( oh, he certainly could, but—it’s a delicate sort of balance to meet, especially with someone like makoto. he’s suffered the brusque physical demands of others for far longer than he ever would have wanted, so doing the same was a cheap ticket to a quick route directly to his bad side. it’s not to say that he would even be against what might come to pass if they did continue to press their luck in that way (quite the contrary, actually), but to him, it needs to feel like something he’s permitting or agreeing to. that simple adjustment to the mental math made all the difference, even if the outcome is the same in the end.
he gets flustered to lose his self-control in front of others. it’s a rather frustrating trait to have, especially given what he had been doing in hell prior to being brought to golden peacock and what the House is trying to force them into here. that sort of embarrassed reactivity tends to be fun to both demons and people, he’s found. how annoying. he wishes he could force himself to just stop caring, but… it’s easier said than done!
he takes a moment to regain his composure; his expression is still embarrassingly rosy, but at least he feels as though his breathing is somewhat under control. the bleeding has also slowed, though it hasn’t stopped quite yet. he takes a moment to search in his pockets again, pulling out a needle and a loop of thick medical sutures. he has, at the very least, gotten more accustomed to doing this—it’s not so cumbersome and strange to do as he threads the needle and quickly stitches together the opening that he’d made, snapping the stitch free from the rest of the loop with his teeth. it’s not a clean stitch by any means, but he can fix it later when he’s in front of a mirror. )
Okay. ( still a little hoarse, but not as bad as before. ) It’s… my turn now, isn’t it? Or—have you won yet…
( there’s a faintly distracted quality to his voice. it’s a little hard to focus on the game itself when one’s still fighting to master their physical response to it… )
no subject
he gets flustered to lose his self-control in front of others. it’s a rather frustrating trait to have, especially given what he had been doing in hell prior to being brought to golden peacock and what the House is trying to force them into here. that sort of embarrassed reactivity tends to be fun to both demons and people, he’s found. how annoying. he wishes he could force himself to just stop caring, but… it’s easier said than done!
he takes a moment to regain his composure; his expression is still embarrassingly rosy, but at least he feels as though his breathing is somewhat under control. the bleeding has also slowed, though it hasn’t stopped quite yet. he takes a moment to search in his pockets again, pulling out a needle and a loop of thick medical sutures. he has, at the very least, gotten more accustomed to doing this—it’s not so cumbersome and strange to do as he threads the needle and quickly stitches together the opening that he’d made, snapping the stitch free from the rest of the loop with his teeth. it’s not a clean stitch by any means, but he can fix it later when he’s in front of a mirror. )
Okay. ( still a little hoarse, but not as bad as before. ) It’s… my turn now, isn’t it? Or—have you won yet…
( there’s a faintly distracted quality to his voice. it’s a little hard to focus on the game itself when one’s still fighting to master their physical response to it… )