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Oh, derp. o.o I am all kinds of derp.
Clearly Claudius did not expect the reaction he received, and at that Attila could only avert his gaze and resist all efforts to simply shrug it off like nothing. The younger Aston knew well his own personal attempts to "turn over a new leaf" of sorts, though his interactions with his brother proved perhaps the male had not changed at all at his core. Perhaps it was too early, he considered. He had not yet had the full opportunity to allow Noir's death to sink in. He had not yet gazed into the eyes of his sister's murderers nor seen what monsters lurk within. He had not yet tasted their blood or learned what it meant to be a killer himself.
Glancing briefly at Claudius, Attila could only hope he would never face choices and situations of the same. Claudius, a killer? The concept dragged across his mind like smeared black paint against a white canvas. Impurity. A stain on something otherwise innocent. Attila knew himself fitted better to suit such stain on his soul. He would take the task onto his own shoulders for that reason, like so many others.
No relief washed over his form at the nod; no peace of mind calmed the storm in his ears. A word of confirmation would not be enough; for Claudius to stand strong and victorious in the end would be the end-all proof Attila needed. If Claudius died, then he'd only died a liar.
"Salsola," he said, after a moment's struggling to remember the name, "that's where mom has been staying. I'll be at the end of the Pictou, north of there, until she tells me to do otherwise." A pause. "It'd be good for you to come. She's not ... right in the head."