Her dismissal of his concerns is to be expected. Morality is a scripted concept held high on paper-thin flags, swaying in arbitrary winds and often abandoned for convenience. It was too heavy, is the running excuse of most former pole-bearers, and who really has the purity of heart to blame them?
So, yes— he's resigned to the touch-and-go nature of humanitarian standards, but understanding it doesn't necessarily preclude him from holding negative opinions on the nature of his fellow man. Especially if it pertains to injustices (real or perceived) done to people who reasonably should have been given options instead of ultimatums; his expression is obstinate and unyielding as those small palms force him to fall backwards onto cold bedsheets.
(The furrow between scarred brows says it all: none of this was your choice.)
Her fingers move over the ridges of his face, traces the frown and follows the canyons of his disapproval up to the deformity that he wears so well nowadays. He transitions from sullen to somber, false arm drawn up to brace the negligible weight on his chest.
"—There was a bomb," he mutters between suddenly heavy lips. The cramped space of the military barrack suddenly feels oppressive; he glances at the ceiling just beyond Eli's haunting eyes. "Not for the eye. For the rest..."
His confusion gashes along the shadows of his face, like new wounds rising to his skin. "No... there was no second bomb." If he's aware that he's speaking in fragments, in riddles, he doesn't seem to notice.
no subject
So, yes— he's resigned to the touch-and-go nature of humanitarian standards, but understanding it doesn't necessarily preclude him from holding negative opinions on the nature of his fellow man. Especially if it pertains to injustices (real or perceived) done to people who reasonably should have been given options instead of ultimatums; his expression is obstinate and unyielding as those small palms force him to fall backwards onto cold bedsheets.
(The furrow between scarred brows says it all: none of this was your choice.)
Her fingers move over the ridges of his face, traces the frown and follows the canyons of his disapproval up to the deformity that he wears so well nowadays. He transitions from sullen to somber, false arm drawn up to brace the negligible weight on his chest.
"—There was a bomb," he mutters between suddenly heavy lips. The cramped space of the military barrack suddenly feels oppressive; he glances at the ceiling just beyond Eli's haunting eyes. "Not for the eye. For the rest..."
His confusion gashes along the shadows of his face, like new wounds rising to his skin. "No... there was no second bomb." If he's aware that he's speaking in fragments, in riddles, he doesn't seem to notice.