[Yes! he wants to yell--the word springs to his lips so quickly that he has to swallow to force it back down, his jaw tight and his hands curling into fists. Yes, he thinks Mikazuki should be more upset. It's rude, if not downright cruel, to expect something like that of someone like him--someone who knows, perhaps better than any of them, the transience of life. They can't change the past, of course they can't, and despite how badly Namazuo wants to spare his family from harm, the risks are far too great to ever truly tempt him. What does he want, then? Tears? Mourning? Does he want Mikazuki to be in pain?
No... he'd like to think. But a part of him, a small, ugly, black part, whispers yes once again.]
I-- [He starts, but he falters, his voice breaking. And then the past is flashing before them once again, this time in shades of orange and red.
Normally, this would be difficult to bear. Difficult, because it's never easy, reliving the moments when his beloved master met an early end. But a sight he'd be able to handle with some semblance of grace. This is a sight he's seen in person more than once, after all. But straight after what they'd just watched, it's salt on a freshly opened wound.
Slowly, Namazuo sinks to his knees. His legs won't hold him up anymore.]
Why... [He whispers again--how funny that his face is wet when the air in Osaka had been so hot, so dry.] Why aren't they here...?
[Where are his brothers now? Why haven't they come to this place? (Why, instead, is Mikazuki the one standing here, watching with those lifeless crescent eyes?)]
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No... he'd like to think. But a part of him, a small, ugly, black part, whispers yes once again.]
I-- [He starts, but he falters, his voice breaking. And then the past is flashing before them once again, this time in shades of orange and red.
Normally, this would be difficult to bear. Difficult, because it's never easy, reliving the moments when his beloved master met an early end. But a sight he'd be able to handle with some semblance of grace. This is a sight he's seen in person more than once, after all. But straight after what they'd just watched, it's salt on a freshly opened wound.
Slowly, Namazuo sinks to his knees. His legs won't hold him up anymore.]
Why... [He whispers again--how funny that his face is wet when the air in Osaka had been so hot, so dry.] Why aren't they here...?
[Where are his brothers now? Why haven't they come to this place? (Why, instead, is Mikazuki the one standing here, watching with those lifeless crescent eyes?)]