When Landel pointed out that they'd come here on their own volition, Claude gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. But there was nothing for him to say. He knew Landel was technically right. The three of them had been working toward this goal even before Sync managed to butt in, and now look. Still, for the man to act like he'd laid everything out on the table for them beforehand? What a load of crap!
It wasn't until Claude realized that his friends were essentially being held hostage that the bone-chilling fear he'd felt for his father just moments ago shifted toward them instead. Almost frantic, his gaze snapped toward the other girl, a wounded Anise, and Celes, who was--wait, was that blood on her hand? Claude hadn't thought it possible to feel anymore nauseated than he did then, but then he quickly looked over to Guy.
Sync's attack had connected with the man's face. The sight of him falling onto his back, shirt stained a shocking shade of crimson, was enough to get Claude's blood boiling again. Dammit! He couldn't afford to let himself become paralyzed with fear. They needed to act, now.
Yet this was Martin Landel's turf, and these were his rules. Those facts weighed heavily on him, irrefutable and as real as the gleaming blade in his hand. To fight or not to fight -- there was no choice left for him, and he knew it.
"You sick bastard," he spat before abruptly turning his back against Landel.
((To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/744481.html?thread=60751137#t60751137).))
no subject
It wasn't until Claude realized that his friends were essentially being held hostage that the bone-chilling fear he'd felt for his father just moments ago shifted toward them instead. Almost frantic, his gaze snapped toward the other girl, a wounded Anise, and Celes, who was--wait, was that blood on her hand? Claude hadn't thought it possible to feel anymore nauseated than he did then, but then he quickly looked over to Guy.
Sync's attack had connected with the man's face. The sight of him falling onto his back, shirt stained a shocking shade of crimson, was enough to get Claude's blood boiling again. Dammit! He couldn't afford to let himself become paralyzed with fear. They needed to act, now.
Yet this was Martin Landel's turf, and these were his rules. Those facts weighed heavily on him, irrefutable and as real as the gleaming blade in his hand. To fight or not to fight -- there was no choice left for him, and he knew it.
"You sick bastard," he spat before abruptly turning his back against Landel.
((To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/744481.html?thread=60751137#t60751137).))