[ Its so very gruesome. He knew the City was a construction that was just as cruel, or maybe crueler than Zaun, but seeing it is something altogether different. Were he a younger man, a weaker man, the man he'd been once, he thinks he would have been sick seeing all of this. The small bodies, the monster before them, Everything.
Half his expression is inert, staring as always, but the other narrows, watching all of it. The monster that reminds him so much of something the doctor would dream up, but Vergilius is so fast, and so powerful that he moves like lightning, he has the body the creature was pulling apart, but it's too late. Another body for the pyre, another death. He almost starts at the body crashing into Vergilius, he takes several steps back, as if he could be affected by all of this.
He can't, can he? Despite the fact that he can breathe the smell of burning bodies and the burn of smoke. His unblinking eye takes in the details, the woman. Like a snake, a sharp viper that he knows, and he wonders β who she is. He has pieces of Vergilius's history, he can guess who this is, but there is no certainty. The man has as many secrets and mysteries as he does, doesn't he?
His breath hisses out, his eyes catch Vergilius's, when he looks at him. He's staring at him, more than the woman, even now. (How damning.)
He tells him not to move, though the temptation remains to skitter back, but he doesn't. He offers him only the barest of nods, half in acknowledgement, and half something else β as if to say: 'well? Kill her already.' ]
no subject
Half his expression is inert, staring as always, but the other narrows, watching all of it. The monster that reminds him so much of something the doctor would dream up, but Vergilius is so fast, and so powerful that he moves like lightning, he has the body the creature was pulling apart, but it's too late. Another body for the pyre, another death. He almost starts at the body crashing into Vergilius, he takes several steps back, as if he could be affected by all of this.
He can't, can he? Despite the fact that he can breathe the smell of burning bodies and the burn of smoke. His unblinking eye takes in the details, the woman. Like a snake, a sharp viper that he knows, and he wonders β who she is. He has pieces of Vergilius's history, he can guess who this is, but there is no certainty. The man has as many secrets and mysteries as he does, doesn't he?
His breath hisses out, his eyes catch Vergilius's, when he looks at him. He's staring at him, more than the woman, even now. (How damning.)
He tells him not to move, though the temptation remains to skitter back, but he doesn't. He offers him only the barest of nods, half in acknowledgement, and half something else β as if to say: 'well? Kill her already.' ]