Would you not feel good? Right? Destroying something that belongs to Meridian scum, destroying something that belongs to me — would it not bring you happiness? Power? Satisfaction? Would it not make you laugh with Amos Burton, joyfully rejoicing?
[ Because to Set, Gen would get something out of such an act. He'd choose it, after all.
Gen's mind sparks with something disorderly and rude, and Set leans into it like a cat seeking a good scratch. The truth in his emotions resonates, in a sickly sweet way that the war god gathers into his arms and strokes with his thumbs like silk, slick with oil and rot. If nothing else, he treasures Gen's harsh honesty; it is much like Set's own, which is ruthless and oft-cruel. He does not lie, even if he avoids. He does not form deep grudges easily, because he is so old and eternal that to harbor a grudge against someone who will be dead for longer than he has known them feels like a waste of energy.
But, Gen does sit on the edge of a fatal grudge, because of what he has in his possession. ]
You could have come to me. We could have talked, and I would have listened to you and held you like before. I understand how much he means to you.
[ Why didn't you let me be there when you needed me? He had said, and Set gestures to the memory of a set of four jars, the animal-heads upon them, the delicate carving of hieroglyph upon their pale, clay bodies. The sensation of their mild roughness against his hands, the searing agony in his heart as he'd gathered them into his arms and bled and cried and sobbed as someone dark and heavy carved his fingers through Set's hair. Like the sensation of someone leaning predatory and warm across Gen's own back, there is someone upon Set's own.
One good reason. He feels sick as he says it, but this, too, is a cautious manipulation ( bluffing and avoiding the truth won't be enough to stay Gen, but in the end, this will be Gen's choice; nobody will force his hand ). ] Those jars hold my son's soul, the same as Reiji's Shard holds his.
no subject
[ Because to Set, Gen would get something out of such an act. He'd choose it, after all.
Gen's mind sparks with something disorderly and rude, and Set leans into it like a cat seeking a good scratch. The truth in his emotions resonates, in a sickly sweet way that the war god gathers into his arms and strokes with his thumbs like silk, slick with oil and rot. If nothing else, he treasures Gen's harsh honesty; it is much like Set's own, which is ruthless and oft-cruel. He does not lie, even if he avoids. He does not form deep grudges easily, because he is so old and eternal that to harbor a grudge against someone who will be dead for longer than he has known them feels like a waste of energy.
But, Gen does sit on the edge of a fatal grudge, because of what he has in his possession. ]
You could have come to me. We could have talked, and I would have listened to you and held you like before. I understand how much he means to you.
[ Why didn't you let me be there when you needed me? He had said, and Set gestures to the memory of a set of four jars, the animal-heads upon them, the delicate carving of hieroglyph upon their pale, clay bodies. The sensation of their mild roughness against his hands, the searing agony in his heart as he'd gathered them into his arms and bled and cried and sobbed as someone dark and heavy carved his fingers through Set's hair. Like the sensation of someone leaning predatory and warm across Gen's own back, there is someone upon Set's own.
One good reason. He feels sick as he says it, but this, too, is a cautious manipulation ( bluffing and avoiding the truth won't be enough to stay Gen, but in the end, this will be Gen's choice; nobody will force his hand ). ] Those jars hold my son's soul, the same as Reiji's Shard holds his.