Every time, she pulls that card. The days of defaulting to eye rolls are dead and gone — but so is the logic of her entire argument.]
So what if I won't allow you to die?
[He throws his arms wide as if posing as a saint above the litter of her massacre. The impertinent way he cocks his brow kills the impression within a second.] You still think you're the only person capable of this? Please. You're being ridiculous and you know it.
[It's a long enough tenure in the CDC that even the staunchest fluffballs find themselves taking knives to throats and making headshots on the regular. (Just look at what happened to Hinata a few months after Macha.) Peter, no matter how much of his adolescence he spent protesting it, was far closer to murder than most.
It had been....so easy.
Putrid and easy. He did vomit after the first, but he was sixteen and a recovering super hero. Nowadays his kill count, be it by fists, guns, or whatever makeshift mayhem he could cause with his powers, was one of the highest in the crew.
(It also helps boost your stats when you actually last ten years, whoopsie daisy.)
And no, he'd grown no amount of fondness for killing. A cool distance was the most appropriate term, and he might have to drink at times to help it along or go visit the more spiritual recruits, learning foreign techniques of keeping peace of mind. He wasn't a team player either. Peter was the kind of soldier to slip in undetected and slaughter silently, or charge ahead of his comrades and take as many as he could. Selfish, maybe, but the distinction he made between a kill of his own and the kills of his peers was that he always, always, strived to keep it quick and keep it humane. Even if they didn't mean to be cruel, the others drew things out or used powers best kept under lock and key.
Or, in some cases, they were actual fucking psychopaths and loved the excuse to indulge on the CDC's dime.
In Akame's case though? She was still a knight in shining armor. Chivalry was alive and kicking, all wrapped up in red-eyed assassin school girl packaging. (He knew she wasn't a school girl what the heck else was he supposed to think that skimpy old outfit of hers was?) Her count was top notch, and not because she enjoyed the life she had been tragically bred into. It was to prevent the loss of literally everyone that wasn't Akame.
To someone who'd spent ten years with her, watching moons and reading books, splitting meals and slipping notes and spilling beans, who knew the way that she flipped her hair and could predict fifty percent of what might come out of her mouth before it hit the air? It was downright fucking infuriating to think of a life without her.
you're the rude one!!!!!!!
Every time, she pulls that card. The days of defaulting to eye rolls are dead and gone — but so is the logic of her entire argument.]
So what if I won't allow you to die?
[He throws his arms wide as if posing as a saint above the litter of her massacre. The impertinent way he cocks his brow kills the impression within a second.] You still think you're the only person capable of this? Please. You're being ridiculous and you know it.
[It's a long enough tenure in the CDC that even the staunchest fluffballs find themselves taking knives to throats and making headshots on the regular. (Just look at what happened to Hinata a few months after Macha.) Peter, no matter how much of his adolescence he spent protesting it, was far closer to murder than most.
It had been....so easy.
Putrid and easy. He did vomit after the first, but he was sixteen and a recovering super hero. Nowadays his kill count, be it by fists, guns, or whatever makeshift mayhem he could cause with his powers, was one of the highest in the crew.
(It also helps boost your stats when you actually last ten years, whoopsie daisy.)
And no, he'd grown no amount of fondness for killing. A cool distance was the most appropriate term, and he might have to drink at times to help it along or go visit the more spiritual recruits, learning foreign techniques of keeping peace of mind. He wasn't a team player either. Peter was the kind of soldier to slip in undetected and slaughter silently, or charge ahead of his comrades and take as many as he could. Selfish, maybe, but the distinction he made between a kill of his own and the kills of his peers was that he always, always, strived to keep it quick and keep it humane. Even if they didn't mean to be cruel, the others drew things out or used powers best kept under lock and key.
Or, in some cases, they were actual fucking psychopaths and loved the excuse to indulge on the CDC's dime.
In Akame's case though? She was still a knight in shining armor. Chivalry was alive and kicking, all wrapped up in red-eyed assassin school girl packaging. (He knew she wasn't a school girl what the heck else was he supposed to think that skimpy old outfit of hers was?) Her count was top notch, and not because she enjoyed the life she had been tragically bred into. It was to prevent the loss of literally everyone that wasn't Akame.
To someone who'd spent ten years with her, watching moons and reading books, splitting meals and slipping notes and spilling beans, who knew the way that she flipped her hair and could predict fifty percent of what might come out of her mouth before it hit the air? It was downright fucking infuriating to think of a life without her.
So Peter strides ahead, ever so blasé, delicately stepping over a corpse as he goes.]
This way to Baddie McMeanstein, am I right?