“Did he host a game show in which tortured people for fun and profit?” Caspar asks, some snark sneaking back into his voice. Don’t conflate the issue, Lawrence.
After that, he falls silent for a long time, listening to the sordid details with a disappointed frown on his face. He can’t help but wonder what Reynard made Anna say specifically to make Harrowheart so angry, but it doesn’t really matter. Everyone has their triggers. He remembers the way Alexander’s throat felt under his fingers, all soft and vulnerable, when he threatened to crush the life out of it. But that was different. That man was spoiling for a fight.
Damn, Harrowheart. Reynard set you up good.
The rest of it — the threats to Anna’s life, the begging, the compromises on his necromantic powers — it’s like a photograph slowly coming into focus. Despite Lawrence claiming that they should have known better, he’s not sure that the man truly understands the position that Harrowheart was put in.
“Two things,” he says quietly, when Lawrence and Tamminy are finished explaining. “One — I don’t think Harrowheart can simply ‘give up’ necromancy. It sucks that he’d rather raise the dead than protect his sister, but it might not be a choice he can actually make.”
Caspar may not know what it’s like to be a death knight, but he does know what it’s like to be inhuman. To be different, down to the very thread of the fabric of your being.
“Two.” He pats the pocket of his blazer, where he keeps his PINpoint. “I have Isidor’s number if you want it.”
Because he also understands the necessity of protecting one’s own. He would have done the same as Lawrence.
Except he would have aimed for the head.
But the vitriol that flows through him so easily at the thought of Reynard does not come for Harrowheart. Mostly, Caspar is disappointed that the death knight was played so easily by the winter spirit. Of course, he’ll have to see how Adia feels about this… his guilt returns, coiling around his chest and making him roll his shoulders uncomfortably. “Or you can get her brother’s number from Adia. The park’s right around the corner here.”
And indeed, turning the corner, one finds a pleasant quad of green, full of blooming cherry trees and lush, well-manicured lawns. Adia is sitting on one of the many benches, Tepig in her lap and Lil’ Buddy at her feet, munching on something that he might have found in the nearby trashcan, oops.
no subject
After that, he falls silent for a long time, listening to the sordid details with a disappointed frown on his face. He can’t help but wonder what Reynard made Anna say specifically to make Harrowheart so angry, but it doesn’t really matter. Everyone has their triggers. He remembers the way Alexander’s throat felt under his fingers, all soft and vulnerable, when he threatened to crush the life out of it. But that was different. That man was spoiling for a fight.
Damn, Harrowheart. Reynard set you up good.
The rest of it — the threats to Anna’s life, the begging, the compromises on his necromantic powers — it’s like a photograph slowly coming into focus. Despite Lawrence claiming that they should have known better, he’s not sure that the man truly understands the position that Harrowheart was put in.
“Two things,” he says quietly, when Lawrence and Tamminy are finished explaining. “One — I don’t think Harrowheart can simply ‘give up’ necromancy. It sucks that he’d rather raise the dead than protect his sister, but it might not be a choice he can actually make.”
Caspar may not know what it’s like to be a death knight, but he does know what it’s like to be inhuman. To be different, down to the very thread of the fabric of your being.
“Two.” He pats the pocket of his blazer, where he keeps his PINpoint. “I have Isidor’s number if you want it.”
Because he also understands the necessity of protecting one’s own. He would have done the same as Lawrence.
Except he would have aimed for the head.
But the vitriol that flows through him so easily at the thought of Reynard does not come for Harrowheart. Mostly, Caspar is disappointed that the death knight was played so easily by the winter spirit. Of course, he’ll have to see how Adia feels about this… his guilt returns, coiling around his chest and making him roll his shoulders uncomfortably. “Or you can get her brother’s number from Adia. The park’s right around the corner here.”
And indeed, turning the corner, one finds a pleasant quad of green, full of blooming cherry trees and lush, well-manicured lawns. Adia is sitting on one of the many benches, Tepig in her lap and Lil’ Buddy at her feet, munching on something that he might have found in the nearby trashcan, oops.