“ mm. you again. . . “ there, in the lilt of his voice resided something decidedly ‘ playful ’, as if it were easily parsed in the case of vincent; no. derisive. moreso in spirit of his companions, who of many begrudgingly accepted him for results and results alone. his eyes did not waver from the screen before him; flickering hardlight bobbing at his beck and call, a variance of sigils morphing into dozens of hundreds of variants: a localized lightshow within the room, otherwise dark, illuminated by their gentle blues. “ ain’t hear you due back for some time. placide’s words. “
the wreath he adorned was set aside, however, despite his attention never once waning. “ heard he took you to them butcher down the way, too. try to scare you. thought ‘ he won’ come ‘round no more ‘. . . seriously. “ punking out mercs wasn’t unheard of. even with those longstanding. he, especially, enjoyed picking on them. it went without saying that even valentin could find amusement in it; who wouldn’t? admittedly, he knew better. vincent’s type wasn’t so easily deterred by threats, be they empty or well intentioned. “ you bring me back what i ask for? scrap. or ion help you with that problem. “
@postbeing .
