? Amanda would still look at him with disappointment glittering in cold eyes, as she clipped a rose’s head off of its stem. No, he’s not doing enough. No, he’s straying too far. No, maybe he’s not doing like what Lucina is telling him, thinking back on the faces of the dead every day, or the look in each deviant’s eyes as they declared to them their reasoning, strained with anger or desperation or sorrow. Their breaking points. Maybe he should, but when he does, the world tilts a little. Doubt rakes at him. It scares him.]
You're stronger than me. [The words come almost unbidden.] You’ve lost more and you still… have perspective, Lucina. Even if the guilt is inevitable. I find that admirable.
[Could he keep himself in that feedback loop of memory? Some small, treacherous part of him realizes that he’s gone to lengths to avoid it.]