[He's been doing this a lot lately, this habit of bringing his guitar with him when he knows he's going to be sitting and idling in thought for a long time. He doesn't know why it's so habitual, but it is. He likes it, anyway, because it gives him something to do with his hands, something to occupy them that isn't just idle fidgeting, and the music isn't bad to listen to either, when it comes to trying to soothe the savage breast and all that.
That's how Polnareff's emotions have seemed these past days: savage. He's grieving for a dead girl he's already had to grieve for once. This time he'd been forced to step into the shoes of her killer instead of being her savior and her knight. He can't even begin to imagine what it must feel like, grappling with that; he's tried to imagine, once or twice, something on the same scale, and every time he's attempted it the empathy has chilled him to the bone.
It hurts to see him like this. It always hurts to see someone he cares about like this, exhausted and miserable and hovering on the edge of hopelessness. He's seen too many of the people he cares about like this, and every time he's felt compelled to try to carry them until they were able to stand to walk forward again on their own. This time is no different. This time it's Polnareff.
So he gets Polnareff on the bed and sits down on the floor with his back against the side of the mattress, picking at the opening notes of Mad World as he tries to think about what he's supposed to do or say instead of just the obvious.]
...Only the acoustic tonight. Last time I used my electric after dark, it woke up the whole house.
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That's how Polnareff's emotions have seemed these past days: savage. He's grieving for a dead girl he's already had to grieve for once. This time he'd been forced to step into the shoes of her killer instead of being her savior and her knight. He can't even begin to imagine what it must feel like, grappling with that; he's tried to imagine, once or twice, something on the same scale, and every time he's attempted it the empathy has chilled him to the bone.
It hurts to see him like this. It always hurts to see someone he cares about like this, exhausted and miserable and hovering on the edge of hopelessness. He's seen too many of the people he cares about like this, and every time he's felt compelled to try to carry them until they were able to stand to walk forward again on their own. This time is no different. This time it's Polnareff.
So he gets Polnareff on the bed and sits down on the floor with his back against the side of the mattress, picking at the opening notes of Mad World as he tries to think about what he's supposed to do or say instead of just the obvious.]
...Only the acoustic tonight. Last time I used my electric after dark, it woke up the whole house.