The hollow snorted a mild sound and arched a brow, “Not really. I tend ta speak pretty forwardly, friend, if I was afraid enough ta feel like I needed ta tell ya I wanted ta live, I’d tell ya I wanna live.” Call it stupidity or bravado, he’d yet to meet an opponent he couldn’t defeat. If nothing else, he was confident he could make an escape if the need arose. He shrugged, though didn’t take his eyes off her.

The hollow didn’t so much as flinch, not at the severed head and certainly not at the threat. Whether he was outmatched or not had very little to do with it. Even if there was a spark of disease in him, he would never show it to the source of said disease, and so he stood there with all of his usual confidence, the sword on his back a comforting weight. “Maybe ya should sometime. It’s more fun that way; when the few that know ‘bout ya fear ya so deeply that they spread that fear among others. Real entertainin’.”

The hollow grunted a short laugh, “That’s true.” Even if he had a name to give out, he doubted her’s would mean anything to him. Neither did her apparent title. “Never heard of ya.” With a laugh, he added, “I didn’t get out much.”

Normally he wouldn’t bother interrupting another hollow’s meal, unless he planned to make a meal of said hollow. It was simple etiquette. The closest thing to manners a hollow knew. But it was impossible not to be curious, and he always let his curiosity get the better of him. He shook his head a bit, standing as if unworried, with his hands relaxed at his sides. All confidence, as usual. “I’m no one. Who’re you?”