That last question strikes a lot like a brick to glass-- hard, fast, and leaving little besides shattered bits in its wake. Diego can't hide the fracture that causes, because it breaks completely across his face in the scarcely lit kitchen, before he can catch it and school it into something more akin to indignation before the rest is registered and seen.
The ire follows, eventually, when he speaks; features suddenly twisted sharper, eyes narrowed, voice like a dagger. "Fuck you, Luther! How the hell do you think you have any right to pin that on me? What is it, because I had the balls to do what I wanted, and what I thought was best for me, instead of blindly following someone who did nothing to show he gave a damn about us, in seventeen years?" Diego is not still in his anger, his hands move in a bit of an erratic way, emphasizing points as he yells.
"He hated us, Luther, how do you still not see that and not blame him for that? I told you we should all leave and get away from him! Allison tried to get you to leave. But you didn't even listen to her, because you couldn't see the forest for the trees. You were too goddamn stubborn to listen to anybody, because Number One knows best, right?" He scoffs and shakes his head, "How well did that work out for you?"
All the bluster in the world doesn't hide those first few seconds of soul-deep fracture caused by Luther's accusation, though. There's still traces of that dejection at the edges of his eyes, despite his words, if someone were to look close enough to notice it.
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The ire follows, eventually, when he speaks; features suddenly twisted sharper, eyes narrowed, voice like a dagger. "Fuck you, Luther! How the hell do you think you have any right to pin that on me? What is it, because I had the balls to do what I wanted, and what I thought was best for me, instead of blindly following someone who did nothing to show he gave a damn about us, in seventeen years?" Diego is not still in his anger, his hands move in a bit of an erratic way, emphasizing points as he yells.
"He hated us, Luther, how do you still not see that and not blame him for that? I told you we should all leave and get away from him! Allison tried to get you to leave. But you didn't even listen to her, because you couldn't see the forest for the trees. You were too goddamn stubborn to listen to anybody, because Number One knows best, right?" He scoffs and shakes his head, "How well did that work out for you?"
All the bluster in the world doesn't hide those first few seconds of soul-deep fracture caused by Luther's accusation, though. There's still traces of that dejection at the edges of his eyes, despite his words, if someone were to look close enough to notice it.