[Who is teaching these priests how to ragebait? It's working a little too well. Lobelia's hands are trembling around Alhaitham's throat and he's infuriated instead with Hansa, shooting him looks that could strip flesh from bone. Too bad about that consecrated body.]
Entonces eres un idiota y un tonto. Te mataré. Te enseñaré a arrepentirte. Te demostraré que te equivocas. Te equivocaste al preocuparte.
[Has he ever met a man more eager to court his demise than Hansa? Probably not. Lobelia's fuming, visibly so, and Hansa is begging him to prove this isn't a mere bluff.
Fine then. Let him give the man the violence he keeps pretending he doesn't want, tucked under that thin veneer of religion. Once a beast born from the mountains, always a beast.]
Eres demasiado débil para provocarme. Dilo como si lo creyeras.
[Lobelia isn't cruel— no, never cruel. Not with him. He simply blows Hansa a kiss, soft and sweet... right up until the note slips needle-thin into the seams of his cybernetics. Audio and visual distortions strobe through Hansa's senses. Motors misfire, equilibrium stutters, the world lurches sideways.
If he's lucky, he'll stay on his feet. If he's luckier, he'll keep control of that body a moment longer. Lobelia doesn't intend to hurt him. He never has.
[Hansa's body stiffens, electrical and magical circuits bursting with energy to the point it overloads, cuts out, and he's lurching like a falling mannequin onto the ground. He's not lucky (thanks avrae). He's on the ground now, twitching, before his consciousness sparks back and he's letting out a hoarse cry of:]
LOBELIA!
[But its going to take him a long moment to get back to stability, his arms and legs misbehaving as he's attempting to right himself.]
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How are you so sure, Père? Did God tell you that?! Stop listening to voices that ring only in your skull!
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[He's gritting his teeth, he's so pissed off, but-]
I won't listen to this anymore.
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Nada me impedirá preocuparme por ti.
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Entonces eres un idiota y un tonto. Te mataré. Te enseñaré a arrepentirte. Te demostraré que te equivocas. Te equivocaste al preocuparte.
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[He wields it well. He knows how to get under people's skin. The best weapon of all.]
Está decidido. Se acabó. Te cuidaré hasta la tumba.
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Fine then. Let him give the man the violence he keeps pretending he doesn't want, tucked under that thin veneer of religion. Once a beast born from the mountains, always a beast.]
Eres demasiado débil para provocarme. Dilo como si lo creyeras.
[Lobelia isn't cruel— no, never cruel. Not with him. He simply blows Hansa a kiss, soft and sweet... right up until the note slips needle-thin into the seams of his cybernetics. Audio and visual distortions strobe through Hansa's senses. Motors misfire, equilibrium stutters, the world lurches sideways.
If he's lucky, he'll stay on his feet. If he's luckier, he'll keep control of that body a moment longer. Lobelia doesn't intend to hurt him. He never has.
Consider this a warning shot.]
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[Hansa's body stiffens, electrical and magical circuits bursting with energy to the point it overloads, cuts out, and he's lurching like a falling mannequin onto the ground. He's not lucky (thanks avrae). He's on the ground now, twitching, before his consciousness sparks back and he's letting out a hoarse cry of:]
LOBELIA!
[But its going to take him a long moment to get back to stability, his arms and legs misbehaving as he's attempting to right himself.]
[Bastard.]