#thevoraciousfreelancer

Name one thing about the way their emotions work that they despise.

The truth is Narciso can’t bear to be disliked. He’s learned to laugh off scandal, to wink and say the only worse thing than being talked about is not being talked about. But surely, if the mobs got to know him before banding together to drive him to the tomb-colonies, surely they’d become the best of friends? Over cards, and a case of Morelways, perhaps.

“Each other time was like child’s play,” the Irrepressible Bruiser’s voice calls out through the Flit, but they’re nowhere to be seen. “When we’d fight? Like quarreling children. This time it’s different, and you know it.” A thud. They must’ve just jumped down from a landing.

“I know why you’re here,” They say, walking into view. They’re several metres away, already prepared for the fight. Their hands go up in front of them. “Let’s do it, then.”

--

It might all be worth it when you see the look on the Bruiser’s face: shock at first, and then an immediate laugh. Nothing about the situation is particularly funny, and you may even be annoyed by the loss of the element of surprise.

“Of course it’s you,” They say. “I had a feeling, and I rather wished it wouldn’t come to this, but there’s no looking back now.”

(Eerie, almost your exact thought.)

[Alexis used to be an active spirifer but now only participates in the 'trade' part of it, instead of the stealing-souls bit 0v0]

I am right this very moment trying to work out whether or not, if Var knew, they would still consider Alexis as eligible for one (1) remorse-free permanent murder.

The Flit was rarely quiet or coherent, especially after racing laughing, whooping urchins.  But the sound of their name reaching the Freelancer's ears was both, however the bloody hell that could be.  Still, stalking across a walkway was a small, vaguely familiar figure, his palms pressed against the walls he was between, a clever way to keep his weight away from the sodden wood.  Once he stepped onto the tiles of the roof, he reached Alexis, his nostrils flaring.

"You nearly knocked me off the Flit!"

There’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ a hedonist.

Well.  Worry might not be the right word.

The honey is debatably safe, y'know.