Damien
and every demon wants his pound of flesh
but i like to keep some things to myself
but i like to keep some things to myself
Damien listened close while she laid it out, his dark eyes following the chute as another beast pressed through. Men closed in, quick and efficient, the animal out the other side before it even knew what had happened. He gave a small grunt, not of dismissal but of respect, the corner of his mouth tugging wry at the explanation. “Huh. Makes sense. Better than chasing down whatever wanders through Halo’s treeline. Easier on the teeth, too.”
It wasn’t envy in his tone, but a kind of quiet admiration. He’d lived his life on what the wild gave up, and it was [mostly] enough. But seeing the order of it all—the smoke, the pens, the dogs and riders corralling stragglers—it stirred something steady in him. Halo didn’t have the weather for this sort of operation. Not unless someone bred stock as stubborn as the tundra itself.
Her grin drew his own, fainter but just as real. He tipped his head, like he’d give it a thought. “Wouldn’t say no to cowboying, for a bit,” he admitted, the word feeling foreign on his tongue but for that he was no less eager to give it a whirl. “Think I could test out one of the horses while I'm at it?”
A hand dropped to the strap of his pack, the weight pressing solid down his spine, a reminder that business came first. “Oh, and your payment's all here. Plus a bit of an advance, if you're alright with boarding them.” His gaze cut back to her, steady as the cold. Though he didn't lay it all out here and now, giving Colt the say in where she wanted it unloaded. It was, indeed, his weight in coin (and a few other valuables; little gems or jewelry items which carried their own inherent trade value).
It wasn’t envy in his tone, but a kind of quiet admiration. He’d lived his life on what the wild gave up, and it was [mostly] enough. But seeing the order of it all—the smoke, the pens, the dogs and riders corralling stragglers—it stirred something steady in him. Halo didn’t have the weather for this sort of operation. Not unless someone bred stock as stubborn as the tundra itself.
Her grin drew his own, fainter but just as real. He tipped his head, like he’d give it a thought. “Wouldn’t say no to cowboying, for a bit,” he admitted, the word feeling foreign on his tongue but for that he was no less eager to give it a whirl. “Think I could test out one of the horses while I'm at it?”
A hand dropped to the strap of his pack, the weight pressing solid down his spine, a reminder that business came first. “Oh, and your payment's all here. Plus a bit of an advance, if you're alright with boarding them.” His gaze cut back to her, steady as the cold. Though he didn't lay it all out here and now, giving Colt the say in where she wanted it unloaded. It was, indeed, his weight in coin (and a few other valuables; little gems or jewelry items which carried their own inherent trade value).
