crest-of-cichol:
“How strange,” Seteth replied, shifting his position to cross his arms, his expression calm, “you hardly present yourself as a person that trembles at the sight of a challenge. I am quite aware that you are still conflicted by the values of your friends, are you not? While it is admirable that you seek to protect your friends through your strength, strength cannot protect everything alone.” He shifted his weight onto his opposite foot, allowing his arms to fall loosely at his sides.
“If speaking with them yields far too great of a challenge, perhaps observation may be a more effective solution,” He suggested, “I am well aware that a song and dance is far from your skill set. I’ve never once seen you attend choir practice, Felix. Fortunately for you, it is an optional activity.”
He shook his head.
“At any rate, I do hope you have taken at least some of my words to heart.”
Is Seteth... goading him? Felix squints, hardly able to believe that the man would stoop to such petty, childish taunts to move him to action. All he hears is, I can’t believe talking to your friends is so difficult that you’re giving up -- and the worst part is, he does find himself falling for it, because he wants to prove Seteth wrong. He knows he’s being manipulated, and yet... ugh.
“I speak to them,” Felix mutters, as though allowing himself to say the words my friends will physically burn him. “Each one of them, focused on a different person no longer alive. The way they value the dead, they won’t listen to me until I’m dead too.” It would be so much easier to just drift from them until they were hardly friends, but as much as Felix would like to convince himself that would be easy, it’s far from it.
He scowls, then adds a bit pettily, “Song and dance could be in my skill set, if I was at all interested.”