neron
Her barrage is something he has been waiting for, in truth; Neron knows more than anyone that he keeps tiptoeing the line of Morgan’s patience, the Hailstorm mildly surprised that she hasn’t clouted him by now. His lips part as if to ask just why she hasn’t sentenced him to death, if that’s the case, when suddenly the Glacier is answering the question herself, and is expression melds into something a little more amicable, a little less frosty.
”It is a bad habit of mine,” he says quietly, ”to ensure that those I respect never catch on to it.” With the faintest of smiles, he shrugs his shoulders. ”Though perhaps I ought to tell my stubbornness to take a back seat for a while, given that it’s putting my neck on the chopping block.” Still, he raises his eyebrows to hear that Morgan doesn’t, in fact, hate his guts. A man has his suspicions, but... well, you never know.
”You aren’t so bad yourself,” he informs her.
”It is a bad habit of mine,” he says quietly, ”to ensure that those I respect never catch on to it.” With the faintest of smiles, he shrugs his shoulders. ”Though perhaps I ought to tell my stubbornness to take a back seat for a while, given that it’s putting my neck on the chopping block.” Still, he raises his eyebrows to hear that Morgan doesn’t, in fact, hate his guts. A man has his suspicions, but... well, you never know.
”You aren’t so bad yourself,” he informs her.
lay your hand on me, one last time
