[Guy has a seat heavily in the nearest chair, and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He clasps his hands in front of himself, staring at a fixed spot on the floor for nearly half a minute before he begins to speak.
He tells Asch everything.
He tells Asch about when he first met him, how he'd hated him more than anything in the world. How when he had to kneel in front of Fabre that he'd wanted to die from the humiliation. How he was terrified; how Pere taught him the sword and Guy would practice until his hands developed blisters, and then until the blisters burst and bled through his gloves if only so he could get better faster, so he could get good enough to kill enough people in the manor so it would count.
How he'd resigned himself to dying -of course the knights would either kill him, or he'd be dragged in front of the king before a formal execution. He hadn't thought about that part too much though, he'd been far too concerned with how much relief he'd feel after watching Asch gasp around a slit throat. How good it would feel to see Susanne Fabre tearing at her hair over the body of her son, how good it would feel to see the Duke watch everything he had crumble.
How, on his darker days, he'd even considered killing the maids as well. It would be filthy, just like Fabre had been, to kill civilians. It wouldn't be honorable, and all Guy wanted back was his honor, but sometimes he was so angry he couldn't stand it. How dare they serve such a monster with smiles on their faces? Some days he hated every Kimlascan he saw, not just the ones with red hair.
Guy told Asch about the nights he stood over his bed while he slept, clutching a knife he'd taken from the kitchens in his shaking hands, desperately trying not to breathe too loudly even though it seemed like the room didn't have enough air. He'd only been at the manor for two weeks then; Asch had been fallen ill and Guy had to keep him company the entire day. Guy had come so close as to hold the blade an inch above Asch's neck but Asch had sighed in his sleep and startled him, and Guy had fled from the room and shut himself into his and Pere's quarters, a trembling mess.
Sometimes Guy would steal some of Asch's things, if he could get away with it. He would take some of his possessions and destroy them, break them. He'd pin up the banner over his bed and hide Asch's things beneath his mattress, forbidding the maids to come into his room to clean for fear that they'd see what he'd taken. He would take Asch's books and rip out the pages, write hateful things on them. He'd take Asch's clothes and tear them, cut them up. He'd take Asch's toys and wrench them in his hands, slam them against the floor until they cracked and broke, and he'd clutch the pieces in his hands and shake until Pere could calm him back down. He'd clench his teeth so hard it hurt.
Guy pressed a hand over his eyes.
He told Asch about when he'd brush his hair, how he wanted to just make a fist and yank it back, hard enough to make Asch scream or cry. How every sliver of hatred, every horrible feeling he had would pile up and how he'd set them all squarely on Asch's shoulders. Guy had hated him so much that even hearing Asch call his name, smiling and pulling him along to play, was enough to make him see red.
How he'd been happy that Asch had been kidnapped. How he'd hoped that Asch was suffering, wherever he was.
[Action]
He tells Asch everything.
He tells Asch about when he first met him, how he'd hated him more than anything in the world. How when he had to kneel in front of Fabre that he'd wanted to die from the humiliation. How he was terrified; how Pere taught him the sword and Guy would practice until his hands developed blisters, and then until the blisters burst and bled through his gloves if only so he could get better faster, so he could get good enough to kill enough people in the manor so it would count.
How he'd resigned himself to dying -of course the knights would either kill him, or he'd be dragged in front of the king before a formal execution. He hadn't thought about that part too much though, he'd been far too concerned with how much relief he'd feel after watching Asch gasp around a slit throat. How good it would feel to see Susanne Fabre tearing at her hair over the body of her son, how good it would feel to see the Duke watch everything he had crumble.
How, on his darker days, he'd even considered killing the maids as well. It would be filthy, just like Fabre had been, to kill civilians. It wouldn't be honorable, and all Guy wanted back was his honor, but sometimes he was so angry he couldn't stand it. How dare they serve such a monster with smiles on their faces? Some days he hated every Kimlascan he saw, not just the ones with red hair.
Guy told Asch about the nights he stood over his bed while he slept, clutching a knife he'd taken from the kitchens in his shaking hands, desperately trying not to breathe too loudly even though it seemed like the room didn't have enough air. He'd only been at the manor for two weeks then; Asch had been fallen ill and Guy had to keep him company the entire day. Guy had come so close as to hold the blade an inch above Asch's neck but Asch had sighed in his sleep and startled him, and Guy had fled from the room and shut himself into his and Pere's quarters, a trembling mess.
Sometimes Guy would steal some of Asch's things, if he could get away with it. He would take some of his possessions and destroy them, break them. He'd pin up the banner over his bed and hide Asch's things beneath his mattress, forbidding the maids to come into his room to clean for fear that they'd see what he'd taken. He would take Asch's books and rip out the pages, write hateful things on them. He'd take Asch's clothes and tear them, cut them up. He'd take Asch's toys and wrench them in his hands, slam them against the floor until they cracked and broke, and he'd clutch the pieces in his hands and shake until Pere could calm him back down. He'd clench his teeth so hard it hurt.
Guy pressed a hand over his eyes.
He told Asch about when he'd brush his hair, how he wanted to just make a fist and yank it back, hard enough to make Asch scream or cry. How every sliver of hatred, every horrible feeling he had would pile up and how he'd set them all squarely on Asch's shoulders. Guy had hated him so much that even hearing Asch call his name, smiling and pulling him along to play, was enough to make him see red.
How he'd been happy that Asch had been kidnapped. How he'd hoped that Asch was suffering, wherever he was.
Guy stopped.]