Amos stares blankly as Gen loses a toe, as whatever it is in Kaeya's body puppets him into mutilation. He has no reaction to offer up; absolutely nothing to give. Is it a horrific sight, Kaeya's body clearly not his own, something inhuman under his skin having taken complete control? Seeing two of those he's closest to give up parts of themselves, only to be swallowed by this thing that's co-opted another of his people? Sure — but the dryad has also made it clear that this is inevitable, so what kind of reaction should he give? What is it even expecting?
Objectively, he knows what it's expecting — but finding a way to answer is like trying to see through a heavy fog, and it's all Amos can do but dully watch Kaeya's body as it makes its way towards him, knife in hand, demanding something of him, and his reaction is instinctual.
Amos goes limp in the vines' grasp, because the sooner he just takes it, the sooner it'll be over with; the less resistance he offers up, the gentler it might be. His mouth doesn't even try to form words, his eyes seeing without really seeing. This is wrong, and I can't do anything about it, so he won't do anything. He won't pick.
He's only really present in body; anyone inside of him — anyone at home — has long since retreated to curl up in the darkest recesses of his mind, where maybe it won't hurt, where maybe he can shield himself from the worst of it.
He's been defeated. Just do whatever. It doesn't matter; it never did. ]
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Amos stares blankly as Gen loses a toe, as whatever it is in Kaeya's body puppets him into mutilation. He has no reaction to offer up; absolutely nothing to give. Is it a horrific sight, Kaeya's body clearly not his own, something inhuman under his skin having taken complete control? Seeing two of those he's closest to give up parts of themselves, only to be swallowed by this thing that's co-opted another of his people? Sure — but the dryad has also made it clear that this is inevitable, so what kind of reaction should he give? What is it even expecting?
Objectively, he knows what it's expecting — but finding a way to answer is like trying to see through a heavy fog, and it's all Amos can do but dully watch Kaeya's body as it makes its way towards him, knife in hand, demanding something of him, and his reaction is instinctual.
Amos goes limp in the vines' grasp, because the sooner he just takes it, the sooner it'll be over with; the less resistance he offers up, the gentler it might be. His mouth doesn't even try to form words, his eyes seeing without really seeing. This is wrong, and I can't do anything about it, so he won't do anything. He won't pick.
He's only really present in body; anyone inside of him — anyone at home — has long since retreated to curl up in the darkest recesses of his mind, where maybe it won't hurt, where maybe he can shield himself from the worst of it.
He's been defeated. Just do whatever. It doesn't matter; it never did. ]