The moment she leans forward, he's out of the chair and by the window: he can move so quickly when he has to. The cloak trails behind him, licking at his calves -- he can feel it -- and he presses his forehead to the glass. His breath steams it; he moves back just enough to rub that away with his glove.
The problem with self-disclosure is that once a person starts, they tend to have to continue just to be fair. One can't drop a bombshell and simply walk away although... really... they can; Lucrecia did just that to him. Knowing exactly how it feels, he refuses to do it to anybody else. Still, he's self-conscious and speaks to the window instead of Tifa.
"In Junon, I petitioned Shin-Ra -- again -- to release what's left of my father's estate but... well... that request was denied... again. So I gathered what gil I could and from there took the boat to the west, and... made my way across the mountain passes and..." She knows what state Lucrecia is in; she's been to the waterfall cave with him. "We could say things didn't go as I'd hoped."
Hope: there's that word and he's using it as if he has the right. As if he's earned back the grace to have it. The gauntlet weighs down his arm; the sabatons make him feel anchored to the floor; the heavy cloak forces a sag to his shoulders. Idly, it seems, he rubs at the smooth part of the gauntlet as if he could erase its existence.
He can't.
"I'm sorry." It's unclear if he's apologizing to Tifa, to Lucrecia, to his father, or to himself. Even he's not sure.
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The problem with self-disclosure is that once a person starts, they tend to have to continue just to be fair. One can't drop a bombshell and simply walk away although... really... they can; Lucrecia did just that to him. Knowing exactly how it feels, he refuses to do it to anybody else. Still, he's self-conscious and speaks to the window instead of Tifa.
"In Junon, I petitioned Shin-Ra -- again -- to release what's left of my father's estate but... well... that request was denied... again. So I gathered what gil I could and from there took the boat to the west, and... made my way across the mountain passes and..." She knows what state Lucrecia is in; she's been to the waterfall cave with him. "We could say things didn't go as I'd hoped."
Hope: there's that word and he's using it as if he has the right. As if he's earned back the grace to have it. The gauntlet weighs down his arm; the sabatons make him feel anchored to the floor; the heavy cloak forces a sag to his shoulders. Idly, it seems, he rubs at the smooth part of the gauntlet as if he could erase its existence.
He can't.
"I'm sorry." It's unclear if he's apologizing to Tifa, to Lucrecia, to his father, or to himself. Even he's not sure.