[ He hates when he's reduced to irrelevancy — absolutely loathes when his ideals are squandered away at some other person's fleeting whims. Elliot himself is so capricious, easily spun by the same argumentative points of contention he forces onto other people, but he never wants to have his own trump card inflicted upon him in just measure. It's insulting, but more than that, he's no more furtive about his alibis than the next schmuck with a penchant for disparaging misanthropy (but then that would make him some incarnate version of the Ouroboros, always feasting upon himself, enacting the same judgment he administers himself with).

It's annoying, but he can discern some level of nonchalance from Kaoru — even as her face chops up into another rebuttal, it's muted — her response lacks edges where he'd wanted (desperately coveted) a sharp-laced retort, if just for shutting it down.

It's not Leo before him, however. He understands that much.

Dispassionate, Elliot sinks into his chair, deprived of his former manic feverishness. ] Only for the cultists. It wasn't something spoken highly of in reasonable parties. It's sensationalism there as much as it is here.

[ He doesn't address the latter statement's insinuation at point-blank regard. ] Then you've never bore even a fleeting thought where your soul might end up? Beyond all these useless trivialities — there must be something — an idea. Even just a notion of what lies after for you, even if there's nothing at all.

[ Confirmation or denial of his own beliefs is wholly inconsequential, regardless. He just wants the corporeality of an honest-to-god answer. ]