[she's sawing, a untrained, messy way to get to the meat and bone of him, using an instrument too small for the damage she wants to do. Without potions or materia, she'll cripple him in that arm, cutting against the grain of the muscle. He's been cut apart and open enough to know the difference and he pants between his clenched teeth in the brief moments when there's a pause, sweat leaping out against his skin as his arm instinctively tries to escape from the torture. He's locked down fast though and when she moves to the sink briefly, he's left sucking air into his tight lungs, the sound shaking.
Something's wrong.
He can see it in her face, in her eyes. She's not at peace. He's seen her lost and uncertain before and he sees it in her eyes now when she's not paying attention and it tears at his heart just as messily as what she's doing to ruin his arm does. She's not... this isn't right.
She comes back and moves on to another part of his arm, butchering it and the sound of pain grunts out of him to the point that he has to close his eyes briefly against it. He's had worse. Will have worse. But there's no belittling the feel of that alien metal digging messy grooves into him. His blue eyes, pain tinted, fly open at her whisper though and it focuses him entirely on her.
This is wrong. She shouldn't - be doing this. Not because he doesn't deserve it, because he knows he does - but because it's not her. This... isn't her. His voice is raw at its edges, the screaming he's swallowed instead of letting loose but he fights for control of it and so it stays quiet and steady.]
Then stop. Aerith... please. It's okay. You can stop.
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Something's wrong.
He can see it in her face, in her eyes. She's not at peace. He's seen her lost and uncertain before and he sees it in her eyes now when she's not paying attention and it tears at his heart just as messily as what she's doing to ruin his arm does. She's not... this isn't right.
She comes back and moves on to another part of his arm, butchering it and the sound of pain grunts out of him to the point that he has to close his eyes briefly against it. He's had worse. Will have worse. But there's no belittling the feel of that alien metal digging messy grooves into him. His blue eyes, pain tinted, fly open at her whisper though and it focuses him entirely on her.
This is wrong. She shouldn't - be doing this. Not because he doesn't deserve it, because he knows he does - but because it's not her. This... isn't her. His voice is raw at its edges, the screaming he's swallowed instead of letting loose but he fights for control of it and so it stays quiet and steady.]
Then stop. Aerith... please. It's okay. You can stop.