[Stoneface listens to Juliet's explanation impassively. Had it been any other time, he would have interrupted the man, objected to the pointless blather that doesn't really explain anything at all. Now, though, even with the dreadful memory fresh in his mind's eye, a taught string ready to snap, he's enjoying the night's air too much to bother.

He realizes, in some abstract form, that this is Juliet spilling out what he knows to be his life's story. As far as he's concerned, all this means is that Juliet was a bastard in his previous life and couldn't come to terms with it, made excuses and faked compassion.

That's Juliet's problem, and he doesn't care. As long as the man keeps to himself and doesn't go on a killing rampage, it's none of his concern. It was, in the elevator, but not any more.

He is expected to say something, though; this is for his own benefit, after all. Stoneface blows a plume of smoke into the air to gain more time, then speaks.]

Compassion's not exactly something you can create, or fake. Memories or not, you are what you are and being jaded's no excuse.

[He should know. He's not that monster with two swords in the memory, and he knows that as well as he knows anything. It's just one part of him, one that he keeps heavily leashed. Some people don't have that strength. Does Juliet?]

I hope you don't plan on viewing it as entertainment here, [he says lightly, but a hint of menace creeps into his voice.]

Is that all?