[ He'd already known that Misa isn't quite normal, and that she's gutsier (or, as he'd thought during his less charitable moments, stupider) than she seems. But even so ... a small part of him has to admire the way Misa manages to touch the knife to her hand without so much as balking. Even the faint tremor in her words and the clear hitch in her breathing isn't enough to negate the grit it must take to actually go through with this, by her own hands, so.
So -- even as his stomach twists at the sight of Misa recoiling, the sour taste of bile rising in the back of his throat when he notices the squirm of vines swallowing up the severed finger, he knows ... backing out isn't an option. Not any more. Maybe it wasn't one in the first place. After all, he can't let himself be seen backing out like a coward when a girl actually went through with this, right?
His breaths are coming in shallow, wheezing rasps by the time Kaeya approaches him with the bloodied knife in hand, and Gen's face is flecked with sweat from more than physical exertion. He feels dizzy; something's wrenching tight in his chest. Shadows eat away at the fringes of his field of vision, and his thoughts keep flickering towards other moments in time, the faint iron stench of blood nudging his frazzled mind towards further-back memories. (A kitchen knife clutched in his hands back when they were smaller, his fingers sticky with blood. A different knife lying on tatami flooring, its blade gleaming wet and red. A sword lying on the pavement, accompanied by the sight of his arm freshly severed halfway down the shoulder.) ]
... fuck.
[ God, he hates knives.
He's silent for far too long save that low mutter under his breath. And while it might look for a moment like Gen really can't go through with this -- he abruptly shudders, blinking a bead of sweat off his lashes. Clenches his eyes shut and keeps closed as he grits his teeth in thought. Then, finally: ]
-- my foot. [ Gen speaks uncharacteristically softly, painfully tense within his confines as he keeps his eyes closed, willing that darkness to force him calm. ] L -- right. [ A brief pause as he shakes his head. Which side would be better? Should he distribute the damage, make it opposite where his arm's missing? No, it doesn't seem wise. ] -- no, left. The small toe on my left foot.
[ It takes him one, two hapless tries to take his next breath with how choked his throat feels, but he manages in the end, followed by a humorless laugh. His face is terribly pale, but at least he's managed to level his voice to something flat and grim when he adds wanly, ]
It's an honor, y'know. Every bit counts when you're already down a limb. An' I'm giving one up to you. [ Too bad all the bravado in the world can't hide the way his hand is clenched to a pale-knuckled fist, shaking slightly. ] So -- let me out of here. I'll do it. No funny business.
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So -- even as his stomach twists at the sight of Misa recoiling, the sour taste of bile rising in the back of his throat when he notices the squirm of vines swallowing up the severed finger, he knows ... backing out isn't an option. Not any more. Maybe it wasn't one in the first place. After all, he can't let himself be seen backing out like a coward when a girl actually went through with this, right?
His breaths are coming in shallow, wheezing rasps by the time Kaeya approaches him with the bloodied knife in hand, and Gen's face is flecked with sweat from more than physical exertion. He feels dizzy; something's wrenching tight in his chest. Shadows eat away at the fringes of his field of vision, and his thoughts keep flickering towards other moments in time, the faint iron stench of blood nudging his frazzled mind towards further-back memories. (A kitchen knife clutched in his hands back when they were smaller, his fingers sticky with blood. A different knife lying on tatami flooring, its blade gleaming wet and red. A sword lying on the pavement, accompanied by the sight of his arm freshly severed halfway down the shoulder.) ]
... fuck.
[ God, he hates knives.
He's silent for far too long save that low mutter under his breath. And while it might look for a moment like Gen really can't go through with this -- he abruptly shudders, blinking a bead of sweat off his lashes. Clenches his eyes shut and keeps closed as he grits his teeth in thought. Then, finally: ]
-- my foot. [ Gen speaks uncharacteristically softly, painfully tense within his confines as he keeps his eyes closed, willing that darkness to force him calm. ] L -- right. [ A brief pause as he shakes his head. Which side would be better? Should he distribute the damage, make it opposite where his arm's missing? No, it doesn't seem wise. ] -- no, left. The small toe on my left foot.
[ It takes him one, two hapless tries to take his next breath with how choked his throat feels, but he manages in the end, followed by a humorless laugh. His face is terribly pale, but at least he's managed to level his voice to something flat and grim when he adds wanly, ]
It's an honor, y'know. Every bit counts when you're already down a limb. An' I'm giving one up to you. [ Too bad all the bravado in the world can't hide the way his hand is clenched to a pale-knuckled fist, shaking slightly. ] So -- let me out of here. I'll do it. No funny business.