WISE MEN WONDER WHILE STRONG MEN DIE
Neron’s lips part to say something, though quite what it is he wants to tell Wessex is lost in the news that their mother does love him. Because the Wraith wouldn’t lie. Not to him, not about the Voice. And so he smiles at her, an open and boyish thing that might be sweet if not for the fangs, and he bobs his head enthusiastically in response. ”I will,” he announces. ”I will go to see her, yes. I’ll bring her something nice.”
Nice is such an un-Neron word, but there it is. And he’s already distracted anyway, the taste of the old-flower somehow on his tongue even if he doesn’t really know what it tasted like. Or how most things taste like, given the whole Ascended thing. Luckily, Wessex provides quite the wonderful image of a bald Bastien for him to latch onto, and Neron is cackling his way to the Kraai along with his sister.
And then a drunk tumbles the fuck out of there, and he’s suitably outraged. ”Oi!” he barks. ”We are CLOSED.”
Nice is such an un-Neron word, but there it is. And he’s already distracted anyway, the taste of the old-flower somehow on his tongue even if he doesn’t really know what it tasted like. Or how most things taste like, given the whole Ascended thing. Luckily, Wessex provides quite the wonderful image of a bald Bastien for him to latch onto, and Neron is cackling his way to the Kraai along with his sister.
And then a drunk tumbles the fuck out of there, and he’s suitably outraged. ”Oi!” he barks. ”We are CLOSED.”
