[He nods, and heads for the door. Deep breaths. Get in the zone for it. Stop thinking about how cute your boyfriend is, and his big radar-dish ears, and how he's just good, every time he can be, and think about...
...think about how nice that suit was, and what a fuss was made over a fraction of the meal's cost. Think about the waiter, who Atem can't blame for not smiling at someone whose income is several times bigger, someone who came into a nice place and decided to be stingy about the staff...
Think about how that guy wouldn't have been so full of himself if the restaurant were a monster establishment.
Think of the Fog, who would have him tear away the same entitled, petty attitudes of humans who spurred on the war that, according to the lore, ravaged the world outside the peninsula, and replace it with fear.
They step out the door, and Atem pulls his hand free of Ryou's. The man in the suit and hat is about to step into the passenger side of a well-waxed car, when a long shadow, stretching out from Atem's legs, its three eyes glowing on their own against the pavement, falls over him.
This is for you, Atem thinks. And for me, and for the power I need.
The man looks up, as the shadow falls across him -- and, suddenly, Atem's a blur. Ryou will be able to follow it with his eyes: Atem taking off towards the man at a run, one hand coming out, connecting with the man's chest and wrapping around a handful of the shirt, and the momentum carrying them both a distance far enough from the car to feel unsafe, to make it difficult to get back to. The man's back slams into a brick wall, not hard enough to leave him unconscious but hard enough that, when time speeds up again, he's coughing.
Atem doesn't remove his hand. The man's pinned like a butterfly. Atem himself is a shadow-outline, all black but with glowing yellow eyes -- remarkably shadelike, only entirely solid.]
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...think about how nice that suit was, and what a fuss was made over a fraction of the meal's cost. Think about the waiter, who Atem can't blame for not smiling at someone whose income is several times bigger, someone who came into a nice place and decided to be stingy about the staff...
Think about how that guy wouldn't have been so full of himself if the restaurant were a monster establishment.
Think of the Fog, who would have him tear away the same entitled, petty attitudes of humans who spurred on the war that, according to the lore, ravaged the world outside the peninsula, and replace it with fear.
They step out the door, and Atem pulls his hand free of Ryou's. The man in the suit and hat is about to step into the passenger side of a well-waxed car, when a long shadow, stretching out from Atem's legs, its three eyes glowing on their own against the pavement, falls over him.
This is for you, Atem thinks. And for me, and for the power I need.
The man looks up, as the shadow falls across him -- and, suddenly, Atem's a blur. Ryou will be able to follow it with his eyes: Atem taking off towards the man at a run, one hand coming out, connecting with the man's chest and wrapping around a handful of the shirt, and the momentum carrying them both a distance far enough from the car to feel unsafe, to make it difficult to get back to. The man's back slams into a brick wall, not hard enough to leave him unconscious but hard enough that, when time speeds up again, he's coughing.
Atem doesn't remove his hand. The man's pinned like a butterfly. Atem himself is a shadow-outline, all black but with glowing yellow eyes -- remarkably shadelike, only entirely solid.]