[There's a defenseless noise that dies in her throat when he speaks. Not in response to her words, but to her thoughts. The "I have," is ambiguous, but the follow up has shivers running down her spine.
Then this train car...
He has killed people. Toko looks at him with wary eyes, watery eyes — her fears were never far from fits. This isn't the same as Jill's killings of passion, or the maddening work of Despair. This is an older tradition. You could paint an air of nobility around it, but there's a cacophony roused in her head, metal on metal and the screams of the wounded. War has always been brutal, it's just rarely face to face in her time.
Dimitri has killed not for love, nor madness, nor pleasure, selfish gain. For ideals. For country. For a cause.
The rustle of his scabbard being unbuckled has her flinching back at first. Expecting a blow. Instead, it's an offer. She senses more from him, nebulous doubts that come together less in words than in impressions. In turn, he might feel her own pushing back: he gives her his weapon, but it's in exchange for their ticket out of this car. He could suspect her. He could overpower her without it easily, she's never used a sword.
Toko's teeth are on the verge of chattering. Always with the impossible choices. Two dead ends.
Unbidden, she has a flash of that bitch, pigtailed and pompous as she makes her ultimatums. One person's despair is enough to seal your fate. Isn't that just the most hopeless outcome ever!? So who do you think's gonna give in? Whose despair is gonna sign your death warrant!?
Toko's lip twists. Fuck that. She's tired of these games, and she's come too far to lose now.
In one impatient swoop, she takes the sword and pushes the torch into Dimitri's hands.]
I h-have no idea how to use this. Don't set me up to look like an idiot. I'll n-never forgive you!
no subject
Then this train car...
He has killed people. Toko looks at him with wary eyes, watery eyes — her fears were never far from fits. This isn't the same as Jill's killings of passion, or the maddening work of Despair. This is an older tradition. You could paint an air of nobility around it, but there's a cacophony roused in her head, metal on metal and the screams of the wounded. War has always been brutal, it's just rarely face to face in her time.
Dimitri has killed not for love, nor madness, nor pleasure, selfish gain. For ideals. For country. For a cause.
The rustle of his scabbard being unbuckled has her flinching back at first. Expecting a blow. Instead, it's an offer. She senses more from him, nebulous doubts that come together less in words than in impressions. In turn, he might feel her own pushing back: he gives her his weapon, but it's in exchange for their ticket out of this car. He could suspect her. He could overpower her without it easily, she's never used a sword.
Toko's teeth are on the verge of chattering. Always with the impossible choices. Two dead ends.
Unbidden, she has a flash of that bitch, pigtailed and pompous as she makes her ultimatums. One person's despair is enough to seal your fate. Isn't that just the most hopeless outcome ever!? So who do you think's gonna give in? Whose despair is gonna sign your death warrant!?
Toko's lip twists. Fuck that. She's tired of these games, and she's come too far to lose now.
In one impatient swoop, she takes the sword and pushes the torch into Dimitri's hands.]
I h-have no idea how to use this. Don't set me up to look like an idiot. I'll n-never forgive you!