[ prompto begins to explain, and all the while alisaie washes her hair, combing her fingers carefully through the tangles as best she can before scrubbing her face, washing away the dust and dirt and tears. already she's beginning to feel a little better, a little more alive.
.. it soon becomes clear, however, just exactly what this radical group was trying to prove with its attack. to outline all the pettiness in sharp relief, to prove that these two nations are little more than squabbling children and - gods, she can understand their frustration, but to attack innocent civilians to prove a point? alisaie knows full well that when two countries bicker it is the smallfolk who truly suffer, who are drafted to fight and die in wars they did not agree to, to see their homes ravaged by raiders. it's disgusting, and the feeling is wholly, chillingly familiar - it was much the same when she'd come to eorzea for the first time. she'd been so angry, so frustrated with its people, its nations' leaders who couldn't get along with one another to save their own lives.
a change comes over her, subtle but clear; there's a quiet fury settling into her bones, and alisaie's hands curl into white-knuckled fists in the water, her jaw tightening visibly. ]
Shameful.
[ she finally says at last, and there's a distinctively acidic tone in her voice, a cold disdain that prompto likely does not hear from her often. ]
All of them. Olympia, Wyver, this nameless group between - they should be ashamed of themselves. How can they expect the people to be sympathetic toward them when they attack civilians to prove their point? Gods, there were children there.
[ that it was manufactured by the institute is.. certainly a painful blow, but neither is it terribly surprising. that seems the least of her worries, however. with renewed vigor, alisaie lathers the washrag with soap and begins to scrub at her dirty feet rather forcefully. ]
no subject
.. it soon becomes clear, however, just exactly what this radical group was trying to prove with its attack. to outline all the pettiness in sharp relief, to prove that these two nations are little more than squabbling children and - gods, she can understand their frustration, but to attack innocent civilians to prove a point? alisaie knows full well that when two countries bicker it is the smallfolk who truly suffer, who are drafted to fight and die in wars they did not agree to, to see their homes ravaged by raiders. it's disgusting, and the feeling is wholly, chillingly familiar - it was much the same when she'd come to eorzea for the first time. she'd been so angry, so frustrated with its people, its nations' leaders who couldn't get along with one another to save their own lives.
a change comes over her, subtle but clear; there's a quiet fury settling into her bones, and alisaie's hands curl into white-knuckled fists in the water, her jaw tightening visibly. ]
Shameful.
[ she finally says at last, and there's a distinctively acidic tone in her voice, a cold disdain that prompto likely does not hear from her often. ]
All of them. Olympia, Wyver, this nameless group between - they should be ashamed of themselves. How can they expect the people to be sympathetic toward them when they attack civilians to prove their point? Gods, there were children there.
[ that it was manufactured by the institute is.. certainly a painful blow, but neither is it terribly surprising. that seems the least of her worries, however. with renewed vigor, alisaie lathers the washrag with soap and begins to scrub at her dirty feet rather forcefully. ]