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Attila considered his brother's every word with focused attention; not a single stutter branched past his ears. Indeed, Claudius had been busy, as Attila had hoped he'd been — busy, and more seemingly involved than normal. Though abandoned by their mother for her own goals and destinations, Claudius had yet to fall apart. He'd sought out their half-brother, who went by a name Attila had never heard. More names, more faces he had never seen nor been informed of. What was his mother trying to hide? Why did he still not know the identity of his father, when even Claudius seemed to?
He wondered, just briefly, if he himself would shake so terribly with the information weighed on his brother's shoulders.
Just as he and their mother were on some sort of justice trip to avenge Noir, Claudius had set for himself his own variation of goals and an inner obligation to help. He had suffered — it explained the scratching at his wrists. Tortured, perhaps. A fire burnt in the younger Aston's chest ever so briefly before he forcibly extinguished it. That's exactly why I wanted you to come with me, he said, no bitterness in his tone. Hints of concern, darkness, fear. A desolation in his icy blue eyes.
All right, he said finally, inhaling deeply and releasing the breath in a long sigh. I understand. You got your own stuff to do, and I got mine. Mom and I, we're going to take down the people who killed Noir, but... we'll try to keep in touch.
Claudius had, one way or another, responded in the way he had always urged Noir to. He showed signs of strength and determination he had never before, even if they were still in a cowardly fashion. It was a step; Attila acknowledged that with a stiff nod and strong gaze connected with his brother's eyes, then turned to leave once more. Don't let yourself get killed, he said finally, eyes wandering a nervous moment before he added on one final, weak word: please.