[ She lets go of Asuka's shoulder without protest, fingers curling into fists as she forces herself to swallow each revelation sent her way. Accept the facts and act according to them, wasn't that what she said? Denial has no place in her plans. The truth she seeks can't possibly be contained in a stack of files, when words can't explain what has never been experienced, and so here it is: the dissolution of souls, the roar of discontent in everyone's hearts laid to bare. You make me sick. Don't abandon me. I don't want you. Don't leave me. I hate you. Don't ignore me.
Misato doesn't deign to hide her tears when they overflow or hide the grief and the weight of guilt allocated to the one who survives. Her, again. So Shinji lives. That is enough for her to betray relief. But what about Ritsuko? And Hyuga and Ibuki. Pen Pen? What of all the innocents of the world who had no hand in this?
And you want to know what he did to me? It's enough to turn every muscle in her body tense, bracing for the worst injury yet. The truth is, Misato knows what the boy is capable of, when his darkness mirrors her own, and there lies the fear. The only warning to the oncoming assault is the sharpest inhale, before Misato rushes in with nothing but rage in her eyes. She reaches to grasp Asuka by the collar, as forcefully as one might grab a lifeless rag doll, and by then her hand is poised to strike the girl across the face. This is no warning shot. She strikes to wound, to bruise, to leave a hurt that lasts. Violence is so often used to silence the truth.
Stop it. Stop it, because you're not saying what I want to hear. ]
no subject
Misato doesn't deign to hide her tears when they overflow or hide the grief and the weight of guilt allocated to the one who survives. Her, again. So Shinji lives. That is enough for her to betray relief. But what about Ritsuko? And Hyuga and Ibuki. Pen Pen? What of all the innocents of the world who had no hand in this?
And you want to know what he did to me? It's enough to turn every muscle in her body tense, bracing for the worst injury yet. The truth is, Misato knows what the boy is capable of, when his darkness mirrors her own, and there lies the fear. The only warning to the oncoming assault is the sharpest inhale, before Misato rushes in with nothing but rage in her eyes. She reaches to grasp Asuka by the collar, as forcefully as one might grab a lifeless rag doll, and by then her hand is poised to strike the girl across the face. This is no warning shot. She strikes to wound, to bruise, to leave a hurt that lasts. Violence is so often used to silence the truth.
Stop it. Stop it, because you're not saying what I want to hear. ]