( isn't it their fault, for being so weak-willed? even emil sinclair was a coward, pathetic, swayed by anxiety and indecision, and still he could not swallow happily the idea of being changed the same way everyone else was so thrilled to be. like her, he let the sentiment stay beneath his tongue, rotting, sweetening, until someone stood in front of his desk and took it from his mouth, shared with him their own resentment, a grudge.
still. kromer listens, careful not to let their hands touch, always reaching for a different mistletoe than don quixote. this is probably more than what the other woman would like to admit, or would ever admit to admitting; this is probably something else she would keep from sinclair, let rot beneath her tongue.
the thought almost makes her smile, and she keeps her voice low, too. )
I do my part around here, Don Quixote. Do you think Junpei is the one who really schedules the meetings, or thinks of all of that on his own? I work just as much as him, if not twice the amount, even though I don't want to go back anymore. ( to ashes, to cold, to nothing. ) You and I both know there's no point in changing here either, especially for me—no pointing my sword in a different direction, or at another foe. I mean, no one's jumping to change themselves like in the City either—this place is pretty nice for that—but, fine, say I wanted to go along with your words, here.
( just suppose she let a woman sway her this time. )
What should I do? Throw a Valentine's Day party? Apologize to Sinclair? Donate my sword to the museum and swear off using it against other people? ( a scathing laugh. ) Renounce Nagel und Hammer and what they've given me?
( get real, don quixote. and yet... )
I don't want your pity still, but I appreciate the olive branch. ( her understanding and agreement of her reasons and conviction, when all she wanted was... as a child, what she wanted to be was... ) What's dead is dead, though, and I won't lie and say I'm sorry for it.
no subject
still. kromer listens, careful not to let their hands touch, always reaching for a different mistletoe than don quixote. this is probably more than what the other woman would like to admit, or would ever admit to admitting; this is probably something else she would keep from sinclair, let rot beneath her tongue.
the thought almost makes her smile, and she keeps her voice low, too. )
I do my part around here, Don Quixote. Do you think Junpei is the one who really schedules the meetings, or thinks of all of that on his own? I work just as much as him, if not twice the amount, even though I don't want to go back anymore. ( to ashes, to cold, to nothing. ) You and I both know there's no point in changing here either, especially for me—no pointing my sword in a different direction, or at another foe. I mean, no one's jumping to change themselves like in the City either—this place is pretty nice for that—but, fine, say I wanted to go along with your words, here.
( just suppose she let a woman sway her this time. )
What should I do? Throw a Valentine's Day party? Apologize to Sinclair? Donate my sword to the museum and swear off using it against other people? ( a scathing laugh. ) Renounce Nagel und Hammer and what they've given me?
( get real, don quixote. and yet... )
I don't want your pity still, but I appreciate the olive branch. ( her understanding and agreement of her reasons and conviction, when all she wanted was... as a child, what she wanted to be was... ) What's dead is dead, though, and I won't lie and say I'm sorry for it.