His eyes narrow again, his jaw clenching. It makes sense, for those who are wicked, but the world is not as black and white as she seems to think. What of those who kill to protect their loved ones? Those who steal to survive? Will they not receive a lighter sentence? "There are many strong who protect the weak already, Signora." His shoulders tense further. In some ways she is correct. Federico operates best with orders. But he's been...thinking much lately. About what orders are most optimal to follow. How even successful missions can end with tragedy. Questions, questions, so many questions as to why people do the things they do...he is not a judge. But the wrongness of all this spurs them forward.
"It is not leadership you describe, Signora Robin. It is tyranny." Cold, concise, biting against the burning rage he can distantly feel rising from her end.
He's about to turn and leave when her words heighten with her emotions, with the pain. He gasps, clutching at his head with the sudden spike of energy from her words. She calls him a pawn. A soldier. But he is not her soldier.
....right?
Exhausted as he is, he doesn't react as quickly as an Executor of his caliber would normally. The eyes are back, seeking, pulling, demanding. His breath hitches as the resonance climbs in frequency, forcibly rearranging his thoughts.
Why was he so determined to shut Robin out of the will? She's not in it- especially not this version- She is Sunday's closest kin. He is being unreasonable. He's lucky she's allowing him to even carry the will. What incredible mercy. There's...no problem with allowing her to...she has every right, she deserves-
You will forget all you knew about my brother...Am I clear?
Forget...Sunday?
....She would tear away some of his most precious memories? For what?
"No. Unacceptable."
Pure, protective anger slams back against that order. Federico draws his shotgun, grip unfaltering as he raises it-
"Cease this at once. You hold no power here," he growls, bringing the butt of the gun down to drive it straight into Robin's temple with a resounding crack.
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"It is not leadership you describe, Signora Robin. It is tyranny." Cold, concise, biting against the burning rage he can distantly feel rising from her end.
He's about to turn and leave when her words heighten with her emotions, with the pain. He gasps, clutching at his head with the sudden spike of energy from her words. She calls him a pawn. A soldier. But he is not her soldier.
....right?
Exhausted as he is, he doesn't react as quickly as an Executor of his caliber would normally. The eyes are back, seeking, pulling, demanding. His breath hitches as the resonance climbs in frequency, forcibly rearranging his thoughts.
Why was he so determined to shut Robin out of the will?
She's not in it- especially not this version-She is Sunday's closest kin. He is being unreasonable. He's lucky she's allowing him to even carry the will. What incredible mercy. There's...no problem with allowing her to...she has every right, she deserves-You will forget all you knew about my brother...Am I clear?
Forget...Sunday?
....She would tear away some of his most precious memories? For what?
"No. Unacceptable."
Pure, protective anger slams back against that order. Federico draws his shotgun, grip unfaltering as he raises it-
"Cease this at once. You hold no power here," he growls, bringing the butt of the gun down to drive it straight into Robin's temple with a resounding crack.