[One brow rises as the other flattens, a judicial spearing compacted in a two-second stare.]
Don't you s-sound sure of yourself.
[There's a lot of things she'll concede to this place. The flexibility of reality is appalling, and there's so much she can't predict about her fellow Restless that it keeps her awake at night. But one truth remains above all: there's no such thing as invincibility. Dimitri may be strong, but she's seen similar might twisted to weakness. It can put a target on your back, alienate you, vilify you, and turn your enemies to underhanded tactics.
She remembers the crack of glass on a titan's skull. The state of the body thereafter.
His own hunt for words stifles her urge to slap him with admonishments. With insults if it helped, but the way his lips thin strikes her so oddly that she shuts right up. Fukawa watches him, the scrape against his cheek, how ragged his staccato confessions spill loose. He doesn't give her much more than she gave him.
Worse. What is worse? What does he imagine she's done, and what has he done to outweigh it?]
...H-how so?
[She knows he lost his temper with Puck. That he wanted to commit himself to confinement, and that he took down the guard with immediate ferocity. All hints with a clear conclusion to draw. Fukawa leans forward, speaks lower.]
no subject
Don't you s-sound sure of yourself.
[There's a lot of things she'll concede to this place. The flexibility of reality is appalling, and there's so much she can't predict about her fellow Restless that it keeps her awake at night. But one truth remains above all: there's no such thing as invincibility. Dimitri may be strong, but she's seen similar might twisted to weakness. It can put a target on your back, alienate you, vilify you, and turn your enemies to underhanded tactics.
She remembers the crack of glass on a titan's skull. The state of the body thereafter.
His own hunt for words stifles her urge to slap him with admonishments. With insults if it helped, but the way his lips thin strikes her so oddly that she shuts right up. Fukawa watches him, the scrape against his cheek, how ragged his staccato confessions spill loose. He doesn't give her much more than she gave him.
Worse. What is worse? What does he imagine she's done, and what has he done to outweigh it?]
...H-how so?
[She knows he lost his temper with Puck. That he wanted to commit himself to confinement, and that he took down the guard with immediate ferocity. All hints with a clear conclusion to draw. Fukawa leans forward, speaks lower.]
Dimitri? D-did you kill somebody?