With a sigh, he stopped, and turned to look at her.
"Then speak your piece, Ikoi Fujiko. What do you want?"
Those eyes, now, were so different from the man who’d talked to her months ago. No more danced the spark of mischief and good humor within, no longer did they gleam with unmatched energy. Instead, they looked… weary. Old. As if he’d aged a few decades in a day and watched the world in all of it’s cruelty go by.
Some things change a man, indeed.
It made her want to vomit, seeing those eyes. That entire face. That entire slouched body that seemed to cage a soul that didn't deserve the legacy that it had. It sickened her so much she wanted to scream at him. But why even try? Why even try to get him to smile again? He wasn't going to listen to her. What was she going to get by trying to get him to be normal again? Another battle? He's already defeated.
But it's the same defeated look as last time. It's one that she won't take from him.
Fujiko grimaced, before bowing.
"I'm not someone you'd think of talking with, and I'm the last person you'd think of as.. an ally, put in the lightest terms possible. But..." She raised her head and coughed again, "The look on your face... it looks like my father's... Please, I don't care how or when, but I want to know... what kind of person she was."

















