I write sins, not tragedies
Without answering the question, Wessex flexes the muscles in one of her arms and a set of metal talons sprout from between her knuckles. Her look of concern deeps as she looks at them, and then tries to remember what the Manticore looks like. “It’s just a lion’s claws, right?”
Well, then maybe it wasn’t the best idea. She backpedals a bit. “What if, instead of Remi, you say it was an Order member or two who channeled a spirit to attack. It could be anything, then, and you won’t need to, I don’t know, sit for evidence?” There’s an ivory glint along her bottom lip as she continues to mull and right herself and turn to the door.
Now? Now is good.
“And what if I don’t find you? So I can’t be linked to it at all. Would that preserve some dignity?” It might be the most pointless question of all the ones she’s just thrown at him, because they both know nothing will change the fact that she’s going to have to beat and slice and abuse the hell out of him. If there's dignity in that - she'll have to really dig deep to find it.
Well, then maybe it wasn’t the best idea. She backpedals a bit. “What if, instead of Remi, you say it was an Order member or two who channeled a spirit to attack. It could be anything, then, and you won’t need to, I don’t know, sit for evidence?” There’s an ivory glint along her bottom lip as she continues to mull and right herself and turn to the door.
Now? Now is good.
“And what if I don’t find you? So I can’t be linked to it at all. Would that preserve some dignity?” It might be the most pointless question of all the ones she’s just thrown at him, because they both know nothing will change the fact that she’s going to have to beat and slice and abuse the hell out of him. If there's dignity in that - she'll have to really dig deep to find it.
WESSEX
