[Was Cain's anger this deep at the gala? Or in the ship? Takasugi's memories of the later are bleary, obscured by his own frustration and quickly abandoned. He distinctly remembers the sparks of rage in Cain's eyes, dulled by the sweet scent of cinnamon and the aftertaste of alcohol on his lips.
There's nothing warm about the way Cain looks at him now - as if all protests as to their camaraderie have gone forgotten.
If only.
Takasugi's smile widens despite the ache in his jaw; he glances, disinterested, to the corpses around him.
So many people dead for no reason - Takasugi can see the faces of his comrades smeared in the mud as if they've gathered at his feet as well - and Cain thinks he should care about these men.
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There's nothing warm about the way Cain looks at him now - as if all protests as to their camaraderie have gone forgotten.
If only.
Takasugi's smile widens despite the ache in his jaw; he glances, disinterested, to the corpses around him.
So many people dead for no reason - Takasugi can see the faces of his comrades smeared in the mud as if they've gathered at his feet as well - and Cain thinks he should care about these men.
He shrugs.] Why would I waste my time with that?