[He listens. He's not very good at listening sometimes, but this is important-- and so he bites on his cigarette, inhales and exhales too deeply, and listens.
He doesn't know if he could think of a worse hell. Dying, and never having relief or rest-- just to relieve those last agonizing moments, over and over, caught in the worst kind of pain, tortured and yet never being allowed any kind of relief. Polnareff's been close enough to death to know that kind of pain; he remembers the faltering dimness of his vision, the roaring terror in his brain, the thought that at least it will all be over soon.
Would he have done that to Dio, if he'd had the ability? Probably. But it would have haunted him, eaten at his mind no matter what-- and yet Giorno tells him this steadily, uneffected by anything approaching guilt.
He can't say I take it back, because he will always, always regard similarities to Dio as an insult. It will never, ever be anything Giorno ought to take pride in, and Polnareff isn't about to encourage that line of thinking.]
And you'd do it again.
[It's not a question, nor is it any kind of condemnation. He says it to himself, simply to confirm it; a quiet acknowledgement of the fact.]
When did you first start fighting?
[Maybe they should have started with this. Hardship, and then softness. Getting to know the man before the boy.]
no subject
He doesn't know if he could think of a worse hell. Dying, and never having relief or rest-- just to relieve those last agonizing moments, over and over, caught in the worst kind of pain, tortured and yet never being allowed any kind of relief. Polnareff's been close enough to death to know that kind of pain; he remembers the faltering dimness of his vision, the roaring terror in his brain, the thought that at least it will all be over soon.
Would he have done that to Dio, if he'd had the ability? Probably. But it would have haunted him, eaten at his mind no matter what-- and yet Giorno tells him this steadily, uneffected by anything approaching guilt.
He can't say I take it back, because he will always, always regard similarities to Dio as an insult. It will never, ever be anything Giorno ought to take pride in, and Polnareff isn't about to encourage that line of thinking.]
And you'd do it again.
[It's not a question, nor is it any kind of condemnation. He says it to himself, simply to confirm it; a quiet acknowledgement of the fact.]
When did you first start fighting?
[Maybe they should have started with this. Hardship, and then softness. Getting to know the man before the boy.]
Fourteen, you left home. Around then?