[Well, there's a modicum of common ground that slides by unnoticed then-- it's not as though Giovanni doesn't know how it feels to die, all bodily functions ceasing for one bright beautiful moment before the hiss and fizz of regeneration kicks in and his broken brain mends itself even as it finds new ways to fall apart. And being buried-- now there's something, because he's been buried all his life.
But it goes unvoiced and unmentioned and so there's only cold disengagement as the stranger pulls his clothes free from Giovanni's overheated grip, an action Giovanni barely seems to notice because he feels as though he's been pushed outside of himself, as though his body is something distant from him, only vaguely functioning as it should.
Maybe he ought to kill this man. Maybe he ought to kill all of them, the bodies that sway and move and push and perhaps then he'll be let out of here because he would have proven himself to Her to whoever may be watching that he can do it yes he can, maybe that's what this is all about and there's a certain peace to be found in the deep red of violence now, a certainty one can taste on one's tongue.
He thinks it, for a moment, and perhaps there's the glimmer of it in the unnatural red of his eyes as they find the other man's face, but he can't hold on to it. Not when he feels so heavy and slow and uncoordinated.
He wants to laugh again. Bites it back, swallows it down.]
It doesn't seem to me as though choice has much to do with it.
[It never does, not really.]
No matter. Perhaps getting away from all this-- [He waves a hand, vaguely.] -- will, momentarily, suffice.
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But it goes unvoiced and unmentioned and so there's only cold disengagement as the stranger pulls his clothes free from Giovanni's overheated grip, an action Giovanni barely seems to notice because he feels as though he's been pushed outside of himself, as though his body is something distant from him, only vaguely functioning as it should.
Maybe he ought to kill this man. Maybe he ought to kill all of them, the bodies that sway and move and push and perhaps then he'll be let out of here because he would have proven himself to Her to whoever may be watching that he can do it yes he can, maybe that's what this is all about and there's a certain peace to be found in the deep red of violence now, a certainty one can taste on one's tongue.
He thinks it, for a moment, and perhaps there's the glimmer of it in the unnatural red of his eyes as they find the other man's face, but he can't hold on to it. Not when he feels so heavy and slow and uncoordinated.
He wants to laugh again. Bites it back, swallows it down.]
It doesn't seem to me as though choice has much to do with it.
[It never does, not really.]
No matter. Perhaps getting away from all this-- [He waves a hand, vaguely.] -- will, momentarily, suffice.