[For all the struggling and talk, he isn't putting up much of a fight. Diavolo, for a second, considers muffling the boy's constant noise with his hand - just long enough for him to be heard - but the sharp ache in his palm dissuades him. One thing in his disjointed speech stands out: "this place". It seems he is new. And he insists he is not human, but there he flails, all skin and hair, without a single monstrous feature to distinguish him from the rest.
That realization fills Diavolo's stomach with ice. The dread sets in fast - there's no telling who else may have arrived. He pushes the boy along further still, into the shade despite the creeping sense of dread, out of sight.]
Quiet. I'm not going to hurt you. [He insists, but his grip doesn't slacken and he only presses forward so that he can speak even more softly.] You need to tell me what you're running from. I... I need to know. [He takes another sideways glance at the street, wishing, not for the first time, that his appearance wasn't so flashy compared to the masses. There's nowhere to blend in out here.]
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That realization fills Diavolo's stomach with ice. The dread sets in fast - there's no telling who else may have arrived. He pushes the boy along further still, into the shade despite the creeping sense of dread, out of sight.]
Quiet. I'm not going to hurt you. [He insists, but his grip doesn't slacken and he only presses forward so that he can speak even more softly.] You need to tell me what you're running from. I... I need to know. [He takes another sideways glance at the street, wishing, not for the first time, that his appearance wasn't so flashy compared to the masses. There's nowhere to blend in out here.]