[There have been times that Diavolo thought learning the art of butchery could be useful. For Cervo, fierce as he is with his kills, indiscriminate as he is with his gorging — there are finer ways to approach a meal, and he's toyed with being the one to introduce Cervo to them.
For Cervo ... and for Doppio.
So when the demonstration begins, when the werewolf walks onscreen, his attention is fully on the television. He is no stranger to the gorier details of the human body. How many times has he seen King Crimson's fist plunged into the chest of another? How many has he cut down without a second thought? No, there is nothing here that should bother him.
The werewolf slices the man's throat in one swift movement, and he falls limp. Next, his clothes are torn away. And then, with cold precision, she narrates as his arms are cleanly removed, one by one, followed by his legs.
It isn't the same, not remotely. There is no need for memories of the distant past to dredge themselves up here and now. This is what he tells himself as he continues to watch, unblinking and silent. He is no coward. He won't allow himself to be held back by fear.
Her knife presses against the man's abdomen, and, for the first time in minutes, Diavolo makes a sound: a shuddering gasp.
(11:20 AM. File number 68...)
It isn't the same, it isn't. Nothing... nothing like him. Nothing like him at all, and so he must watch on.]
declaring myself free of cringe and anxiety and fear. let's go
For Cervo ... and for Doppio.
So when the demonstration begins, when the werewolf walks onscreen, his attention is fully on the television. He is no stranger to the gorier details of the human body. How many times has he seen King Crimson's fist plunged into the chest of another? How many has he cut down without a second thought? No, there is nothing here that should bother him.
The werewolf slices the man's throat in one swift movement, and he falls limp. Next, his clothes are torn away. And then, with cold precision, she narrates as his arms are cleanly removed, one by one, followed by his legs.
It isn't the same, not remotely. There is no need for memories of the distant past to dredge themselves up here and now. This is what he tells himself as he continues to watch, unblinking and silent. He is no coward. He won't allow himself to be held back by fear.
Her knife presses against the man's abdomen, and, for the first time in minutes, Diavolo makes a sound: a shuddering gasp.
(11:20 AM. File number 68...)
It isn't the same, it isn't. Nothing... nothing like him. Nothing like him at all, and so he must watch on.]