[ He thought he understood. People are prone to doing that, a sense of understanding, a sense of will. To pass judgement on others through their own measure of life and the experiences that come with it. Too easy to write them off as ragtag bunch of kids acting too tough for their real worth. Too easy to write them off as mere children, a basic pawn in some bigger game. They've been used before, exploited and abused for their perceived uses.
In some way, perhaps that's true. They might not know what they've stepped into, just what they started motion in a world that's both too big and too small to hold them, the consequence of dropping a pebble into a well. Walking in blindfolded and gagged. But none of that matters to Mikazuki.
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Maybe they're right. But there's always a sliver of chance, hanging on by the skin of their teeth and the quick of their nails, of something different.
There's always hope.
Beneath the coat, tucked between his chest and his arm, the sling, the weight of the gun snug and tangible. But Mika doesn't move. It's not because of any sort of apprehension or nervousness, even though Gaelio's hands are limp by his sides and the gun sits in plain sight tucked into his belt. Even though it would be easy.
His eyes are quiet, and he looks at Gaelio like he is a book he hasn't learned all the words for yet; curious yet resigned. ]
If he tells me to, I will.
[ There is no uncertainty in his words. It is sure, and even though Mika utters it like it's the most obvious thing in the world there's no immediate venom in it -- but nevertheless, it's almost palpable, the weight of conviction behind the short sentence, the complete trust he puts in one Orga Itsuka. He sounds like he is sure he will kill him. He sounds like someone who's always had to work to make things happen for him and his comrades. It's like clearing snow from a path, like brushing away dirt from the table. ]
A tour?
[ Mika shifts his weight slightly to the other foot, tilting his chin up, canting his gaze sideways. ]
dw he's already inoculated against gay (in canon apparently)
In some way, perhaps that's true. They might not know what they've stepped into, just what they started motion in a world that's both too big and too small to hold them, the consequence of dropping a pebble into a well. Walking in blindfolded and gagged. But none of that matters to Mikazuki.
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Maybe they're right. But there's always a sliver of chance, hanging on by the skin of their teeth and the quick of their nails, of something different.
There's always hope.
Beneath the coat, tucked between his chest and his arm, the sling, the weight of the gun snug and tangible. But Mika doesn't move. It's not because of any sort of apprehension or nervousness, even though Gaelio's hands are limp by his sides and the gun sits in plain sight tucked into his belt. Even though it would be easy.
His eyes are quiet, and he looks at Gaelio like he is a book he hasn't learned all the words for yet; curious yet resigned. ]
If he tells me to, I will.
[ There is no uncertainty in his words. It is sure, and even though Mika utters it like it's the most obvious thing in the world there's no immediate venom in it -- but nevertheless, it's almost palpable, the weight of conviction behind the short sentence, the complete trust he puts in one Orga Itsuka. He sounds like he is sure he will kill him. He sounds like someone who's always had to work to make things happen for him and his comrades. It's like clearing snow from a path, like brushing away dirt from the table. ]
A tour?
[ Mika shifts his weight slightly to the other foot, tilting his chin up, canting his gaze sideways. ]
Not yet.