NERON
the hailstorm
Neron takes it all in, his steel blue eyes clear and calculating in the inspection. He sees the Ascended bites, he sees the shifts and changes in Sunjata’s eyes, skin, teeth. The man is a thousand things beneath this eloquent facade, all of them useful. None of them much good against the cold, though. He’s strolled to stand a few feet back, raising his eyebrows as he listens, as he lets his eyes flicker up and down yet more alterations in Jata’s appearance.
”Congratulations,” Neron drawls, obviously regarding the upcoming nuptials. He doesn’t sound like he means it. ”And which family do you mean?” he inquires. The Ascended family, or the much more dangerous Launceleyn line? ”Given that I am no longer Warden, you will understand if I do not care as much for my reputation.”
But he’s got a point, does Sunjata, and Neron lets a little of the ice melt from around him. ”There’s a saying,” he murmurs. ”If you can’t beat them, join them. Let us see if we can’t make some kind of arrangement. I assume you still want a finger on Halo’s pulse?”
”Congratulations,” Neron drawls, obviously regarding the upcoming nuptials. He doesn’t sound like he means it. ”And which family do you mean?” he inquires. The Ascended family, or the much more dangerous Launceleyn line? ”Given that I am no longer Warden, you will understand if I do not care as much for my reputation.”
But he’s got a point, does Sunjata, and Neron lets a little of the ice melt from around him. ”There’s a saying,” he murmurs. ”If you can’t beat them, join them. Let us see if we can’t make some kind of arrangement. I assume you still want a finger on Halo’s pulse?”
