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[ It's always before he turns in for the night that his mind wanders the most, past the confines of Achamoth and to the darkness beyond. He thinks about the skydoms, the feel of wind against his cheeks and the sight of the blue sky all around him. He thinks about the scent of gunpowder seeped into his clothes and the invisible shackles around his wrists and ankles, shackles that have somehow managed to follow him all the way here despite the absence of the Society and the Foe.
But mostly, he thinks about people. Of people long lost to him, and people on the verge of being lost to him. And, ever so briefly, of near-strangers who have entered and exited his life, annoying in all the worst ways. He said he hadn't cared, but that look in his eyes had implied otherwise.
Eustace ought to know. He's worn that self-same look too many times in the past. ]
Why did you care so much?
[ He doesn't mean it as a communion message but the feeling of it drifts anyway, his usual self-control loosened by the fuzz of exhaustion.
and also because i need an excuse to communion, so sue me ]
But mostly, he thinks about people. Of people long lost to him, and people on the verge of being lost to him. And, ever so briefly, of near-strangers who have entered and exited his life, annoying in all the worst ways. He said he hadn't cared, but that look in his eyes had implied otherwise.
Eustace ought to know. He's worn that self-same look too many times in the past. ]
Why did you care so much?
[ He doesn't mean it as a communion message but the feeling of it drifts anyway, his usual self-control loosened by the fuzz of exhaustion.
and also because i need an excuse to communion, so sue me ]
[ Nights are the worst. They're quiet enough for the intrusive thoughts to seep in and settle at the very forefront of his mind like longtime residents, only out for a stroll during the day but returning on time each night to resume their work. And like always, Dokja tries to chase them away by burying himself into the pages of books.
But tonight starts out different, and he's startled when a different voice enters his mind. It takes him a long, drawn out moment to recognize it, and when he does, he's left bewildered.
... Eustace?
This is the last person he'd thought would reach out to him, especially after how they'd parted ways. They haven't seen each other since, and while Dokja has occasionally wondered about him, he's been preoccupied with... too much.
When he finally answers, shard held between his hands, it's defensive. Cagey. Wary and sharp. ]
Care about what?
[ But there's a note of vulnerability present that he isn't able to fully conceal. ]
But tonight starts out different, and he's startled when a different voice enters his mind. It takes him a long, drawn out moment to recognize it, and when he does, he's left bewildered.
... Eustace?
This is the last person he'd thought would reach out to him, especially after how they'd parted ways. They haven't seen each other since, and while Dokja has occasionally wondered about him, he's been preoccupied with... too much.
When he finally answers, shard held between his hands, it's defensive. Cagey. Wary and sharp. ]
Care about what?
[ But there's a note of vulnerability present that he isn't able to fully conceal. ]
[ He's half-asleep, eyelids fallen closed, when the ghost of a voice filters back, unbidden and unexpected. Truthfully, it's more feelings than voice, but familiar in a way he immediately understands. For a moment he thinks he is asleep, because that's surely the only reason he could be hearing that particular man's voice in his mind, when they're no doubt on two separate ends of the continent. But there's a raw emotion that scrapes up against the edges of his mind, a wavering suspicion that he can't identify as his own.
Godsdammit.
Rolling over, he opens his eyes, staring listlessly at the far wall of his (unnecessarily large, overly gaudy, misery-inducing) bedroom, one hand pressed against the right side of his face, deliberating on whether he ought to shut things down now or acknowledge the reply to a message he'd only partially meant to send.
One minute passes, then two. Finally, he grimaces, exhaling sharply before he sits up and fully dislodges his shard. ]
Nothing. Go to sleep.
[ It's a late enough hour that people should be sleeping, right? ]
Godsdammit.
Rolling over, he opens his eyes, staring listlessly at the far wall of his (unnecessarily large, overly gaudy, misery-inducing) bedroom, one hand pressed against the right side of his face, deliberating on whether he ought to shut things down now or acknowledge the reply to a message he'd only partially meant to send.
One minute passes, then two. Finally, he grimaces, exhaling sharply before he sits up and fully dislodges his shard. ]
Nothing. Go to sleep.
[ It's a late enough hour that people should be sleeping, right? ]
[ Typical. Why start something, then? Or, he doesn't care? The provoking responses Dokja could fire back needle at his thoughts, but he doesn't send those replies. He probably would have, if this had been weeks earlier. But things have changed.
Dokja has been starting to change.
Instead, he thinks about what someone had once told him when he'd admitted that he thought communication to be impossible with those that didn't want to hear it. That there were too many walls in place for him to get anywhere.
"Write on the wall."
... ]
It's one of the only things I'm good at.
[ Dokja tries for a touch of humor in his usual self-deprecating way, but he's uncertain how Eustace will take it. The wall between them is looming and large, neither of them capable of seeing the other past it. But, on Dokja's side, he'll leave a mark. The way he had been advised to all those years ago.
"At least the wall has changed. Then one day, someone might read it." ]
Dokja has been starting to change.
Instead, he thinks about what someone had once told him when he'd admitted that he thought communication to be impossible with those that didn't want to hear it. That there were too many walls in place for him to get anywhere.
"Write on the wall."
... ]
It's one of the only things I'm good at.
[ Dokja tries for a touch of humor in his usual self-deprecating way, but he's uncertain how Eustace will take it. The wall between them is looming and large, neither of them capable of seeing the other past it. But, on Dokja's side, he'll leave a mark. The way he had been advised to all those years ago.
"At least the wall has changed. Then one day, someone might read it." ]
[ dokja has been starting to change, as dokja immediately goes to speedrun his own death two months after arriving in horos
But that's fast-forward to sometime in the future and this is some time in the nebulouspast present, and Eustace, ever the god-awful communicator, pauses in his bed, a momentary cloud of confusion passing over his face. Good at what, going to sleep? (Though, truly, that's an admirable skill if there ever is one.) Why is Dokja even continuing this conversation instead of going to sleep?
Then he rewinds a little, scrolling through the scant four lines that've been exchanged to arrive at the original traitorous thought that had sparked all of this.
There's another bout of silence, carefully curated to feel as indifferent as possible, as as he accepts the answer and rolls it around in his head. It's not a bad trait to have, to care too much, but if he's learned anything from personal experience it's that caring always comes back around to bite someone in the ass. ]
You seemed proficient enough in a number of things, back in the cave.
[ Like breaking bones, for instance. ]
But that's fast-forward to sometime in the future and this is some time in the nebulous
Then he rewinds a little, scrolling through the scant four lines that've been exchanged to arrive at the original traitorous thought that had sparked all of this.
There's another bout of silence, carefully curated to feel as indifferent as possible, as as he accepts the answer and rolls it around in his head. It's not a bad trait to have, to care too much, but if he's learned anything from personal experience it's that caring always comes back around to bite someone in the ass. ]
You seemed proficient enough in a number of things, back in the cave.
[ Like breaking bones, for instance. ]
[ okay that one was not planned
Back in the cave...? Ah, of course. Dokja immediately gets what it is Eustace is alluding to, and a tinge of amusement seeps through their communion. It's not mocking in any way, more like he thinks a funny joke was made.
But then it's quickly smothered a beat later. To be honest, Dokja hates this method of communication? He's not in control of his emotions enough for this. ]
How's your wrist? Did you get it looked after?
[ He tries to keep his response casual and airy, tries not to think about the prickle of guilt sitting uncomfortably in his heart. It's not like he'd relished in the action, but dire times, right? He doesn't expect Eustace to hold it against him. Doesn't seem like the type to.
... Or that's at least what Dokja's been telling himself. ]
Back in the cave...? Ah, of course. Dokja immediately gets what it is Eustace is alluding to, and a tinge of amusement seeps through their communion. It's not mocking in any way, more like he thinks a funny joke was made.
But then it's quickly smothered a beat later. To be honest, Dokja hates this method of communication? He's not in control of his emotions enough for this. ]
How's your wrist? Did you get it looked after?
[ He tries to keep his response casual and airy, tries not to think about the prickle of guilt sitting uncomfortably in his heart. It's not like he'd relished in the action, but dire times, right? He doesn't expect Eustace to hold it against him. Doesn't seem like the type to.
... Or that's at least what Dokja's been telling himself. ]
[ Dokja can at least rest easy in knowing that he is correct in this one assumption. ]
It's fine.
[ Said with indifference, not a single shred of anger or animosity coloring his tone whatsoever. Injury is a natural and unavoidable part of battle, and as far as he's concerned Dokja had done what he'd had to do. They both had. And better to limp out of the cave with merely a broken wrist than with his corpse bleeding out on the cold stone ground. ]
Why? Are you planning on breaking it again?
[ It's..........half-joking, half-serious, though as far as jokes go this one is pretty bad and also barely obvious. Sometell teach this man how to smile the next time he cracks shitty jokes, or at least to inject some humor into his (mind) voice. ]
It's fine.
[ Said with indifference, not a single shred of anger or animosity coloring his tone whatsoever. Injury is a natural and unavoidable part of battle, and as far as he's concerned Dokja had done what he'd had to do. They both had. And better to limp out of the cave with merely a broken wrist than with his corpse bleeding out on the cold stone ground. ]
Why? Are you planning on breaking it again?
[ It's..........half-joking, half-serious, though as far as jokes go this one is pretty bad and also barely obvious. Sometell teach this man how to smile the next time he cracks shitty jokes, or at least to inject some humor into his (mind) voice. ]
[ That's a weight off his chest. Dokja has killed and maimed before but they were always nobodies to him, and to spare them or his actions a single thought would have been been a waste of his time.
He's not exactly sure what it is about Eustace that has him feeling differently. Their shared moments in the cave? Their stupid back and forths? That would require Dokja to know himself. ]
If you give me a reason to.
[ He matches the half-joking and half-serious tone in his response. ]
Or maybe I'll just do it the next time I see you depending on my mood.
[ This one... is a little less joking. He's still annoyed at Eustace, after all. ]
He's not exactly sure what it is about Eustace that has him feeling differently. Their shared moments in the cave? Their stupid back and forths? That would require Dokja to know himself. ]
If you give me a reason to.
[ He matches the half-joking and half-serious tone in his response. ]
Or maybe I'll just do it the next time I see you depending on my mood.
[ This one... is a little less joking. He's still annoyed at Eustace, after all. ]
[ Wow, what a petty bitch.
Back in his room, Eustace gives the empty section of his bedroom wall A Look, one that Dokja can neither see nor feel. He hadn't pegged Dokja as the kind of man to mess with a person just for the hell of it, but then again, what does he really know about this man? Half an hour spent in his company and a few pained looks in the midst of battle does not a deep and lasting friendship make. ]
Wouldn't it be more efficient to just kill me? Or are you the type of man that prefers torturing his victims first?
[ If the latter, please make that known so Eustace can go find another man to kill him first, thanks. ]
Back in his room, Eustace gives the empty section of his bedroom wall A Look, one that Dokja can neither see nor feel. He hadn't pegged Dokja as the kind of man to mess with a person just for the hell of it, but then again, what does he really know about this man? Half an hour spent in his company and a few pained looks in the midst of battle does not a deep and lasting friendship make. ]
Wouldn't it be more efficient to just kill me? Or are you the type of man that prefers torturing his victims first?
[ If the latter, please make that known so Eustace can go find another man to kill him first, thanks. ]
[ flips hair he can be pettier too
Also, umm, what kind of impression Dokja made?? Sure, he'll break wrists and go out of his way to punch teenagers in the face, but it's not like he's a murderer for the heck of it. The thought of killing Eustace has never crossed his mind and he passes along how startled he feels at hearing it. ]
I'm not going to kill you just because you're stupid enough to buy into whatever the Kenoma are feeding you.
[ The eyeroll from Dokja can almost be felt. ]
Also, umm, what kind of impression Dokja made?? Sure, he'll break wrists and go out of his way to punch teenagers in the face, but it's not like he's a murderer for the heck of it. The thought of killing Eustace has never crossed his mind and he passes along how startled he feels at hearing it. ]
I'm not going to kill you just because you're stupid enough to buy into whatever the Kenoma are feeding you.
[ The eyeroll from Dokja can almost be felt. ]
[ Who died and made Dokja god? (Don't answer that.)
Dokja's eyeroll is felt loud and clear, and there's an immediate wave of displeasure that spikes out in reply. Eustace has never once claimed to be any sort of role model, worthy of people's respect and admiration, but to be made into some of kind of evil villain simply for taking a calculated risk?
Bullshit. Nothing in the world is so black and white.
It's as though walls spring up his mind, the brief burst of annoyance quickly smothered by a familiar ice cold indifference. ]
Are you stupid enough to assume everyone who accepted the Kenoma believes in what the Regent says?
[ Can Dokja just use his head for once in his life instead of following the tiny voice in his gut that tells him to run headfirst into danger? ]
Do us both a favor and kill me the next time you see me.
Dokja's eyeroll is felt loud and clear, and there's an immediate wave of displeasure that spikes out in reply. Eustace has never once claimed to be any sort of role model, worthy of people's respect and admiration, but to be made into some of kind of evil villain simply for taking a calculated risk?
Bullshit. Nothing in the world is so black and white.
It's as though walls spring up his mind, the brief burst of annoyance quickly smothered by a familiar ice cold indifference. ]
Are you stupid enough to assume everyone who accepted the Kenoma believes in what the Regent says?
[ Can Dokja just use his head for once in his life instead of following the tiny voice in his gut that tells him to run headfirst into danger? ]
Do us both a favor and kill me the next time you see me.
[ No, actually. Dokja's first instinct is to judge people based off of first impressions and to unkindly pigeonhole them into certain categories as if he knows them. As if he's clever enough to read them right off the bat, when truthfully, he doesn't understand people at all.
It's what happens when all he does is read about characters and their stories do all the work for him, telling him of their motives and ambitions and personalities.
He doesn't know what actual people are like. ]
Why else would you accept the Kenoma? If you don't believe in what the Regent says, you at least believe in the destruction of our worlds, don't you?
[ Even as he says this, his grip on the stone tightens. Eustace doesn't believe in what the Regent says...? Is he trying to fool Dokja here? ]
Tell me that I'm wrong.
It's what happens when all he does is read about characters and their stories do all the work for him, telling him of their motives and ambitions and personalities.
He doesn't know what actual people are like. ]
Why else would you accept the Kenoma? If you don't believe in what the Regent says, you at least believe in the destruction of our worlds, don't you?
[ Even as he says this, his grip on the stone tightens. Eustace doesn't believe in what the Regent says...? Is he trying to fool Dokja here? ]
Tell me that I'm wrong.
[ A part of him wants to be forthright, to yank the moral high ground towel from right underneath Dokja's feet. But after so many years spent as the Society's lap dog, he knows better than to hand out motivations willy-nilly, especially to a near stranger on the opposite side of a war. It's not like he has any moral high ground to speak of anyway.
A handful of seconds, deliberate and heavy, pass before he speaks up. ]
Would you believe me even if I did?
[ Not that it'll really matter, in the end. ]
A handful of seconds, deliberate and heavy, pass before he speaks up. ]
Would you believe me even if I did?
[ Not that it'll really matter, in the end. ]
[ If only he were good with words... If only he knew what to say at a time like this. What would the others respond with? What would the people more noble and willing to try and sway those who had gone to the side of the Kenoma do?
Frustration lances through their connection with Dokja's internal struggle at how to answer too obvious to hide. Ultimately, it's the truth that comes out, and it's so incredibly simple. ]
I don't have any reason to believe you.
[ They're strangers. They haven't had any time to be more than that. ]
Frustration lances through their connection with Dokja's internal struggle at how to answer too obvious to hide. Ultimately, it's the truth that comes out, and it's so incredibly simple. ]
I don't have any reason to believe you.
[ They're strangers. They haven't had any time to be more than that. ]
[ Maybe it's odd, but he feels a strange sense of relief at the reply. It's a reaffirmation of the line drawn between them, a reminder of how they should be viewing each other: as enemies first and foremost.
Even if there might have been the slim possibility of them ending up on the same side as a pair of bickering friends, it's gone now, snatched away as soon as he'd chosen to accept the Kenoma into him. Or so he tells himself; easier to carry out any mission assigned to him if he eliminates any possible distraction. ]
Keep it that way. It'll be better for everyone.
[ Will it though? (Yes.) ]
Even if there might have been the slim possibility of them ending up on the same side as a pair of bickering friends, it's gone now, snatched away as soon as he'd chosen to accept the Kenoma into him. Or so he tells himself; easier to carry out any mission assigned to him if he eliminates any possible distraction. ]
Keep it that way. It'll be better for everyone.
[ Will it though? (Yes.) ]
[ Now why does Eustace have to go and say complicated things like that to make him doubt?? Better for everyone? How?
No. As much as he hates to admit it, this is some bullshit that Dokja would say. ]
Better for just you, you mean.
[ It's convenient, isn't it, Eustace? To have people turn their backs, to have it so they won't have any expectations, no disappointments. It isn't possible to let down someone who already knows to be let down. ]
You really are a stupid bastard.
No. As much as he hates to admit it, this is some bullshit that Dokja would say. ]
Better for just you, you mean.
[ It's convenient, isn't it, Eustace? To have people turn their backs, to have it so they won't have any expectations, no disappointments. It isn't possible to let down someone who already knows to be let down. ]
You really are a stupid bastard.
[ If Dokja is hoping to get any sort of rise with that barb, he'll have to settle for disappointment. There's no change in feeling on the other end, cool indifference still rooted in the atmospheric spacetime between them. Mostly because Dokja isn't wrong; Eustace knows full well that he's a bastard most days, and he's lived long enough with the weight of foolish past decisions balanced on his shoulders. ]
That makes two of us then.
[ Agree to disagree or agree to agree, it doesn't matter. There's clearly nothing to be gained from continuing this conversation. If anything, he's learned the valuable lesson of being stricter with where his thoughts go while he's still conscious. ]
That makes two of us then.
[ Agree to disagree or agree to agree, it doesn't matter. There's clearly nothing to be gained from continuing this conversation. If anything, he's learned the valuable lesson of being stricter with where his thoughts go while he's still conscious. ]
[ Haah, what a fucked up move this had been from Eustace. Here Dokja had been ready to settle into the night with only his depression for company, and now he has to deal with whatever the hell this is as well. Nevermind that it had momentarily distracted him from his loneliness, it's still annoying.
Still confusing.
His restlessness ripples through to the other side, something fatigued and wary. He hasn't slept properly in days, doesn't think he will for longer than that, and he can't wrap his mind around what it is he's learned about Eustace tonight.
Without any parting words, Dokja simply ends their communion, tucking his shard back into place while the book he'd started on falls to the side. It's going to be another long night with just him and his thoughts. ]
Still confusing.
His restlessness ripples through to the other side, something fatigued and wary. He hasn't slept properly in days, doesn't think he will for longer than that, and he can't wrap his mind around what it is he's learned about Eustace tonight.
Without any parting words, Dokja simply ends their communion, tucking his shard back into place while the book he'd started on falls to the side. It's going to be another long night with just him and his thoughts. ]
[ Dokja had been escorted back into the city by his two doting caretakers as if he were an unruly toddler - a comparison that isn't too far off the mark considering, it seems. after Himeka had taken great pains to ensure the Martyr's wounds had been tended enough he could sleep (relatively) comfortably, he was chivvied into bed and ordered a heaping dose of Rest in order for wounds to knit and to give his body time to heal from his ordeal. it was obvious he had a concussion, at the very least.
the poor man's face is still a mess of discolored bruises, but at least he's cleaned up of blood and grime from the day prior and hopefully feeling more human after a decent night's sleep. whenever Dokja's eyes part to find the sunlight already pouring in the window, he'll also find a certain silver-haired man having dragged a chair to his bedside, nursing a cup of some warm beverage in his hands and another on the bedside table.
a quiet reprieve before the priest notices his ward is awake... a rare moment of Quiet in Abel Nightroad's company. enjoy it, ]
the poor man's face is still a mess of discolored bruises, but at least he's cleaned up of blood and grime from the day prior and hopefully feeling more human after a decent night's sleep. whenever Dokja's eyes part to find the sunlight already pouring in the window, he'll also find a certain silver-haired man having dragged a chair to his bedside, nursing a cup of some warm beverage in his hands and another on the bedside table.
a quiet reprieve before the priest notices his ward is awake... a rare moment of Quiet in Abel Nightroad's company. enjoy it, ]
[ It's probably the best sleep he's had since arriving in this new world. A testament to how physically and mentally exhausted he'd been to reach a point of simply falling unconscious and the usual nightmares not being enough to shake him awake.
So he at least feels better rested than before when his eyes slowly blink open, and while his tender face and dully aching head remind him of what he'd just gone through, they're easy to ignore. He has, unfortunately, been through worse. It's more the reminders of how he'd lost his grip on reality that come back to haunt him, and he flinches as the memories slowly filter back into his head. How embarrassing.
And he isn't alone to drown himself in his shame and misery either. There's no ignoring the man seated by his bed, and Dokja has Feared this moment. Knew that it was coming, yet he's so wholly unprepared for it. ]
... Hey.
[ Let's start off light and easy. ]
So he at least feels better rested than before when his eyes slowly blink open, and while his tender face and dully aching head remind him of what he'd just gone through, they're easy to ignore. He has, unfortunately, been through worse. It's more the reminders of how he'd lost his grip on reality that come back to haunt him, and he flinches as the memories slowly filter back into his head. How embarrassing.
And he isn't alone to drown himself in his shame and misery either. There's no ignoring the man seated by his bed, and Dokja has Feared this moment. Knew that it was coming, yet he's so wholly unprepared for it. ]
... Hey.
[ Let's start off light and easy. ]
[ by the time Dokja's put his head together, Abel has twigged onto the fact the other man is no longer sleeping - and so, he'll find the priest pulling his chair a little closer and gesturing with one hand to be cautious. ]
--Don't try to sit up too fast, alright...? Slowly, mm?
[ it's join by a small wince of sympathy; he's sure everything still Hurts. just looking at Dokja hurts, honestly. ]
How are you feeling...?
--Don't try to sit up too fast, alright...? Slowly, mm?
[ it's join by a small wince of sympathy; he's sure everything still Hurts. just looking at Dokja hurts, honestly. ]
How are you feeling...?
[ Then don't look at him... Perhaps even leave so that Dokja can wallow in self-pity and despair?
But he does slowly push himself to sit up, grimacing as his head pounds in protest of the movement. When he's finally upright and leaning against the headboard, he lets out a long sigh. Geez, he really had a number done on him... ]
Like I got my head beaten in.
[ A little humor never killed anyone. ]
But he does slowly push himself to sit up, grimacing as his head pounds in protest of the movement. When he's finally upright and leaning against the headboard, he lets out a long sigh. Geez, he really had a number done on him... ]
Like I got my head beaten in.
[ A little humor never killed anyone. ]
[ Dokja...
there is another beat of soft sympathy that crosses Abel's face; though the swelling is looking better than it had last night, it'll be a few days before that attractive blue and green bruising fully retreats-- to say nothing about how tender his head will be. this man... he really did get worked over. and if no one had stopped him, would that boy... would he really would have--
...Abel pushes the thought aside, gently leaning forward to offer Dokja the warm cup situated at his bedside. it's tea-- herbal tea, sweet, black. ]
Ah... funny you should say that, because I believe that is quite literally what happened! Imagine...!
[ though he rolls with the joke, there's a look in his eyes - the genuine undertone of worry, a patience. Abel is waiting, watching, to see if Dokja will talk about what happened or if he will need prompting.
but one way or another... they're talking about this. ]
there is another beat of soft sympathy that crosses Abel's face; though the swelling is looking better than it had last night, it'll be a few days before that attractive blue and green bruising fully retreats-- to say nothing about how tender his head will be. this man... he really did get worked over. and if no one had stopped him, would that boy... would he really would have--
...Abel pushes the thought aside, gently leaning forward to offer Dokja the warm cup situated at his bedside. it's tea-- herbal tea, sweet, black. ]
Ah... funny you should say that, because I believe that is quite literally what happened! Imagine...!
[ though he rolls with the joke, there's a look in his eyes - the genuine undertone of worry, a patience. Abel is waiting, watching, to see if Dokja will talk about what happened or if he will need prompting.
but one way or another... they're talking about this. ]
[ This feels familiar... Abel offering Dokja a drink...
He takes it with a small smile, hands wrapping around the cup to soak in the warmth from its sides for a moment before he carefully takes a sip. It's nice, warms him from the inside, and sweet just how he likes it.
... It causes a lump to form in his throat. As he lowers the cup to his lap, he finds that he can't raise his head to meet Abel's gaze.
Being taken care of like this... He'll never get used to it. He doesn't even deserve it for putting his companion in a dangerous situation like that. ]
I... I'm sorry. For what I put you through. Were you hurt at all?
He takes it with a small smile, hands wrapping around the cup to soak in the warmth from its sides for a moment before he carefully takes a sip. It's nice, warms him from the inside, and sweet just how he likes it.
... It causes a lump to form in his throat. As he lowers the cup to his lap, he finds that he can't raise his head to meet Abel's gaze.
Being taken care of like this... He'll never get used to it. He doesn't even deserve it for putting his companion in a dangerous situation like that. ]
I... I'm sorry. For what I put you through. Were you hurt at all?
[ ...
the pang in his chest could be seen on his face, but it isn't as though Dokja can bring himself to look at Abel, anyway. the priest watches the miserable slope of Dokja's shoulders, the heavy weight of a single mug in his lap... and his own heart aches in a very familiar sort of way.
that boy's angry, bitter words repeat in his head. the weight behind the dejection in his friend's posture... it, too, seems to validate something the priest had already suspected, feared-- even if he had been desperately hoping to find evidence to the contrary. right now, everything is screaming that what that boy said was no fabrication or provocation. ]
I wasn't hurt, [ he starts with-- because assuaging that worry comes first and foremost. he won't have Dokja concerned with something that's irrelevant; Abel hadn't been injured. ] ...and he left with Miss Ciel. He wasn't hurt any further, either. She will take care of him, Dokja.
[ his voice is gentle, soft, as if he knows he's speaking to someone who's hurt himself far more than Abel ever could - or would ever want to. ]
But you very nearly... if I hadn't happened to be there-- if I had come just a few moments later, you...
[ ...'you would have died.'
though his chest is tight with a pressure, a sense of discomfort and uneasiness-- he doesn't look away, watches his friend for any signs, any tells. the last nail in the coffin, so to speak.
would that truly be what you wanted, Dokja...? ]
the pang in his chest could be seen on his face, but it isn't as though Dokja can bring himself to look at Abel, anyway. the priest watches the miserable slope of Dokja's shoulders, the heavy weight of a single mug in his lap... and his own heart aches in a very familiar sort of way.
that boy's angry, bitter words repeat in his head. the weight behind the dejection in his friend's posture... it, too, seems to validate something the priest had already suspected, feared-- even if he had been desperately hoping to find evidence to the contrary. right now, everything is screaming that what that boy said was no fabrication or provocation. ]
I wasn't hurt, [ he starts with-- because assuaging that worry comes first and foremost. he won't have Dokja concerned with something that's irrelevant; Abel hadn't been injured. ] ...and he left with Miss Ciel. He wasn't hurt any further, either. She will take care of him, Dokja.
[ his voice is gentle, soft, as if he knows he's speaking to someone who's hurt himself far more than Abel ever could - or would ever want to. ]
But you very nearly... if I hadn't happened to be there-- if I had come just a few moments later, you...
[ ...'you would have died.'
though his chest is tight with a pressure, a sense of discomfort and uneasiness-- he doesn't look away, watches his friend for any signs, any tells. the last nail in the coffin, so to speak.
would that truly be what you wanted, Dokja...? ]
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