it's a beautiful lie
Neron pours a drink for them both, because why the fuck not, and even though it does absolutely nothing for him in terms of taste or social lubricant, it's still a companionable thing to do, right? Sliding a tumbler that's already iced over from his magic to Sunjata, he hums his agreement with the eloquent first response. "Thank you," he replies, just as politely, the Launceleyn streak running as deeply in him as Korofi runs in the Flood.
"You? Drama? Perish the thought," he drawls, clinking his glass with Sunjata's and taking a sip. "What is it this time, apart from everything?" With a fanged grin, he leans in as well, prepared to share in this conspiracy that Jata's so helpfully sharing. Steel blue eyes widen, Neron tilting his head and leaning further against the counter.
"A regular little rebel, aren't you," he says. "I thought you were in the Old Gods' pockets. What changed?"
"You? Drama? Perish the thought," he drawls, clinking his glass with Sunjata's and taking a sip. "What is it this time, apart from everything?" With a fanged grin, he leans in as well, prepared to share in this conspiracy that Jata's so helpfully sharing. Steel blue eyes widen, Neron tilting his head and leaning further against the counter.
"A regular little rebel, aren't you," he says. "I thought you were in the Old Gods' pockets. What changed?"
it's a perfect denial
such a beautiful lie to believe in
NERON
