[You have my word, Atem says, and he looks up just in time to see the glow. It feels like a pact, but it would without the special effects. Atem's word means something — means everything. It's not that he thinks Atem can't lie, but he doesn't make promises lightly. To do so would be beneath him. And he cares about Steve as much as any of them.]
Thank you.
[Mumbled quietly, his speech slurring slightly as his lips trip over unfamiliar fangs. He feels at one and the same time still incredibly uncomfortable and totally ridiculous. What is he so upset about? Besides the parts of this that remind him faintly of what happened to Steve, none of this is really worse than what any of them do. Just because Atem enjoys it on some level — is it enjoyment? Is it justice? Does he see it for what it is? But what is it? — that's not his business. And he's not capable in this moment of lying to himself and pretending he wouldn't do the same or similar.]
[Has done similar.]
[Some people deserve to die, and he knows how to do it.]
[So what is this? Why is he feeling inherently incompatible emotions right now? Should he just go? If he can't make sense of any of this, why is he still standing here in this uncomfortable place, waiting to do something that makes his stomach churn? He drags his feet over to the space by the mini-fridge, claws picking at the hem of his coat.]
[He almost asks Atem if he ever feels like this — like two different people. Because maybe that's the problem. There are two of him here right now: the one that heals and the one that harms. The one who remembers a dozen times he's taken Steve's face in his hands and wiped frightened tears away, and the one that would throw Diavolo back in hell in an instant. Most of the time it doesn't matter, it doesn't bother him, but right now, when he's trying so hard to stay himself?]
[Drawing his hands down his face, he shakes his head. Never mind, forget it.]
Sorry. The timing is bad. It's been a long . . . few hours.
no subject
Thank you.
[Mumbled quietly, his speech slurring slightly as his lips trip over unfamiliar fangs. He feels at one and the same time still incredibly uncomfortable and totally ridiculous. What is he so upset about? Besides the parts of this that remind him faintly of what happened to Steve, none of this is really worse than what any of them do. Just because Atem enjoys it on some level — is it enjoyment? Is it justice? Does he see it for what it is? But what is it? — that's not his business. And he's not capable in this moment of lying to himself and pretending he wouldn't do the same or similar.]
[Has done similar.]
[Some people deserve to die, and he knows how to do it.]
[So what is this? Why is he feeling inherently incompatible emotions right now? Should he just go? If he can't make sense of any of this, why is he still standing here in this uncomfortable place, waiting to do something that makes his stomach churn? He drags his feet over to the space by the mini-fridge, claws picking at the hem of his coat.]
[He almost asks Atem if he ever feels like this — like two different people. Because maybe that's the problem. There are two of him here right now: the one that heals and the one that harms. The one who remembers a dozen times he's taken Steve's face in his hands and wiped frightened tears away, and the one that would throw Diavolo back in hell in an instant. Most of the time it doesn't matter, it doesn't bother him, but right now, when he's trying so hard to stay himself?]
[Drawing his hands down his face, he shakes his head. Never mind, forget it.]
Sorry. The timing is bad. It's been a long . . . few hours.