If the old man realizes he's treading on dangerous ground he gives no sign of it. Maybe he's got cataracts. Maybe he's just lived enough of a life to be fresh out of fucks. Whatever the reason, he continues to glare up at the General with a cruel, crooked grin of yellowed teeth. "I'd prefer if there were doors like that on every building," he replies. "I'd prefer a leadership that keeps us good folk safe, instead'a protectin' the unnatural element."
At last he steps back, almost nonchalant. "'course, you Outlanders wouldn't know unnatural if it grabbed you in the dark and fucked you raw." A third time he spits, though it's somewhat less impressive by now. "You don't know shit about what my ancestors went through, about the war, any of it. That's why you're fine being weak, swinging swords at straw."
At last he steps back, almost nonchalant. "'course, you Outlanders wouldn't know unnatural if it grabbed you in the dark and fucked you raw." A third time he spits, though it's somewhat less impressive by now. "You don't know shit about what my ancestors went through, about the war, any of it. That's why you're fine being weak, swinging swords at straw."
helpful citizen
