๏ผ his look on her is attentive. level. his eyes, always red, seem to emit a faint glow in the fading light. ๏ผ
You see value in fighting — and there is. You may go the entirety of your time on the Ximilia without needing to take a life. But the deeper you step into this world, the more you should be prepared for it. I am not teaching you to hit targets, Clara-san, I am teaching you to hit people, and kill them if necessary. There is a cost to that.
[She hesitates, frowning as she looks down at her hands.]
I'm not sure I'm ready to kill. Not yet. And I have no idea if I ever will be.
[It's a quiet, blunt answer. One that has her being open and honest with him. She lacks her usual bravado and bubbly nature. For once, she's dropped the act and is just herself.]
How am I supposed to prepare for the possibility of something like murder?
๏ผ there is a clear distinction in his mind. murder. that is the name for what he did to his clan. people cut down in their homes, where even the strongest among them did not have warning enough to fight back. shinobi do not carry weapons everywhere, and of those uchiha with a sharingan none knew how strong he had become. killing someone in battle is not the same. but he supposes the distinction may escape her, if all death is a like anathema. ๏ผ
There is nothing wrong with being unsure. It is not meant to be easy.
๏ผ it was for him. the bite of the knife, the hot rush of blood across his knuckles. how his father stood in solemn standby and they watched the man choke and gurgle and grasp at his throat as if he could hold the severed skin together through sheer force of will.
he had carried the knife in his hand all the way back to their basecamp. the blood dried tacky, and it had taken his mother's gentle care that night to get him to release it. he remembers the way it clattered as it hit the bottom of the washing basin and how sore he had suddenly felt, as if he had done so much more than simply slit a man's throat. his mother had hugged him and cried, and he had not understood then why she was so sad, nor why he'd heard her furious reprimand of his father later that night.
he needed to learn, fugaku had said distantly, mechanically. as a child he had not realized how hollow, how tired his father had sounded. looking at clara now, he wonders if this is how he had felt. ๏ผ
Willfully taking a life requires the excision of parts of yourself that you cannot easily reclaim. You must set aside compassion and empathy, any desire to see or understand the plights of your enemies, any urge to wonder why they might be standing where they stand. You cannot think of the family they might wish to protect, the friends they've lost, the training they've bloodied their hands with. Their hopes, their dreams.
๏ผ he lifts his chin, orienting faintly towards the light of the twin moons. ๏ผ
If you are lucky, it is instinct. If not — it is a choice you need to make each time.
[Rather than filling her with confidence, his further explanation only makes her doubt herself more. She's quiet as she looks down at her hands, flexing them as she tries to figure out right then and there if she's capable of getting blood on them.]
For the Doctor, I would do anything. But -
[She hesitates as tells him, even if she really hasn't mentioned the Doctor to him before and has no idea if he even knows who they are. She's not lying when she says it, but she knows the truth is more complex than such a simple statement. She would do whatever it takes to protect the Doctor, including dying herself. But she isn't sure harming others is something she's capable of doing.
Even for self-protection.
He's just told her this isn't meant to be easy, that it's not something she can just be certain about in a moment's time. ]
But I'm not sure I can set aside my compassion or empathy. They're too much a part of who I am.
[Her gaze lifts, looking up to the double moons overhead. Something about them makes her feel a sense of peace, even with the serious topic they're discussing.]
[it's always his bluntness that makes her take pause and think on things harder. her attention shifts back over onto him, and she frowns a bit.]
Did I -
[Did she do good?
Say the wrong thing?
He's so difficult for her to read. But maybe it's not important that she gets a solid read on him just yet. He's a puzzle she can keep solving. Her mouth closes and she tiredly smiles, giving a curt nod of her head.
The world has enough killers. She doesn't need to keep working so hard to become another one of them.]
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no subject
You see value in fighting — and there is. You may go the entirety of your time on the Ximilia without needing to take a life. But the deeper you step into this world, the more you should be prepared for it. I am not teaching you to hit targets, Clara-san, I am teaching you to hit people, and kill them if necessary. There is a cost to that.
no subject
[She hesitates, frowning as she looks down at her hands.]
I'm not sure I'm ready to kill. Not yet. And I have no idea if I ever will be.
[It's a quiet, blunt answer. One that has her being open and honest with him. She lacks her usual bravado and bubbly nature. For once, she's dropped the act and is just herself.]
How am I supposed to prepare for the possibility of something like murder?
no subject
There is nothing wrong with being unsure. It is not meant to be easy.
๏ผ it was for him. the bite of the knife, the hot rush of blood across his knuckles. how his father stood in solemn standby and they watched the man choke and gurgle and grasp at his throat as if he could hold the severed skin together through sheer force of will.
he had carried the knife in his hand all the way back to their basecamp. the blood dried tacky, and it had taken his mother's gentle care that night to get him to release it. he remembers the way it clattered as it hit the bottom of the washing basin and how sore he had suddenly felt, as if he had done so much more than simply slit a man's throat. his mother had hugged him and cried, and he had not understood then why she was so sad, nor why he'd heard her furious reprimand of his father later that night.
he needed to learn, fugaku had said distantly, mechanically. as a child he had not realized how hollow, how tired his father had sounded. looking at clara now, he wonders if this is how he had felt. ๏ผ
Willfully taking a life requires the excision of parts of yourself that you cannot easily reclaim. You must set aside compassion and empathy, any desire to see or understand the plights of your enemies, any urge to wonder why they might be standing where they stand. You cannot think of the family they might wish to protect, the friends they've lost, the training they've bloodied their hands with. Their hopes, their dreams.
๏ผ he lifts his chin, orienting faintly towards the light of the twin moons. ๏ผ
If you are lucky, it is instinct. If not — it is a choice you need to make each time.
no subject
For the Doctor, I would do anything. But -
[She hesitates as tells him, even if she really hasn't mentioned the Doctor to him before and has no idea if he even knows who they are. She's not lying when she says it, but she knows the truth is more complex than such a simple statement. She would do whatever it takes to protect the Doctor, including dying herself. But she isn't sure harming others is something she's capable of doing.
Even for self-protection.
He's just told her this isn't meant to be easy, that it's not something she can just be certain about in a moment's time. ]
But I'm not sure I can set aside my compassion or empathy. They're too much a part of who I am.
[Her gaze lifts, looking up to the double moons overhead. Something about them makes her feel a sense of peace, even with the serious topic they're discussing.]
no subject
๏ผ it's just that simple, to him. ๏ผ
The world has enough killers.
no subject
Did I -
[Did she do good?
Say the wrong thing?
He's so difficult for her to read. But maybe it's not important that she gets a solid read on him just yet. He's a puzzle she can keep solving. Her mouth closes and she tiredly smiles, giving a curt nod of her head.
The world has enough killers. She doesn't need to keep working so hard to become another one of them.]
no subject
instead, after a time, he simply gets up and leaves her to her thoughts. ๏ผ