[prompto's curious about what noctis means with being able to help with his sleep, eyes flicking upwards to meet his friend's eyes--but the rest of his words, his question sounds so vulnerable that prompto has to keep his gaze down anyway.]
[he wants to tell noct... everything, but he doesn't know just well he himself can stomach speaking it out loud.]
[maybe he could test the waters? give something to noctis without giving everything away, ultimately measuring what kind of respond he should expect in the end.]
Well...
[he fixes his grip on noctis's hand, arranging how he's sitting on the cot, too, now pulling his legs crossed under himself.]
Y'know how we -- we always thought MT's were just machines? Just a bunch of metal put together... You've pulled a core out before, when we fought 'em, they stop working without it.
[mulling over what to say next, prompto bites hard on his lip] They use people. Their... essence, or whatever, to make them into... those things. There's a whole factory, I guess? That's...
[ It's an uneasy feeling, trying to anticipate what Prompto might say so he can avoid taking any of it badly when his friend is obviously going through something difficult. He wants to plan a reaction to something he can't anticipate, for Prompto's sake, even if maybe what they need now is just pure honesty from both of them -- it doesn't stop him suddenly slipping his hand free.
A more cowardly move? Maybe, with how his eyes now briefly avoid Prompto's instead, but he's glad he did it a moment later.
MTs... are people? Made from people or actually embodied by them -- does it make a difference? The words hit a filter in his mind first, an initial instinct to deny that possibility, before they start fully seeping in. ]
No way... [ Muttered at first, quiet. ] So all this time-- All the ones I've been fighting... [ The implication brings with it a hard spike of guilt that he doesn't subject Prompto to, instead just giving into a quiet shake of his head as he leans back slightly. ]
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no subject
[he wants to tell noct... everything, but he doesn't know just well he himself can stomach speaking it out loud.]
[maybe he could test the waters? give something to noctis without giving everything away, ultimately measuring what kind of respond he should expect in the end.]
Well...
[he fixes his grip on noctis's hand, arranging how he's sitting on the cot, too, now pulling his legs crossed under himself.]
Y'know how we -- we always thought MT's were just machines? Just a bunch of metal put together... You've pulled a core out before, when we fought 'em, they stop working without it.
[mulling over what to say next, prompto bites hard on his lip] They use people. Their... essence, or whatever, to make them into... those things. There's a whole factory, I guess? That's...
That's what I saw there.
no subject
A more cowardly move? Maybe, with how his eyes now briefly avoid Prompto's instead, but he's glad he did it a moment later.
MTs... are people? Made from people or actually embodied by them -- does it make a difference? The words hit a filter in his mind first, an initial instinct to deny that possibility, before they start fully seeping in. ]
No way... [ Muttered at first, quiet. ] So all this time-- All the ones I've been fighting... [ The implication brings with it a hard spike of guilt that he doesn't subject Prompto to, instead just giving into a quiet shake of his head as he leans back slightly. ]
no subject
They're not people anymore. [obviously. they've seen as much.] It's just that they... used them to turn them into that. It's sick.
[the empire's crimes seem worse the closer to the thick of it all they got.]
Hey.
There's no way we could've known that. And if we didn't fight back, we'd probably be dead ten times over.