[That much is easy enough to offer, given that it's not more than a simple confirmation of what he's already said. But a sharp eye might be able to spot the subtle shift in his stance, as realization dawns that he might have been better off refusing to answer. That he might have been better served by doing anything else, for all that neither can he find it in him to refuse the order.
(The request, maybe, but it had still been close enough.)]
He--
[His voice doesn't so much break as stall. He knows what happened. Can still see, in his mind's eye, the scene that had greeted him in Tertium on his return. But he's not had to explain it before. It had been no secret to those who had been present; Eorzean and Garlean alike fully aware of the events that had occurred. Of the reasoning behind them, or at least, the events that had led up to them, but... where does he even begin? How does he explain the endless cold, of ekeing out a miserable existence huddled away in bottom of a train depot, of having to fight - and kill - one's own countrymen because they've lost themselves in the fervor of what he has since learned to be the tempering of a primal? Of the desperate sting of hope, of wanting - needing - to believe that things would work out. That it would be alright, that the other legions were still coming. That salvation would be at hand if they could only hold out long enough.
The struggle is clear in his expression, as the silence stretches out between them, thick and heavy with all the things he can't bring himself say.]
He-- we--
[A pause, and he shakes his head, as if to clear it of the images he can still see too clearly; when he speaks again it's at least coming out it sentences, for all that he's still fighting against the emotions warring inside him to do so.]
The Eorzeans brought a message. From the Xth, when it... became clear no reinforcements would be coming. "Have the iyl stand down."
[His voice shudders to a stop again, at that, the next words hanging heavy on his tongue. As if they'd all come tumbling out in a heap if he let them and yet... for all that he's already acknowledged Quintus' death, he can't. Can't push past the memories. Can't bring himself to acknowledge them, in a room where just anyone might come passing by and overhear.]
no subject
[That much is easy enough to offer, given that it's not more than a simple confirmation of what he's already said. But a sharp eye might be able to spot the subtle shift in his stance, as realization dawns that he might have been better off refusing to answer. That he might have been better served by doing anything else, for all that neither can he find it in him to refuse the order.
(The request, maybe, but it had still been close enough.)]
He--
[His voice doesn't so much break as stall. He knows what happened. Can still see, in his mind's eye, the scene that had greeted him in Tertium on his return. But he's not had to explain it before. It had been no secret to those who had been present; Eorzean and Garlean alike fully aware of the events that had occurred. Of the reasoning behind them, or at least, the events that had led up to them, but... where does he even begin? How does he explain the endless cold, of ekeing out a miserable existence huddled away in bottom of a train depot, of having to fight - and kill - one's own countrymen because they've lost themselves in the fervor of what he has since learned to be the tempering of a primal? Of the desperate sting of hope, of wanting - needing - to believe that things would work out. That it would be alright, that the other legions were still coming. That salvation would be at hand if they could only hold out long enough.
The struggle is clear in his expression, as the silence stretches out between them, thick and heavy with all the things he can't bring himself say.]
He-- we--
[A pause, and he shakes his head, as if to clear it of the images he can still see too clearly; when he speaks again it's at least coming out it sentences, for all that he's still fighting against the emotions warring inside him to do so.]
The Eorzeans brought a message. From the Xth, when it... became clear no reinforcements would be coming. "Have the iyl stand down."
[His voice shudders to a stop again, at that, the next words hanging heavy on his tongue. As if they'd all come tumbling out in a heap if he let them and yet... for all that he's already acknowledged Quintus' death, he can't. Can't push past the memories. Can't bring himself to acknowledge them, in a room where just anyone might come passing by and overhear.]