He was trying to bridge the gap between himself and the pup. He really was. For the sake of their mutual friends, he told himself, but perhaps a little for the wounded young man as well. But he didn’t know what Remi wanted – from him, or from the world at large. He gave a gift of knowledge, information that he would have tucked eagerly away, and pursued further had it been offered to him but—
The shrug, the dismissive tone that discarded anything not of Northaven, was as surprising – and nearly as painful – as if he’d been slapped. He felt his heart beat once, hard, against his ribs, shock at being dismissed so casually catching him nearly breathless. He had given Remi a part of his past that no one in all of Caido had heard and the boy… couldn’t care less. Not about him, much less the past that had formed him. It wasn’t – shouldn’t have been – a surprise. Not really. There was a reason he’d been trying not to let the young man grow on him. He was, he thought through the chill that settled over his heart after the brief flare of hurt, not so much a person to Remi, after all. Perhaps no one not from Northaven was. They were just warm bodies for the alchemist to use as props – people he could help, not so much out of the goodness of his heart as a desperate desire to be needed. Wanted. Useful. They didn’t matter so much as individuals, really, so long as they gave him a chance to be a hero in some way, small or large.
Oh, Sam…
Jigano smiled automatically in response to Remi’s grin, courtesy ingrained even as his thoughts spun into shadow. He didn’t quite catch up with what the alchemist was saying until he paused again, and the bard blinked to try and banish the odd feeling of another scratch on his piecemeal heart scabbing over and closing itself off to try and protect what remained. ”There is always a price for power,” he murmured with a slight shrug of his shoulders as they turned another corner. The snow was growing thinner, he thought, as if the closer they came to the center, the more the hedges had protected the paths between them.
He glanced over to Remi and caught his gaze, seeing behind the optimism less the desire to genuinely help a friend, so much as to be able to see himself as a hero to someone, whether that help was particularly well thought-out or not. The bard found a smile, a little sad, and shrugged in response. ”False hope or no, Remi, I cannot and will not presume to speak for him. Something so important, so intimate… he would have to make that decision for himself. Whether or not he would grasp the potential consequences, or even consider them…” The bard shook his head. ”If he could unAscend entirely, is perhaps the question you should be asking him instead.”
The shrug, the dismissive tone that discarded anything not of Northaven, was as surprising – and nearly as painful – as if he’d been slapped. He felt his heart beat once, hard, against his ribs, shock at being dismissed so casually catching him nearly breathless. He had given Remi a part of his past that no one in all of Caido had heard and the boy… couldn’t care less. Not about him, much less the past that had formed him. It wasn’t – shouldn’t have been – a surprise. Not really. There was a reason he’d been trying not to let the young man grow on him. He was, he thought through the chill that settled over his heart after the brief flare of hurt, not so much a person to Remi, after all. Perhaps no one not from Northaven was. They were just warm bodies for the alchemist to use as props – people he could help, not so much out of the goodness of his heart as a desperate desire to be needed. Wanted. Useful. They didn’t matter so much as individuals, really, so long as they gave him a chance to be a hero in some way, small or large.
Oh, Sam…
Jigano smiled automatically in response to Remi’s grin, courtesy ingrained even as his thoughts spun into shadow. He didn’t quite catch up with what the alchemist was saying until he paused again, and the bard blinked to try and banish the odd feeling of another scratch on his piecemeal heart scabbing over and closing itself off to try and protect what remained. ”There is always a price for power,” he murmured with a slight shrug of his shoulders as they turned another corner. The snow was growing thinner, he thought, as if the closer they came to the center, the more the hedges had protected the paths between them.
He glanced over to Remi and caught his gaze, seeing behind the optimism less the desire to genuinely help a friend, so much as to be able to see himself as a hero to someone, whether that help was particularly well thought-out or not. The bard found a smile, a little sad, and shrugged in response. ”False hope or no, Remi, I cannot and will not presume to speak for him. Something so important, so intimate… he would have to make that decision for himself. Whether or not he would grasp the potential consequences, or even consider them…” The bard shook his head. ”If he could unAscend entirely, is perhaps the question you should be asking him instead.”
