[His bATS.... Van Zieks is quiet for a long moment, because he is still rebooting. He does not know how he got into this situation. That standoffish, dour, gloomy exterior he's put up for so long wants to reject all of this. To reject his own feelings, because they are complicated, and scary, and so warm, in a way that feels alien at this point. Foreign after living ten years isolated, by the fears of others as well as himself.
To be himself. It's not something he ever strove for. Barok van Zieks is shy. Barok van Zieks struggles to connect with others. Barok van Zieks is too earnest for his own good. Klint van Zieks was none of those things. So he'd always tried to be like him. But then Klint wasn't there anymore to emulate. So he'd sunk into himself. Klint wasn't there to encourage him.
He thinks, again, of that voice he'd heard when his sword had struck true in the Lord Regent. That impossible voice, that had to have been a lie. And yet. And yet. If Klint had been here, now. What would he say? Something like all this?
He raises his hands, one resting over Sholmes' around his shoulders, the other over Kotetsu's on his chest. His shoulders shake unevenly, his face pulling tight, as, with no other argument spring to his mind, he can do nothing but devolve into quiet shuddering sobs.]
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To be himself. It's not something he ever strove for. Barok van Zieks is shy. Barok van Zieks struggles to connect with others. Barok van Zieks is too earnest for his own good. Klint van Zieks was none of those things. So he'd always tried to be like him. But then Klint wasn't there anymore to emulate. So he'd sunk into himself. Klint wasn't there to encourage him.
He thinks, again, of that voice he'd heard when his sword had struck true in the Lord Regent. That impossible voice, that had to have been a lie. And yet. And yet. If Klint had been here, now. What would he say? Something like all this?
He raises his hands, one resting over Sholmes' around his shoulders, the other over Kotetsu's on his chest. His shoulders shake unevenly, his face pulling tight, as, with no other argument spring to his mind, he can do nothing but devolve into quiet shuddering sobs.]