"I'm never not a manipulator, Eridan," Eddie clarified. He was exhausted, his spirit stripped of his prior confidence and glamor. He was exhausted, his body worn and broken and splintered, new skin still cracking over old wounds. Despite his self-aware enigma, despite his casual and static smirk, he felt depleted. It was easier to rest, a moment, to understand the once-protege in his company. To remember what times had been.

The clawing down his neck begin to sting. Red welts, he estimated, would soon form. Blood he felt already.

"That's what I have to offer either side. That's what I've always given to myself, alone." Vaguer wording. He was slipping into memories, and wasn't that good at dodging the bad ones. "Always."