She is calm while she listens, the slight widening of her eyes having more to do with empathy than concern--but she begins to understand that these moments are when the mask fractures slightly. What it yields remains to be seen. Hasibe just knows he's compartmentalizing, and maybe he knows it, maybe he doesn't, but she can see it.
"Nobody is really good," she says. It's not intended to be cynicism. "But what do you call normal? What do you call good? ...you can't be 'normal' like a human or good like a human. That's okay, though."
Hasibe isn't sure how this conversation took such a sudden turn (though really, she should know, she's trying to pull this out of him). She leans against the wall of the building nearby, watching Mitchell from under her eyelashes. "I'm sorry this isn't what you wanted. I really am."
And, like before, this is not a platitude; she knows what it's like to have your own nature disappoint you, and then the world twists and all your best attempts to fix things just lead to a new chapter in your own struggle.
no subject
"Nobody is really good," she says. It's not intended to be cynicism. "But what do you call normal? What do you call good? ...you can't be 'normal' like a human or good like a human. That's okay, though."
Hasibe isn't sure how this conversation took such a sudden turn (though really, she should know, she's trying to pull this out of him). She leans against the wall of the building nearby, watching Mitchell from under her eyelashes. "I'm sorry this isn't what you wanted. I really am."
And, like before, this is not a platitude; she knows what it's like to have your own nature disappoint you, and then the world twists and all your best attempts to fix things just lead to a new chapter in your own struggle.