His guildmate continued with quiet words. "I don't like what you did yesterday, but…I can't pretend you did it out of pure malice either. It's…"
The rest was lost on Cobra as he lay there, perplexed. Once again he briefly considered the whole thing to be an elaborate trap, but he couldn't understand the logic behind it. What scheme of Macbeth's ever involved him apologizing? This was more roundabout than most, but still. Even taking into account mind games, what purpose would it serve to present himself so demurely to someone he'd known all his life? A stranger, perhaps, as a way to lead them on, but Macbeth knew Cobra would know better. What was going on? The longer the apology continued, the more surreal it became.
Without moving, Cobra tried a different approach, attempting to peer inwards. It usually didn't bear much luck, but given the strangeness of the situation, for once he thought he might as well try. If on the off chance Macbeth slipped, perhaps he could hear his guildmate's plan.
"So, what I'm trying to say is…I'm not entirely happy with you either…but you don't quite deserve all the flack everyone else is giving you. It's…not fair to you."
Cobra ears perked up at the last words, for with it came a surprisingly clear image. One saddened face, framed by long, wavy white hair and deep blue eyes. The love monster herself.
Mirajane.