[He doesn't acknowledge the sentiment. It's unnecessary, spoken by someone who doesn't really know the context of things. Mamoru merely dismisses it. The scent of burnt rubber and gas on the floor blends, and he tilts his head low to shake what he felt and heard were glass pebbles on his feet.
Ah, he remembers now. He had felt something weird on his foot then. Mamoru can't really see if the glass had reached his shoes to confirm, but he can now make two and two together.
Guess that this has its uses, even if his own realization is as useless as it comes. He can't work with it. If anything, it only makes his path from there more solid. ] Why do you think that is?
[He asks because from within the car, someone stumbles out, crawls on the mess of oil on the floor, dazed but unaware of what he'd done. Disheveled, slack-jawed, and his clothes stained with something that isn't blood. This man was already a mess even before the accident. The accident happened because he was a mess.
Mamoru's nostrils flare.] What happens to those that deserve it?
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Ah, he remembers now. He had felt something weird on his foot then. Mamoru can't really see if the glass had reached his shoes to confirm, but he can now make two and two together.
Guess that this has its uses, even if his own realization is as useless as it comes. He can't work with it. If anything, it only makes his path from there more solid. ] Why do you think that is?
[He asks because from within the car, someone stumbles out, crawls on the mess of oil on the floor, dazed but unaware of what he'd done. Disheveled, slack-jawed, and his clothes stained with something that isn't blood. This man was already a mess even before the accident. The accident happened because he was a mess.
Mamoru's nostrils flare.] What happens to those that deserve it?