[Diavolo's arms press closer at the whimpers. When he notices the priest, he tugs Doppio back half a step on gut instinct, feeling suddenly very small again. It's unnatural to see the man alive and well, like he'd never been reduced to a mangled heap bleeding out on a tile floor.
The priest walks slowly but purposefully, a smile wrinkling his face as though nothing in the world is wrong. How old would he be if he was alive today? Eighties, nineties? But he looks exactly the same as he does in memory. Seeing him is like seeing a ghost, and it chills Diavolo. He tenses, his fingers digging at Doppio's skin as that small part of him expects hatred and retribution, imagining the rest of his years rotting away in prison or worse.
But, of course, none of this is real, and there is nothing to fear. Diavolo is not helpless, not weak, and nothing here can hurt him. If he wanted to, he could walk out right now. But he survived their last meeting and he will do it again — more than that, he thrived afterward, more than anyone in this small town ever thought he could, at least until the day everything fell to pieces in his hands.
—He's close, now, that gentle smile brightening at the sight of ... not him. Of course not him, not the way he looks now, so very different from the way he did as a teenager. He must stand out in this small town. No, it's Doppio the priest looks at.]
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The priest walks slowly but purposefully, a smile wrinkling his face as though nothing in the world is wrong. How old would he be if he was alive today? Eighties, nineties? But he looks exactly the same as he does in memory. Seeing him is like seeing a ghost, and it chills Diavolo. He tenses, his fingers digging at Doppio's skin as that small part of him expects hatred and retribution, imagining the rest of his years rotting away in prison or worse.
But, of course, none of this is real, and there is nothing to fear. Diavolo is not helpless, not weak, and nothing here can hurt him. If he wanted to, he could walk out right now. But he survived their last meeting and he will do it again — more than that, he thrived afterward, more than anyone in this small town ever thought he could, at least until the day everything fell to pieces in his hands.
—He's close, now, that gentle smile brightening at the sight of ... not him. Of course not him, not the way he looks now, so very different from the way he did as a teenager. He must stand out in this small town. No, it's Doppio the priest looks at.]