liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene
"Quite so," Neron says with a smirk. "They were the military force in Northaven, from grunts all the way up to the General of the Storm. They made up quite a large proportion of the populace." For good reason as it happened, but Neron had never bothered himself too much with the Wall and what lay beyond it. His concerns lay much closer to home. Speaking of which, "Oh gods, much more interesting," he drawls with a smile. "There were marriages and scandals galore. Our glorious leader had not long taken his second wife when I ended up here."
Sighing, because ah, those were the days, Neron watches their server depart before turning his attention wholly back to Flora. "Exactly, thank you," he agrees, gesturing as if the excitement of the afterlife might just appear before them for him to take back with him to Mort's realm. "I always wonder if there's a way to actively promote myself to poltergeist. At least then I can cause a little excitement for the living to pass the time."
For tonight, though, Flora is here to spin her tale of drama and intrigue, Neron's steely blue eyes growing brighter with the promise of something steeped in excitemment. And he's the picture of a perfect audience, hanging on each golden thread of gossip as if he might be able to examine it between his fingers. Queen of Torchline, you say? Rejected across the board? Those bastards.
"But of course you did," he croons approvingly as she moves onto her work with The Hanged Man, the Launceleyn seeming both unsurprised and simultaneously delighted to hear it. If they had their drinks already, he'd have raised his in a toast to fuck 'em, but alas, they'll have to wait. "What a shame for him," he says of her political opponent, sounding saccharine in his pretense at empathy. "And here you are, queen still? I ought to have searched the afterlife for some finer clothes than this."
Sighing, because ah, those were the days, Neron watches their server depart before turning his attention wholly back to Flora. "Exactly, thank you," he agrees, gesturing as if the excitement of the afterlife might just appear before them for him to take back with him to Mort's realm. "I always wonder if there's a way to actively promote myself to poltergeist. At least then I can cause a little excitement for the living to pass the time."
For tonight, though, Flora is here to spin her tale of drama and intrigue, Neron's steely blue eyes growing brighter with the promise of something steeped in excitemment. And he's the picture of a perfect audience, hanging on each golden thread of gossip as if he might be able to examine it between his fingers. Queen of Torchline, you say? Rejected across the board? Those bastards.
"But of course you did," he croons approvingly as she moves onto her work with The Hanged Man, the Launceleyn seeming both unsurprised and simultaneously delighted to hear it. If they had their drinks already, he'd have raised his in a toast to fuck 'em, but alas, they'll have to wait. "What a shame for him," he says of her political opponent, sounding saccharine in his pretense at empathy. "And here you are, queen still? I ought to have searched the afterlife for some finer clothes than this."
Neron
