[ He considers Mutsu's words for a moment, rising from the throne and going to him, shaking his head. No, Mutsu would know, wouldn't he? He's a sword, and as far as Noctis remembers he was Ryouma's, and Ryouma had plenty of good ideas, he was quite the leader, himself. ]
They won't come in.
[ He tells him softly, sensing how on edge he is. He's looking over his shoulder at how those decomposing, disfigured faces are coming up against the windows, in shabby, half-rotting versions of Lucian fashions. He grimaces. The chained up doors behind the throne rattle again, the sound of fighting punctuating the sounds outside.
His heart is... quite something. ]
No one decent likes it. [ He responds, thinking of his father. ] You give up so much. But you do it, anyway. Was Ryouma like that?
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They won't come in.
[ He tells him softly, sensing how on edge he is. He's looking over his shoulder at how those decomposing, disfigured faces are coming up against the windows, in shabby, half-rotting versions of Lucian fashions. He grimaces. The chained up doors behind the throne rattle again, the sound of fighting punctuating the sounds outside.
His heart is... quite something. ]
No one decent likes it. [ He responds, thinking of his father. ] You give up so much. But you do it, anyway. Was Ryouma like that?