DECLAN
Sunjata can withdraw, Declan makes no further comments about that. It's probably best that they don't get too wrapped up in their emotions. Especially since Declan's are inherently stunted. He'd be of no use for Sunjata to spill his emotions to, not here, not now. They have a job to do, as indicated by that cryptic fucking letter. They bury themselves in blood and sand, lines of red staining Declan's arms.
I don't know...
Declan takes a sharp inhale of breath, annoyance piercing his gaze and clenching his jaw. He squeezes the cloth one last time, knuckles whitening, and then he resumes working on the floor. Circular motions, that's what gets the tough stains out. Red bubbles surface along the boards in his wake. He wipes those away too. By now the rag is a damned sight to behold. It had been white, now it's clotted with blood and grime.
He retrieves the next rag to begin the process again because this is no easy mess to clean. But his hands are moving relatively fast, especially now that his temper is spiked by Sunjata's self-absorption.
Declan doesn't give a damn about the dead kid, doesn't know him and now he never will - and that's fine. That's one thing. It's another thing, however, that now he is on Sunjata's side of whatever battle this is. Something tells him this isn't anything to do with the Order, which is a whole other thing in and of itself.
"And ya know who it is," Declan speaks up suddenly, resuming the conversation as if several minutes hadn't just passed in concentrated, tense silence. But he doesn't look up from what he's doing, doesn't lift that icy gaze of his to steel it over Sunjata. Not yet, he's too irritated and he doesn't want to get upset. "So 'm guessin'... that ya know what else they might do. To get at you. Who else ya got around, Sunjata? Hm? Your husband. Your guild. Your people." It's then that he looks up at the other man, he can't help it, it has to be said. He slowly leans back, knelt down among the soap and blood. "You really think y're the only one that's gonna suffer? Look around, look at this!" He throws the bloody rag down at the ground, pursing his lips angrily and letting out a heated, shaky breath.
So much for not getting upset.
I don't know...
Declan takes a sharp inhale of breath, annoyance piercing his gaze and clenching his jaw. He squeezes the cloth one last time, knuckles whitening, and then he resumes working on the floor. Circular motions, that's what gets the tough stains out. Red bubbles surface along the boards in his wake. He wipes those away too. By now the rag is a damned sight to behold. It had been white, now it's clotted with blood and grime.
He retrieves the next rag to begin the process again because this is no easy mess to clean. But his hands are moving relatively fast, especially now that his temper is spiked by Sunjata's self-absorption.
Declan doesn't give a damn about the dead kid, doesn't know him and now he never will - and that's fine. That's one thing. It's another thing, however, that now he is on Sunjata's side of whatever battle this is. Something tells him this isn't anything to do with the Order, which is a whole other thing in and of itself.
"And ya know who it is," Declan speaks up suddenly, resuming the conversation as if several minutes hadn't just passed in concentrated, tense silence. But he doesn't look up from what he's doing, doesn't lift that icy gaze of his to steel it over Sunjata. Not yet, he's too irritated and he doesn't want to get upset. "So 'm guessin'... that ya know what else they might do. To get at you. Who else ya got around, Sunjata? Hm? Your husband. Your guild. Your people." It's then that he looks up at the other man, he can't help it, it has to be said. He slowly leans back, knelt down among the soap and blood. "You really think y're the only one that's gonna suffer? Look around, look at this!" He throws the bloody rag down at the ground, pursing his lips angrily and letting out a heated, shaky breath.
So much for not getting upset.
I'm not always good.
