The white sheep of the family
Loren shrugged, though he grinned a little as Weaver easily deflected his less than subtle suggestion. "Apparently not. How can you be baited into bed then?" He took a sip from his mug as he waited for what was likely to be another dismissal.
Letting out a huff of laughter, he shook his head. "Not so much, no." Striking, powerful, memorable, maybe worthy of someone's attention every once in a while, yes, but handsome no. Raising an eyebrow at her question, he smirked, deeply amused by her words. "Love them. Better than the rocks I slept on growing up." There was a wry tone to his voice. If she was hoping to deter him by making her life seem deeply uncomfortable, she was going to be sorely disappointed at what he was willing and able to tolerate.
Hesitating, he found his finger tapping on the mug again. "Considering how tight-lipped everyone is about the past in Caido, I imagine we'll never really know the truth of why the supply dried up, if the trade ever existed to begin with." As for whether more could be found, well, he carefully didn't answer that, considering he had a pretty good idea exactly where it was.
"It's a little different burning the living." Sighing, he finished his drink, and tapped the bar for another, losing track of how many he'd had as the foggy tipsiness stole upon him. The drink loosened his tongue a little more than was probably wise. "My family has a similar tradition, though it's always magical fire. From magic we are born, to magic we return." It was just about the only tradition of the Launceleyns he liked, as evidenced by the strange acceptance in his voice.
As she listed off all those she'd lost, he listened, a surprisingly sympathetic expression on his face. Although another mug was placed by him, he ignored it for now. Instead, it was his turn to reach out and rest a hand on top of hers. "I'm sorry for your losses. I know how painful losing family is." Indeed, his sorrow spoke of an intimate familiarity with that particular pain. "It's just me and Neron left, really."
When she raised his chin, he sighed, but met her gaze. At her words, he smiled bitterly, a twisted expression with no hint of joy in it. "Guess I'm in the consumption phase then." As soon as she released him, he lifted his mug and drank deeply from it.
However, he paused at her question. Lowering his cup, he stared at her with haunted eyes. "I don't know." The words came out with a sort of raw honesty. "For most of my life, I lacked that freedom, so dreaming about it was just painful. And when I did dare to dream, it got snuffed out." He glanced away, not wanting her to see the depths of despair and self-loathing that suddenly welled up in his eyes.
Letting out a huff of laughter, he shook his head. "Not so much, no." Striking, powerful, memorable, maybe worthy of someone's attention every once in a while, yes, but handsome no. Raising an eyebrow at her question, he smirked, deeply amused by her words. "Love them. Better than the rocks I slept on growing up." There was a wry tone to his voice. If she was hoping to deter him by making her life seem deeply uncomfortable, she was going to be sorely disappointed at what he was willing and able to tolerate.
Hesitating, he found his finger tapping on the mug again. "Considering how tight-lipped everyone is about the past in Caido, I imagine we'll never really know the truth of why the supply dried up, if the trade ever existed to begin with." As for whether more could be found, well, he carefully didn't answer that, considering he had a pretty good idea exactly where it was.
"It's a little different burning the living." Sighing, he finished his drink, and tapped the bar for another, losing track of how many he'd had as the foggy tipsiness stole upon him. The drink loosened his tongue a little more than was probably wise. "My family has a similar tradition, though it's always magical fire. From magic we are born, to magic we return." It was just about the only tradition of the Launceleyns he liked, as evidenced by the strange acceptance in his voice.
As she listed off all those she'd lost, he listened, a surprisingly sympathetic expression on his face. Although another mug was placed by him, he ignored it for now. Instead, it was his turn to reach out and rest a hand on top of hers. "I'm sorry for your losses. I know how painful losing family is." Indeed, his sorrow spoke of an intimate familiarity with that particular pain. "It's just me and Neron left, really."
When she raised his chin, he sighed, but met her gaze. At her words, he smiled bitterly, a twisted expression with no hint of joy in it. "Guess I'm in the consumption phase then." As soon as she released him, he lifted his mug and drank deeply from it.
However, he paused at her question. Lowering his cup, he stared at her with haunted eyes. "I don't know." The words came out with a sort of raw honesty. "For most of my life, I lacked that freedom, so dreaming about it was just painful. And when I did dare to dream, it got snuffed out." He glanced away, not wanting her to see the depths of despair and self-loathing that suddenly welled up in his eyes.
Will blood tell
