[And there it is--that stupid, hopeful glimmer inside of him that will never go away, no matter how hard he tries to kill it. He seizes onto the unspoken statement between them with everything he has.
At the very least, even if everything changes, even if his own purpose becomes so muddled and diluted that he loses track of it entirely, Knives will still need him in this.
It's a desperate, sad sort of relief, but he needs Knives to need him.]
I've already offered you all that I have and all that I am, but if there is anything more I can give to improve your existence, please take it.
[It's hard to know what to say to that, especially over the crushing feeling in his chest.]
This isn't... a role I'd ever expected to serve. [--For many obvious reasons.] But if it can bring you any amount of relief, then I suppose I do have something to be grateful to this prison for.
[That comment reminds Legato of something that has been rattling around in his head for days now. It had seemed like something he shouldn't concern himself with, but especially after some of the things Knives has just said, he can't get it out of his mind.]
Recently, you'd made mention of having done something to yourself before... what did you mean by that?
[He doesn't want to have to mention that it had been while they were chasing the elf that they'd all rather forget, but he has a feeling that Knives will know what he's talking about anyway.]
I'm not sure I know what you mean. [His voice is carefully guarded, so it's not sure if he actually doesn't know what Legato is referring to or if he doesn't want to answer.]
[Either way, it does force Legato to decide if he really wants to pursue this further or not. It would be easier--and probably safer--to drop it. But he can't imagine any other time when it would ever be suitable to ask, and he has already put himself out this far...
He needs to know.]
You had said the little creature that had invaded this place couldn't hurt you, because it didn't compare to what you've done to yourself.
[Knives is quiet for a moment. He simply looks at Legato as he considers what to say next. Finally, when he does speak, his voice is low.]
When I was young, after my brother and I discovered the horrors that humanity inflicted on our siblings, both he and I turned to self-harm. He starved himself to the point of a coma. I discovered how sharp I could make my flesh.
[He changes his fingers then, forming them into a type of blade and then moves closer to Legato. He holds out the hand that isn't transformed.]
[Legato listens with quiet, rapt attention as Knives speaks, and he doesn't hesitate for a moment to hold out his hand--the human one--when instructed.
He remembers very clearly what those blades can do. The cleanly-divided pieces of his captors lying all around him, even the feel of one of those blades cutting the flesh of his neck with barely a touch, is still bright in his memory.]
[He doesn't quite realize exactly how much he is expecting to be cut until it doesn't happen, and it laces the threat with with an even sharper bit of adrenaline.]
Why? [The question leaves him before he can think about it. He knows why he has his own self-destructive impulses, he remembers the sorts of things he'd done in the deepest pits of his own loathing, but he still can't fathom Knives wanting to hurt anything but humanity.]
[There's that crushing feeling in his chest that he has been feeling more and more often lately. It guts him to hear all this. Some part of him wishes the blades were cutting skin, just to bring the ache he feels to the surface and let it out.
Again, the words that leave him don't have thought or planning behind them, uttered softly on impulse.]
Hn. [It's a sound of agreement, but Knives doesn't seem to want to say anything in response. Instead, he raises Legato's hand and puts the wound to his mouth to lick up the blood.]
[It's such a small, strange gesture, but it quietly throws Legato into conflict. It's pointless and probably meaningless, but unexpectedly intimate, and Legato can't help but think of the various creatures that have intentionally fed on his blood. Various things that remind him that his body is not his own. And he'll gladly let Knives do whatever he wants with it.
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As much as he hated the quota, at least it gave him a reprieve.]
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At the very least, even if everything changes, even if his own purpose becomes so muddled and diluted that he loses track of it entirely, Knives will still need him in this.
It's a desperate, sad sort of relief, but he needs Knives to need him.]
I've already offered you all that I have and all that I am, but if there is anything more I can give to improve your existence, please take it.
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[It's not even a question in his mind.]
It has been...
Helpful. That you're here. I was terrible at doing what they required before that.
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This isn't... a role I'd ever expected to serve. [--For many obvious reasons.] But if it can bring you any amount of relief, then I suppose I do have something to be grateful to this prison for.
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Then we both should ensure we stay healthy and whole while the quota still stands.
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...May I ask you something?
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[He doesn't want to have to mention that it had been while they were chasing the elf that they'd all rather forget, but he has a feeling that Knives will know what he's talking about anyway.]
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He needs to know.]
You had said the little creature that had invaded this place couldn't hurt you, because it didn't compare to what you've done to yourself.
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When I was young, after my brother and I discovered the horrors that humanity inflicted on our siblings, both he and I turned to self-harm. He starved himself to the point of a coma. I discovered how sharp I could make my flesh.
[He changes his fingers then, forming them into a type of blade and then moves closer to Legato. He holds out the hand that isn't transformed.]
Give me your hand.
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He remembers very clearly what those blades can do. The cleanly-divided pieces of his captors lying all around him, even the feel of one of those blades cutting the flesh of his neck with barely a touch, is still bright in his memory.]
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I was the first person I wounded with one of these things.
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Why? [The question leaves him before he can think about it. He knows why he has his own self-destructive impulses, he remembers the sorts of things he'd done in the deepest pits of his own loathing, but he still can't fathom Knives wanting to hurt anything but humanity.]
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Once upon a time, I was a boy who thought humans were worthwhile. When I realized that was wrong, everything felt wrong. It was devasting.
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Again, the words that leave him don't have thought or planning behind them, uttered softly on impulse.]
You shouldn't have had to suffer like that.
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My suffering is nothing compared to my sister's suffering.
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It isn't fair to any of you.
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He doesn't say anything either.]
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[He still might not be able to sleep, but at least it won't be because of nightmares.]
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