I said talk. [ Sandalphon bites back the venomous accusation of no longer a virgin, you made sure of that on the tip of his tongue; putting aside that the last thing Belial need is more ammunition for it, the few things that made Belial's nonstop harassment since he had joined tolerable, beyond it's predictability, is that such comments made it clear that he was not aware of the incident of the island. If he had known, Belial would be hinting at it much more overtly, and made use of it in his campaign. How exactly that worked or why, even Sandalphon wasn't sure; he didn't know the nature or technicalities of the girl in blue's power, only its nature. Regardless, it was a small, saving grace. He hoped he could keep it that way.
Besides, the repressed part was... well, he has a hard time denying it even to himself. Would anyone not repressed be considering doing what he's intent on doing at this moment? The way Belial starts out messing with him before he even heard what he has to say is just another reminder of why this is a bad idea. It's immediately met with the rebuttal of the relief that'll finally come once he has what he's looking for. It'll be fine, he reminds himself. Just ask. Just ask, and then it'll be done with. It's just one, simple thing.
Such warring thoughts follow him the entire way as he leads Belial deeper into the ship, a hallway consisting of doors leading into dusty and unused empty rooms— one of the few areas in the ship remaining where they could find any such privacy. Finally reaching it and finding himself satisfied that they won't be overheard, he stops in place, and steels himself, hoping his tension isn't too obvious as he draws in a sharp breath as quietly as he can, then turns around to face Belial, not quite avoiding his gaze, not quite looking him in the eye. ]
I have... [ He hesitates, but by some miracle, doesn't stutter, and his tone comes across as businesslike and stern as he can manage it: ] Well, I'm far from happy about it, but there's a favor I need to ask of you.
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Besides, the repressed part was... well, he has a hard time denying it even to himself. Would anyone not repressed be considering doing what he's intent on doing at this moment? The way Belial starts out messing with him before he even heard what he has to say is just another reminder of why this is a bad idea. It's immediately met with the rebuttal of the relief that'll finally come once he has what he's looking for. It'll be fine, he reminds himself. Just ask. Just ask, and then it'll be done with. It's just one, simple thing.
Such warring thoughts follow him the entire way as he leads Belial deeper into the ship, a hallway consisting of doors leading into dusty and unused empty rooms— one of the few areas in the ship remaining where they could find any such privacy. Finally reaching it and finding himself satisfied that they won't be overheard, he stops in place, and steels himself, hoping his tension isn't too obvious as he draws in a sharp breath as quietly as he can, then turns around to face Belial, not quite avoiding his gaze, not quite looking him in the eye. ]
I have... [ He hesitates, but by some miracle, doesn't stutter, and his tone comes across as businesslike and stern as he can manage it: ] Well, I'm far from happy about it, but there's a favor I need to ask of you.