He's talking with his hand covering his one eye, his head tilted back so the back of his skull is pressed against the hard, smooth stone, saliva flecking his lips, wetting his chin. His fingers are cracked over his eyes, just enough to let the light in--not to see by, no, but to hurt.
"Oh, people have diseases. People are born! They're alive! You were born you." Foster knows nothing about trolls. But the manner of Psi's entry into the world wouldn't change his argument in the slightest. "They thought I was me. I thought I was me. That I was born normal. Born healthy. That I was going to be alive! But they were wrong. I was born rotting--born dying. And when they were growing up, were reaching their full potential, I--
I--!"
It all comes bubbling up to the surface. Not like a living creature, but like the deadly gasses of an undersea vent, rising in silent premonition of death.
"I was lied to."
Anger--real, cold, ugly anger flashes its teeth for the briefest second. Then suddenly he's backpedalling away from it again--retreating, talking faster; as though the more he talks, the further away from that feeling he can get. They lied to him, they lied to him and wasted him, his entire life, his entire chance, and now--
Even now--
"I told you--I know you can't understand! I know! But don't lie to me. I know what I am! I know what I'm like. There's no difference! When you talk to me, you're talking to a disease. When you touch me, you're touching the body of a disease. Don't fucking lie."
I actually never thought he'd make this connection himself, thanks Psi
He's talking with his hand covering his one eye, his head tilted back so the back of his skull is pressed against the hard, smooth stone, saliva flecking his lips, wetting his chin. His fingers are cracked over his eyes, just enough to let the light in--not to see by, no, but to hurt.
"Oh, people have diseases. People are born! They're alive! You were born you." Foster knows nothing about trolls. But the manner of Psi's entry into the world wouldn't change his argument in the slightest. "They thought I was me. I thought I was me. That I was born normal. Born healthy. That I was going to be alive! But they were wrong. I was born rotting--born dying. And when they were growing up, were reaching their full potential, I--
I--!"
It all comes bubbling up to the surface. Not like a living creature, but like the deadly gasses of an undersea vent, rising in silent premonition of death.
"I was lied to."
Anger--real, cold, ugly anger flashes its teeth for the briefest second. Then suddenly he's backpedalling away from it again--retreating, talking faster; as though the more he talks, the further away from that feeling he can get. They lied to him, they lied to him and wasted him, his entire life, his entire chance, and now--
Even now--
"I told you--I know you can't understand! I know! But don't lie to me. I know what I am! I know what I'm like. There's no difference! When you talk to me, you're talking to a disease. When you touch me, you're touching the body of a disease. Don't fucking lie."