#anordinaryroach

Maybe it had made a mistake. 

Still, watching the high and might prince’s face contort in absolute disgust was worth it. At least for a time. Then the uncertainty crept back in and the longer he was in the pod, the more sure the captive was that he wasn’t getting out of this alive. He almost wished he had volunteered to be fitted with explosives for...situations like these.

Lucky Xaallo, otherwise he’d be regrowing his face.

Beside. There were hatchlings at the nest. Yes, they had caused the pandemic in the first place, but that didn’t mean anything to him or any of the other mazrats. The hatchlings came first. They were too much of an investment to just let die of the virus. And so he wouldn’t talk, no matter how Xaallo bribed and threatened.

Their antennae perked for a moment at hearing their name, then flattened close to their head, a little concerned how this stranger knows their name. Bor knows entities can learn things just by a thought or just knowing it right off the back, but still make them a lil uneasy. 

 Barbor glanced at him in his general direction, a small mixture of curiosity and concern is plain on their features. "Y-yeah? That me, who are ya? Did I do somethin wrong?"

Yes, is the correct answer to that, but the Warden is kinder than his words would like to be. It’s in his interests, too, to avoid making others feel threatened right off the bat. He doesn’t want this one running away, or fighting back.

“ Haven’t we all done something wrong? ” Necromancer. Thief. “ You’re no more guilty than I am, Barbor. ”

So friendly, but still neglecting to tell them who he is.

Expression Meme || @an-ordinary-roach (open)

          “That’s a bolt screw for the stand.” She huffed, wearing her telltale frown as she walked right up to where she had everything dismantled, all neatly laid out like a diagram from memory. It seemed she had caught them just in time, before they stuck their nose into inspecting her new merchandise. This wasn’t a rifle built for her preferences; semi-automatics were good for firing off magazines all at once, but they were wasteful with ammunition and hard to control. Might as well hand them off to a group of monkeys and they'd be just as effective. Maybe that’s why they sold so well, what with humans being glorified monkeys, as she reached over and picked up another, more crucial part to its design.

          “Now this is part of the spring load for the trigger.” She explained, showing them a small coil that fit right in the palm of her hand. So small and easy to miss, that someone might deem it insignificant. But without it, the weapon would fail to function properly and just be a hunk of metal.

I was incapacitated, not blind.

[ ...Okay he was mostly blind at the time. ]

is it the worst time, or the BEST time?

It's not an odd thing, people coming to her with items that they need or want identified. Such was the life of her, as the patroness for a sanctuary that specialized in getting supernatural creatures back on their feet and away from those who might do them harm. If one actually asked for a number, they might be surprised the many things that people brought into her home without even realizing that there was an enchantment on them.

So, when Bor comes to her with the small, palm-sized statue, it's with an expectant hand that she holds her hand out towards them.

"Let me see it for a moment," she offers, or rather, insists. She could feel the fae magics practically rolling off of the little statue, and wanted to connect with it to see what she might find that they might not be able to extrapolate. They may be fae in personality and body, but Barbor was certainly not fae in upbringing.