#ourvice

Kimbley hadn’t been “captured.” He was never “captured.” The truth of the matter was that he’d come entirely of his own accord---but he wasn’t above slyly feigning capture, if it meant it would allow him closer to his goal.

Through the disheveled, twisted encampment, pushed along toward the bandit leader himself: Greed, a creature he’d heard so very much about. He and his malformed cohorts---malformed in ways that put the other Pandoran residents to shame---were in charge of this little piece of land, often referred to as the Devil’s Nest, and Kimbley had found a sense of intrigue in studying their habitat and history. Something about Hyperion’s hand in their creation, but rumors could only travel so far before becoming warped by mouths equally warped.

So he wanted to gain the truth for himself, marched roughly through the miniature town until he saw him---and, once they’d tossed him before that makeshift throne, grinned up unconcerned towards him, golden eyes glinting in the glaring sunlight.

he isnt above punt-kicking bratty siblings. especially short ones. come'ere

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