[What Atem says . . . Giorno thinks about it, chin tucked down as he stares at the floor. If I'm scary, then other monsters will think twice about hurting my friends. Not so foreign a thought, really. He's struck once again by the ways in which he and Atem are similar, and how not all of them are good.]

[Would he forget such things if he were in the form Atem has taken? Maybe. But then, maybe he'll forget them in this one. That's the problem. He just doesn't know yet. He wants to believe there are some things about him, core things, that won't change no matter what — but this is Ryslig, and the Fog controls even the most basic parts of him, no matter how he fights.]

[He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, just to remind himself that even if he doesn't need to, he can. When he looks up again, he offers Atem a faintly apologetic smile.]

I don't want to drink blood directly from someone . . . because my father was a vampire who killed dozens, if not hundreds, of people. For food. For fun. Because he was bored or angry. Nothing you do or don't do will change that. I appreciate your consideration, though.

[As braced against this as he clearly is, as upbeat as he's trying to be, his stare still catches on the state of the room. It's . . . not his father's style. That's easy to see. He can hang onto that. It's not his, either, but maybe that's for the best.]