Suppose there are worse traits people could like about me. When you live like we do and have the potential for a short shelf life, you learn to be adaptable. [There's a light pause.] Though I appreciate you keeping that information to yourself. You understand why I'm doing these things, don't you, Will?
[He doesn't like it. He doesn't get a thrill in killing. All of the kills he's committed have been almost out of mercy. The Undertaker had asked him to get straight to the point with a blase attitude. Elizabeth, at least, he had knocked out and knew that he would have had to follow Hal's instructions regardless. And Okabe...the man didn't mind at all, and he was gone with a slit. He thinks of these things, thinks of the fact that the only time he's really ever had blood on his hands was when he killed a coyote to get it away from Annabeth's corpse and when he held Harry's head in his hands. But this is all for the game. This is all to win, to save people, to do what's right. He knows some people don't care about winning or getting out alive, but the stakes are too high for him and the rest of his friends. For Annabeth. For her. He'd do it for her, but there are others, too, now. People he's friends with, where his loyalties lie. That's what eats at him. He will take blood so that they don't have to. He will make sacrifices and play along to help them pursue. It's a dangerous game, but Will can see all of his cards.
And for the first time in days...Percy isn't afraid.]
I remember seeing that. [He muses quietly, nibbling on a strawberry almost idle as he listens to the grotesque tale. There's an inhale.] Given the other stories you've told me, Will, maybe anyone would stop being freaked out about stuff like that, too. [A pause, and then an offer.] Annabeth and I have been training for years, and after a while you stop thinking about the monsters you kill. They're trying to kill you first, so you fight. That's how things go for us. It's what we're bred for.
[But he takes the letter, staring for a moment before reaching with a hand to take it and unfold it. He reads the words closely, though it's clear that he's shocked not by the content but by the style of hand. It matches. Of course it matches and now...well, now he doesn't know what to do. He debates, deciding which route he wants to go because he has two sets of questions.]
...is poetry like this always a little depressing even if it's romantic?
no subject
Suppose there are worse traits people could like about me. When you live like we do and have the potential for a short shelf life, you learn to be adaptable. [There's a light pause.] Though I appreciate you keeping that information to yourself. You understand why I'm doing these things, don't you, Will?
[He doesn't like it. He doesn't get a thrill in killing. All of the kills he's committed have been almost out of mercy. The Undertaker had asked him to get straight to the point with a blase attitude. Elizabeth, at least, he had knocked out and knew that he would have had to follow Hal's instructions regardless. And Okabe...the man didn't mind at all, and he was gone with a slit. He thinks of these things, thinks of the fact that the only time he's really ever had blood on his hands was when he killed a coyote to get it away from Annabeth's corpse and when he held Harry's head in his hands. But this is all for the game. This is all to win, to save people, to do what's right. He knows some people don't care about winning or getting out alive, but the stakes are too high for him and the rest of his friends. For Annabeth. For her. He'd do it for her, but there are others, too, now. People he's friends with, where his loyalties lie. That's what eats at him. He will take blood so that they don't have to. He will make sacrifices and play along to help them pursue. It's a dangerous game, but Will can see all of his cards.
And for the first time in days...Percy isn't afraid.]
I remember seeing that. [He muses quietly, nibbling on a strawberry almost idle as he listens to the grotesque tale. There's an inhale.] Given the other stories you've told me, Will, maybe anyone would stop being freaked out about stuff like that, too. [A pause, and then an offer.] Annabeth and I have been training for years, and after a while you stop thinking about the monsters you kill. They're trying to kill you first, so you fight. That's how things go for us. It's what we're bred for.
[But he takes the letter, staring for a moment before reaching with a hand to take it and unfold it. He reads the words closely, though it's clear that he's shocked not by the content but by the style of hand. It matches. Of course it matches and now...well, now he doesn't know what to do. He debates, deciding which route he wants to go because he has two sets of questions.]
...is poetry like this always a little depressing even if it's romantic?