[His eyes move briefly back to Edward then, quite openly assessing, and though his face betrays no sign of emotion or suspicion, his thoughts are something else. He doesn't believe it, not really, this claim of not knowing. Suspects it to be a lie, or at best a half-truth. Wonders vaguely what this being might be hiding, why it matters.
But ultimately, it matters little to him.
As such the moment breaks and Giovanni shrugs, turns back towards the pods. Slim fingers reaching out to run idly along the cool metal surface of one, then the next.]
I see. And what about the others you spoke of? The ones you said seem something like myself, only different?
[Something like him. Not likely, he thinks. He hopes. What he is-- he may want to be better perhaps, may wish he was the tool Mother had created him to be, and yet. And yet. It's not a fate he'd wish on anything else. To be shaped by someone else's hands into something twisted and monstrous and wrong and doomed, ultimately, to misery.]
no subject
But ultimately, it matters little to him.
As such the moment breaks and Giovanni shrugs, turns back towards the pods. Slim fingers reaching out to run idly along the cool metal surface of one, then the next.]
I see. And what about the others you spoke of? The ones you said seem something like myself, only different?
[Something like him. Not likely, he thinks. He hopes. What he is-- he may want to be better perhaps, may wish he was the tool Mother had created him to be, and yet. And yet. It's not a fate he'd wish on anything else. To be shaped by someone else's hands into something twisted and monstrous and wrong and doomed, ultimately, to misery.]