[size=9pt]'They deserved to die.'
"Not--" he says, feeling the puddle of blood soak into his paws beneath him. He doesn't look down. "like that." He stares at the child before him, gazed pinched with something between pity and disturbia. Moon's voice is adamant but soft, firm but gentle because he's seen kids like this before and there's a part of him thats familiar, almost fond of the type, but another part that has his last meal, as small as it was, rising in his throat. The scent of the blood rises, thick and sickly, from below him and there's nothing he can do but breath it in. Nausea.
Danny's question opens the floodgates. Out pours the memory of Ahkuli with her claws latched in his cheek and himself with her blood on his paws. Golden, shimmering. He recalls her final, blubbering words and the meat of her windpipe that he skewered his claws through. He swallows, thick. "I would've killed." He says, and it slides out so easy it should scare him, weaves through his conscious and makes itself comfortable there. Food for nightmares. "Pittians are scum. But I wouldn't have--" A pause, finally glancing at the corpse he stands over and struggling to find the words for what exactly Danny did. "Shredded. We don't do that here. You kill if you need to kill, Danny. But no senseless shit. You make it clean."
"Not--" he says, feeling the puddle of blood soak into his paws beneath him. He doesn't look down. "like that." He stares at the child before him, gazed pinched with something between pity and disturbia. Moon's voice is adamant but soft, firm but gentle because he's seen kids like this before and there's a part of him thats familiar, almost fond of the type, but another part that has his last meal, as small as it was, rising in his throat. The scent of the blood rises, thick and sickly, from below him and there's nothing he can do but breath it in. Nausea.
Danny's question opens the floodgates. Out pours the memory of Ahkuli with her claws latched in his cheek and himself with her blood on his paws. Golden, shimmering. He recalls her final, blubbering words and the meat of her windpipe that he skewered his claws through. He swallows, thick. "I would've killed." He says, and it slides out so easy it should scare him, weaves through his conscious and makes itself comfortable there. Food for nightmares. "Pittians are scum. But I wouldn't have--" A pause, finally glancing at the corpse he stands over and struggling to find the words for what exactly Danny did. "Shredded. We don't do that here. You kill if you need to kill, Danny. But no senseless shit. You make it clean."
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; height: auto; text-align: center; font-family: ; font-size: 9pt; color: COLOR; letter-spacing: -.5px;"][i][b]and die like a hero going home.[glow=black,2,300]