[ Selfishly, Gen breathes a tiny sigh of relief when it seems the general consensus is that sacrificing a memory isn't on the table. Because -- what does he even have, in terms of treasured memories? Back when he was younger, maybe. A few tiny, spaced-apart, insignificant little glimpses of back when he was still very young and stupid, back when his relationships hadn't been tainted by the years.
The scant few things that keep him going at times. He'd rather bleed than give those up.
That said, his relief is short-lived.
Mired in his thoughts, Gen doesn't see any of the warning signs before Kaeya lunges for the dryad.
His boots scuff against the uneven ground underfoot as he falls back a startled step, shoulders squared and the hairs on the back of his neck rising as that awful, shuddering not-scream echoes throughout their prison chamber. ]
-- Kaeya! That's -- [ He doesn't know how to finish that sentence. But it doesn't matter anyway. Amos takes over with the knife, and his voice dies in his throat as a choked, uneasy noise. Each slash of the knife makes his skin crawl, the splatter of sap against the ground ringing too-loud in his ears and making a terrible, anxious feeling twist in his gut. ] ... Amos ...
[ Maybe this will be fine. Maybe this will work. Maybe the two of them can kill that creature, and they'll be free without having to pay the near-literal pound of flesh in exchange.
Maybe.
But even as Gen stares as the assault on the dryad, cold sweat starting to beat at his brow and face paling, he finds himself shifting to grab at Misa's forearm. His grip is tight enough to be unpleasant, but there's still something protective about the way he yanks her closer to him and away from the undulating walls of their prison, away from those twisting roots.
Maybe this will be fine, he thinks. But animal instincts keep him alert to the fact that maybe it won't be fine at all -- maybe he should be scrambling to try and guard what he immediately can, in case something bad happens. ]
no subject
The scant few things that keep him going at times. He'd rather bleed than give those up.
That said, his relief is short-lived.
Mired in his thoughts, Gen doesn't see any of the warning signs before Kaeya lunges for the dryad.
His boots scuff against the uneven ground underfoot as he falls back a startled step, shoulders squared and the hairs on the back of his neck rising as that awful, shuddering not-scream echoes throughout their prison chamber. ]
-- Kaeya! That's -- [ He doesn't know how to finish that sentence. But it doesn't matter anyway. Amos takes over with the knife, and his voice dies in his throat as a choked, uneasy noise. Each slash of the knife makes his skin crawl, the splatter of sap against the ground ringing too-loud in his ears and making a terrible, anxious feeling twist in his gut. ] ... Amos ...
[ Maybe this will be fine. Maybe this will work. Maybe the two of them can kill that creature, and they'll be free without having to pay the near-literal pound of flesh in exchange.
Maybe.
But even as Gen stares as the assault on the dryad, cold sweat starting to beat at his brow and face paling, he finds himself shifting to grab at Misa's forearm. His grip is tight enough to be unpleasant, but there's still something protective about the way he yanks her closer to him and away from the undulating walls of their prison, away from those twisting roots.
Maybe this will be fine, he thinks. But animal instincts keep him alert to the fact that maybe it won't be fine at all -- maybe he should be scrambling to try and guard what he immediately can, in case something bad happens. ]