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No.

[It's quiet, but gentle. Her hesitation — even fear, perhaps — stings him with a sorrow that surprises even him; it's not that he didn't think she cared about him, of course, but she sounds so apprehensive about receiving the confirmation that he might have been present for one of those aforementioned orgies of cruelty, even with firsthand confirmation right in front of her that he'd survived it if he had.

So he seeks to comfort her. He speaks gently, and reassures her immediately before elaborating.]

Spirit World often turns a blind eye to crimes committed against demons, but these incidents were so heinous that even Spirit World couldn't feasibly ignore them. I caught wind of it through them — certainly that group of individuals are on Spirit World's figurative radar for a number of ongoing transgressions, not just those events.

[Thank god, and some of the tension eases out of her. Not all of it, no, but-- god, thank god, and Rosalind has to duck her head and focus on the pie for a moment, her fingers clenching and loosening, til she can get control of her expression once more.

And as she stares at nothing, she wonders at that confession. She'd known little of Makai, yes, but from the way he'd spoken of it before, she hadn't thought them some kind of-- of oppressed population. God, the way he'd spoken of Youko, he'd made it sound as though he was some kind of king, swaggering around, too powerful to ever be contained.]

Are you all so hated?

[Certainly the word demon doesn't bring much good to mind. But her world is entirely separate from his, and anyway, demons don't exist at all in her home. She'd assumed the rules were vastly different.]

Edited 2017-03-16 06:05 (UTC)

[Oh. Now that's a good question, isn't it? Are you all so hated, and the easy answer is no. No, of course not, certainly there are degrees of tolerance. Certainly a demon that causes no harm is at least judged differently than one who plots to harm humankind and overrun the earth.

And yet even as that kneejerk impulse passes through his mind, it occurs to him just how unlikely and naive an impulse it actually is. Why were two paroled demons sent to assist the Spirit Detective in his attempt to quell a rebellion and uprising? Certainly something like that couldn't reasonably be construed as "community service" on the part of Spirit World. Was it because they stood a high chance of success at best — and were expendable at worst?

And why, furthermore, did Koenma link their two sentences, so that any transgression on Hiei's part would be reflected back on him as well? His deeds have nothing to do with Hiei's. Not unless his selfish interest in his own freedom would incentivize him to control Hiei.

And Hiei was ready to kill humans for the sake of his sister. Why had Koenma moved? Was it really for Yukina's sake — or was it out of concern of what Hiei might do in the course of rescuing her?

Are demons all so hated?]

Hated, feared. Demons tend to be a fairly straightforward breed — immensely powerful, generally violent. In intelligence we tend to vary widely from little more than beasts to creatures with perception on the level of the human conception of gods.

But I don't know that we're inherently any more evil than humans are. A few humans have come to conclude that, thankfully, but not many, and they're few and far between.

[She isn't certain how to respond to that. I'm sorry? Only that's both pathetic and useless, even if she truly does feel the sentiment. I'm sorry your entire species is hated and feared, I can't possibly imagine-- no. He knows her well enough to see her sympathy and horror, and that's enough. Not every emotion needs to be articulated.]

I should think humanity a bit worse, frankly.

[Not that he's confessed every demonic crime. But Rosalind has seen too much of humanity's worst to ever think particularly fondly of the species as a whole. And frankly, there's something refreshingly straightforward about the label of violence, especially as a means to acquire power. It isn't good, but it's a far sight better than, say, something being mutilated and told it was for their own good.

Perhaps someday she'll tell him of the Handymen. Of the Firemen, of all of Fink's terrifying inventions, all the horrific little details that had made up day-to-day life in Columbia. But not today.]

. . . we've strayed a bit from pie-making, I think.

We have. But I think it comes full-circle, in terms of the scope of humanity.

[He offers her a faint smile, finishing up with the apples and then tipping the bowl toward her for a taste of the same.]

Your range, I think, is far wider in scope than demonkind's. Capable of far more cruelty, to be sure, but also sometimes...a model for how we could be better, as well.

You're speaking to the wrong twin if you'd like that perspective, Kurama.

[But her voice is a little brisker now. It's a tart reply, lighter and easier than the slow, somber replies she'd given before. Rosalind steals one more apple piece, humming softly in pleasure as the sweetness hits her tongue.]

Especially on the heels of thinking of Jeremiah Fink.

I would've said that's a case in point. You've seen a world whose human race encompasses both Jeremiah Fink and Robert Lutece.

[What endpoints. The worst and the best of what the world has to offer — from one person's very biased viewpoint, at least.

But then, that's sort of the point.]

But I'll tell him the same, if you like. Someday.

Someday.

[Someday, someday. Someday, he will come to get her, Rosalind knows. He'll find his way into her arms once more, because Robert is as attached to her as she is him, and a life without her will be very nearly intolerable. They tore open the universe once to find one another, and he will again. But . . .

She remembers Booker. Seventy-two years, Elizabeth had once waited for him. Robert will come for her, yes, of course he will, but there's no guarantee it'll be anytime soon. A year? Two years? But ah, does it truly matter? He'll come for her, and they'll find a way out, and time will once again cease to have any meaning for them. They can spend an eternity making up for lost time.

(She dreams of him sometimes. She dreams of him stepping off that train, of falling asleep in his arms, his fingers tangled in her hair, his breath slow and even. The way he'd look, dressed down the way she is, his crisp waistcoats and suit jackets traded in for nothing more than an Oxford shirt. The way he'd act, giddy that they were in a place where they could act as a proper couple, delighted by all the friends she's made for them. She knows him so well, her mind knows precisely what he'd say, what he'd do, right down to the way his hand would feel in hers, and--

And then she wakes up, and her longing grows all the worse for it).]

I suppose I'll brag to your mother on that day. Your son's by far the best pie maker I've ever met, even if he lets people sneak bites, something like that.

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