[He does a good enough job, all things considered. Careful, and without spilling much, doesn't allow him to drink it all down in one needful draught and make himself sick. And Giovanni, he manages to bite back on the sound of protest that threatens when the killjoy pulls away after just a few sips, makes him wait-- it's not his first rodeo, this. Back then, in the early days, there'd been one experiment after another in order to determine the limits of their augmented bodies, what they can and can't endure. Withholding sustenance had been a small thing, comparatively. The least invasive, least painful and terrifying, of any of the tests they'd been subjected to.
But he doesn't want to think of that now. Pulls his mind back from it, quicksharp.
When the man is done watering him, Giovanni expects him to take his leave, go away, but he doesn't. Folds down into a sitting position instead, just outside of the reactivated forcefield's range, and he knows then there are likely to be words, questions. Exhaustion fills him suddenly, leaving him feeling emptily replete-- he doesn't want this, any of it. Would rather be left alone with his own bleak and twisting thoughts, but when has what he wants ever had any bearing on anything?
Just another thought he swiftly pulls away from. There's discomfort in it, something that feels vaguely traitorous. Instead, he sighs. Lets his eyes fall closed again.]
I'm not like him.
[Though it's a philosophical difference, isn't it? He thinks he knows what the killjoy is getting at-- he doesn't know much about Kanda, or Yu apparently, but he's seen how the man kept pace with him in the tunnels that time, and there's that metallic smell on him, something unnatural, something like himself. He'd stopped him whilst out of control out there at the riots, and quelling a berserk Cerberus Unit is no easy thing to do. There's the other thing, too-- Kanda's anger over all of this, the things he'd said, things like you don't always bow down to obey. Some fight back, every step of the way..
Perhaps he's a poorly socialised animal with only a loose grasp on the workings of other people's minds, but he's not entirely oblivious. He's capable of connecting the dots.]
A dog without a master is just some stray. A puppet with its strings cut. Worthless and broken. I'm not like that. I don't want it. I know to whom I belong.
[But it's said without force or malice, his tone smooth and cool and almost flat.]
He wants to believe that there's humanity in me, somewhere. But he's wrong. There isn't. I'm just a tool.
[As if that explains everything. And in some ways, perhaps, it does.
There's a brief delay, before he adds half-heartedly--]
Just a tool, and what you're doing here will be considered theft of Company property. You ought to let me go.
no subject
But he doesn't want to think of that now. Pulls his mind back from it, quicksharp.
When the man is done watering him, Giovanni expects him to take his leave, go away, but he doesn't. Folds down into a sitting position instead, just outside of the reactivated forcefield's range, and he knows then there are likely to be words, questions. Exhaustion fills him suddenly, leaving him feeling emptily replete-- he doesn't want this, any of it. Would rather be left alone with his own bleak and twisting thoughts, but when has what he wants ever had any bearing on anything?
Just another thought he swiftly pulls away from. There's discomfort in it, something that feels vaguely traitorous. Instead, he sighs. Lets his eyes fall closed again.]
I'm not like him.
[Though it's a philosophical difference, isn't it? He thinks he knows what the killjoy is getting at-- he doesn't know much about Kanda, or Yu apparently, but he's seen how the man kept pace with him in the tunnels that time, and there's that metallic smell on him, something unnatural, something like himself. He'd stopped him whilst out of control out there at the riots, and quelling a berserk Cerberus Unit is no easy thing to do. There's the other thing, too-- Kanda's anger over all of this, the things he'd said, things like you don't always bow down to obey. Some fight back, every step of the way..
Perhaps he's a poorly socialised animal with only a loose grasp on the workings of other people's minds, but he's not entirely oblivious. He's capable of connecting the dots.]
A dog without a master is just some stray. A puppet with its strings cut. Worthless and broken. I'm not like that. I don't want it. I know to whom I belong.
[But it's said without force or malice, his tone smooth and cool and almost flat.]
He wants to believe that there's humanity in me, somewhere. But he's wrong. There isn't. I'm just a tool.
[As if that explains everything. And in some ways, perhaps, it does.
There's a brief delay, before he adds half-heartedly--]
Just a tool, and what you're doing here will be considered theft of Company property. You ought to let me go.