( he is, of course, predisposed not to speak of his mortal life. he isn't even all that interested in speaking of his life in Hell prior to returning to J's side in order to learn how to ply the demon's trade, not because he was ashamed of the years he spent working for datenshou (how could he be, when that time had been just as formative to who and what he is now than all that time he'd spent reaping human souls that had piled as gold dust in the fountain at the center of J's courtyard?) but because it felt less applicable to what it is he does now. in Hell, the image of oneself that a demon projects to you realizes itself — it's why he had gone to the slums in search of information of J's past, as if he continued to see him as the unassailable Archduke he had always appeared as, makoto would never be able to overcome him. regardless of how strong J actually was, he would be defeated before he even began by the indomitable obstacle he formed in his mind.
instinctually, makoto does the same for himself here, even though the rules don't work the same as they had in Hell. he wants to be the enigmatic and unpredictable demon M, one which any soul in kenos could underestimate only at their peril. it's no guarded secret that he is a former human — why should he hide something that he feels proud of, as the only human who had ever survived and flourished in such a transformation? — but he doesn't want others to know the details of is life on earth, on the circumstances around his contract and why he had been made into a demon rather than reaped as he likely should have been.
he wouldn't even want dextera to have all of those details, even though he might be one of the only ones capable of understanding even in part. the more someone knows him, the more power they have over him — the more they will be able to hurt him, and hurt him with accuracy that bypasses all else.
as soon as this wave of emotion has swept over him, through him, and past him, he will feel ashamed of this moment. but makoto has always been powerless before these capricious and overwhelming tides of his; he isn't any more able to suppress himself in a charged moment like this one as he's able to pluck the stars from the sky. even though his tears cloud his vision, hopelessly blurring the fine details, he can still understand dextera's expression and how it works in tandem with the reply that forms in his mind.
slowly, his white-knuckled grasp slackens. his right hand lifts to his face to wipe artlessly at his eyes, streaking his face with damp paths which cut through the faint grit and grime accumulated from their time in these caverns. his weight shifts, and he climbs off of dextera, coming to sit with his knees pulled tight to his chest alongside where he lies prone on the ground. makoto has tried so hard to no longer think of what any one person deserves, be it good or bad, but he knows in this moment that there's no part of him that deserves the magnanimity that dextera gives him. not here, in this fragile and terrible moment, or in any other remembered or not remembered.
he is silent, and his thoughts and emotions crystalize into the realization that he hates thinking of the future. he always had. when human, he had looked into his future and had seen only what he feared he might one day do, what would happen to himself and his family when he was inevitably found out. his despair over the future then had been so strong that he had summoned J as a way to avoid it entirely, in finality. the only aspect of the future he had ever been comfortable holding tight in his hands had been his vengeance over J, but... what came after that? he had never thought of it. he had always assumed he would topple over the precipice and into death, that blessed cessation, right after him.
so he hates to think of Meridian and Zenith and what they might promise, either for himself or for dextera. but even still...
he feels like he needs to know what his friend would choose over any possible future which had him in it. )
no subject
instinctually, makoto does the same for himself here, even though the rules don't work the same as they had in Hell. he wants to be the enigmatic and unpredictable demon M, one which any soul in kenos could underestimate only at their peril. it's no guarded secret that he is a former human — why should he hide something that he feels proud of, as the only human who had ever survived and flourished in such a transformation? — but he doesn't want others to know the details of is life on earth, on the circumstances around his contract and why he had been made into a demon rather than reaped as he likely should have been.
he wouldn't even want dextera to have all of those details, even though he might be one of the only ones capable of understanding even in part. the more someone knows him, the more power they have over him — the more they will be able to hurt him, and hurt him with accuracy that bypasses all else.
as soon as this wave of emotion has swept over him, through him, and past him, he will feel ashamed of this moment. but makoto has always been powerless before these capricious and overwhelming tides of his; he isn't any more able to suppress himself in a charged moment like this one as he's able to pluck the stars from the sky. even though his tears cloud his vision, hopelessly blurring the fine details, he can still understand dextera's expression and how it works in tandem with the reply that forms in his mind.
slowly, his white-knuckled grasp slackens. his right hand lifts to his face to wipe artlessly at his eyes, streaking his face with damp paths which cut through the faint grit and grime accumulated from their time in these caverns. his weight shifts, and he climbs off of dextera, coming to sit with his knees pulled tight to his chest alongside where he lies prone on the ground. makoto has tried so hard to no longer think of what any one person deserves, be it good or bad, but he knows in this moment that there's no part of him that deserves the magnanimity that dextera gives him. not here, in this fragile and terrible moment, or in any other remembered or not remembered.
he is silent, and his thoughts and emotions crystalize into the realization that he hates thinking of the future. he always had. when human, he had looked into his future and had seen only what he feared he might one day do, what would happen to himself and his family when he was inevitably found out. his despair over the future then had been so strong that he had summoned J as a way to avoid it entirely, in finality. the only aspect of the future he had ever been comfortable holding tight in his hands had been his vengeance over J, but... what came after that? he had never thought of it. he had always assumed he would topple over the precipice and into death, that blessed cessation, right after him.
so he hates to think of Meridian and Zenith and what they might promise, either for himself or for dextera. but even still...
he feels like he needs to know what his friend would choose over any possible future which had him in it. )
...What is it that you need to do? Back home.