ICONOCLAST

@caliburnt liked my starter call.

“You owe me,” Stated rather confidently as she slid into the booth across from him. One of the few bastions of hope in godforsaken Fortuna, a barely in business bar on the outskirts, the one place lacking many self-righteous ears. He was still healing from the wounds of battle, while she had been scrounging about for the lost trinket he’d gotten Kyrie mere hours before. “I know you’re on the oh-so limited budget of the order, so I’d be willing to take payment in installments.”

❝  That’s generous. ❞   He answers dryly,  having watched Verin stroll her way to him from the entrance, hiding the slight relief that he no longer has to continue minding his business in the corner of the bar, glaring daggers at the remaining patrons who dared look his way.  The place is a shithole, all smoke and haze plagued by a smell burning the inside of his nose, but he’ll relent in complaining about it just this once.  

She had found it, after all.

                         ❛    She seems——–   nice .    ❜        𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧  𝐚𝐭  𝐚𝐧  𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭  𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭  𝐨𝐟  𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐚  𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 ,        it still manages to come out sounding unsettlingly DEROGATORY .   Almost wincing at the way it leaves him ,   he masks it with the swift clearing of his throat ,   glancing back towards the younger hunter .         ❛    I take it you’ve known one another for quite some time ?    ❜

               @caliburnt​ liked for a starter!

The delivery of the stilted comment seems to be brushed aside.     Nero’s gaze remains intent on following Kyrie to the corner she rounds before leaving them to their own company.  With the final glimpse of her auburn hair out of sight,  the softness that had once fondly encompassed his stare now dithers, resurfacing to his usual,  albeit,  conflicted expression. 

As far as the first meeting had gone it hadn’t turned for the worst,  even if he had been a shitty mediator.     ❝  I can barely remember a time without her,  ❞    and any memory before Kyrie and Credo had stepped into his life was fruitless to recollect.  Only a sea of condemning faces and the upturned noses of orphanage caretakers,  a life coloured by rumours and speculation.