[He studies the play of expressions on her face neutrally all the while, unsurprised by her resistance. People didn’t tend to change their minds in an instant, more so about a companion or a loved one. And they, he knew, were also willing to pardon and excuse a great many things for those they cared for. It makes having allies especially important to him.
The latter question is given no answer but for a smile thinning his lips. Not a sly, vile smile or teeth bared in a snarl, but something small and reserved and tired, so tired. Tired of life in Luceti and of life in itself. The end of it has held greater appeal as of late.
Briefly glancing aside, he wets his lips.]
There was a man I knew of, once… [He begins quietly, wryly amused, his eyes glazing in thought.] And of all the men and women in the village… he alone understood a devil best. He would take the miserable creature as he was, flaws and all, and he did not have it change nor imposed his wishes upon it. Many hours he spent in the devil’s arms, sharing laughter and wine and trading favours, his presence bringing light to the darkest of places. And then, when he feared the village would lay siege to the devil’s home and take his head, he seemed to offer his loyalty… preferring to be anathema than to leave it behind.
[His smile broadens, eyes shining dully.]
‘twas a curious companionship; a perfect companionship. Two creatures unloved and in the shadows, finding some sense of belonging in each other. Or so it had seemed. But all good things come to an end. [His lips part before he’s ready and he takes a breath.] The day came... when the devil waited for its dearest friend, aching for his company. But he did not show. Hours, days, weeks passed without word. The man whom had once sought its company and so enjoyed it had forgotten all about it, and the devil grew despondent, left to wonder whether the bond they had shared was something it had only imagined in a moment of weakness. For who could love a pathetic beast? Then, at last – [He spreads his hands.] -- the man returned… and many words were shared. The devil came to learn that the man had always thought it a fool, and had only come out of pity, perhaps; out of the desire to satisfy his need to take what he had wanted. The rest… had never really mattered, in the end. [A faint, hollow laugh escapes him.]
The devil had also learned… that, sometimes, one does not know one's friends as well as one believes.
[Letting that hang heavily in the air, he finally breaks eye-contact and sets his own journal down upon the table, leafing back through the pages.]
…‘tis clear that second chances are not to be when I was supplied false information despite an attempt at civility. I have a tongue of my own; I shan't have anyone speak for me.
[When he digs up the desired recording that had been filtered to him, he turns the book her way, sliding it across the table towards her.]
[Action, March 1st]
The latter question is given no answer but for a smile thinning his lips. Not a sly, vile smile or teeth bared in a snarl, but something small and reserved and tired, so tired. Tired of life in Luceti and of life in itself. The end of it has held greater appeal as of late.
Briefly glancing aside, he wets his lips.]
There was a man I knew of, once… [He begins quietly, wryly amused, his eyes glazing in thought.] And of all the men and women in the village… he alone understood a devil best. He would take the miserable creature as he was, flaws and all, and he did not have it change nor imposed his wishes upon it. Many hours he spent in the devil’s arms, sharing laughter and wine and trading favours, his presence bringing light to the darkest of places. And then, when he feared the village would lay siege to the devil’s home and take his head, he seemed to offer his loyalty… preferring to be anathema than to leave it behind.
[His smile broadens, eyes shining dully.]
‘twas a curious companionship; a perfect companionship. Two creatures unloved and in the shadows, finding some sense of belonging in each other. Or so it had seemed. But all good things come to an end. [His lips part before he’s ready and he takes a breath.] The day came... when the devil waited for its dearest friend, aching for his company. But he did not show. Hours, days, weeks passed without word. The man whom had once sought its company and so enjoyed it had forgotten all about it, and the devil grew despondent, left to wonder whether the bond they had shared was something it had only imagined in a moment of weakness. For who could love a pathetic beast? Then, at last – [He spreads his hands.] -- the man returned… and many words were shared. The devil came to learn that the man had always thought it a fool, and had only come out of pity, perhaps; out of the desire to satisfy his need to take what he had wanted. The rest… had never really mattered, in the end. [A faint, hollow laugh escapes him.]
The devil had also learned… that, sometimes, one does not know one's friends as well as one believes.
[Letting that hang heavily in the air, he finally breaks eye-contact and sets his own journal down upon the table, leafing back through the pages.]
…‘tis clear that second chances are not to be when I was supplied false information despite an attempt at civility. I have a tongue of my own; I shan't have anyone speak for me.
[When he digs up the desired recording that had been filtered to him, he turns the book her way, sliding it across the table towards her.]