[ ... It's because it's his dagger that she asks for it?
That throws him, his annoyances evaporating in lieu of bafflement. He kneels beside her, stunned — what the fuck does that mean — before she continues. Cedes all power to him.
... He's annoyed all over again. Amos pushes himself up off the ground, turning his back on her to head back down the mountain, taking the light from his spell with him. ]
I'll be right back.
[ And that's all he offers her, leaving her to the sliver of moonlight they'd dug out together and whatever sounds from the garden seep through with it. For several minutes he's gone, the only indications of his presence the occasional sounds of something rustling and his light bobbing along with him as he goes.
And then, soon after the tinkle of a bell breaks the air, he reappears back at the hilltop — bell tucked under one arm, her bow in his other, a quiver full of arrows resting over his shoulder. He makes his way back over to the exit they've dug, wordlessly putting the bell down first, well out of her reach. Walking a healthy distance around her, he deposits her bow — not close enough for her to reach out and grab; not far enough that she can't get to it eventually, even though it might be painful to manoeuvre her way over there.
That just leaves her quiver. Amos looks back at Hayame, shadows from his light casting themselves over his face, before he deposits the full quiver on the ground. She will have to strain to reach it, yes. But she should be able to reach it on her own.
But he's still staring down at her, face unreadable and silent, before— ]
First guy I ever killed, I just walked up and shot him. He didn't know it was coming. Second guy I ambushed. Pulled his chair out from under him before he even knew what was happening, got on top of him, got his gun and shot him in the head. The third guy...
[ There's a little exhalation there. ]
See, the second and third guy were together. I got the drop on the second guy, and that gave the third guy time to get the drop on me. He didn't wait, he just came barrelling out at me, shooting. Could've just as easily killed me first, and I wouldn't have had the luxury of time to deal with it.
[ His gaze grows flat; cold. His eyes narrow. But there's still that very human annoyance in his voice. ]
You gotta stop fucking around with this shit. I get it, we're from different places, we got different standards, blah blah blah. But if I'd acted the way then that you do now with your honour and whatever I'd've been dead lots of times over. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. We're all just slabs of meat and one day that'll be it, and the way you go out isn't going to mean shit. All it's going to mean is that you're fucking dead. All we're ever gonna have is to scrap and claw our way into continuing to survive until we aren't anymore, and then we won't be around to give a shit about anything after.
[ He leans down, then, to take his dagger back from her — to grab it from her, maybe with more force than necessary, but, fuck it. It's his. He's allowed. And then he stalks back around her, kicks at the hole they've dug out together. Making it progressively bigger, his body in between her and the bell — he'll be heading out soon; sooner than she can grab her bow, at least.
He should probably regret telling her to be more like him if she wants to keep on surviving — she is, ultimately, the enemy, with convictions as strong as his, and this is potentially ceding an advantage he has over her.
But fuck it — he likes her well enough that he doesn't want her to go out stupidly, even if they have very different views of what that entails, so it's worth the risk. ]
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That throws him, his annoyances evaporating in lieu of bafflement. He kneels beside her, stunned — what the fuck does that mean — before she continues. Cedes all power to him.
... He's annoyed all over again. Amos pushes himself up off the ground, turning his back on her to head back down the mountain, taking the light from his spell with him. ]
I'll be right back.
[ And that's all he offers her, leaving her to the sliver of moonlight they'd dug out together and whatever sounds from the garden seep through with it. For several minutes he's gone, the only indications of his presence the occasional sounds of something rustling and his light bobbing along with him as he goes.
And then, soon after the tinkle of a bell breaks the air, he reappears back at the hilltop — bell tucked under one arm, her bow in his other, a quiver full of arrows resting over his shoulder. He makes his way back over to the exit they've dug, wordlessly putting the bell down first, well out of her reach. Walking a healthy distance around her, he deposits her bow — not close enough for her to reach out and grab; not far enough that she can't get to it eventually, even though it might be painful to manoeuvre her way over there.
That just leaves her quiver. Amos looks back at Hayame, shadows from his light casting themselves over his face, before he deposits the full quiver on the ground. She will have to strain to reach it, yes. But she should be able to reach it on her own.
But he's still staring down at her, face unreadable and silent, before— ]
First guy I ever killed, I just walked up and shot him. He didn't know it was coming. Second guy I ambushed. Pulled his chair out from under him before he even knew what was happening, got on top of him, got his gun and shot him in the head. The third guy...
[ There's a little exhalation there. ]
See, the second and third guy were together. I got the drop on the second guy, and that gave the third guy time to get the drop on me. He didn't wait, he just came barrelling out at me, shooting. Could've just as easily killed me first, and I wouldn't have had the luxury of time to deal with it.
[ His gaze grows flat; cold. His eyes narrow. But there's still that very human annoyance in his voice. ]
You gotta stop fucking around with this shit. I get it, we're from different places, we got different standards, blah blah blah. But if I'd acted the way then that you do now with your honour and whatever I'd've been dead lots of times over. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. We're all just slabs of meat and one day that'll be it, and the way you go out isn't going to mean shit. All it's going to mean is that you're fucking dead. All we're ever gonna have is to scrap and claw our way into continuing to survive until we aren't anymore, and then we won't be around to give a shit about anything after.
[ He leans down, then, to take his dagger back from her — to grab it from her, maybe with more force than necessary, but, fuck it. It's his. He's allowed. And then he stalks back around her, kicks at the hole they've dug out together. Making it progressively bigger, his body in between her and the bell — he'll be heading out soon; sooner than she can grab her bow, at least.
He should probably regret telling her to be more like him if she wants to keep on surviving — she is, ultimately, the enemy, with convictions as strong as his, and this is potentially ceding an advantage he has over her.
But fuck it — he likes her well enough that he doesn't want her to go out stupidly, even if they have very different views of what that entails, so it's worth the risk. ]