* THE PUPPET

The     SAINT     ponders     for     a     moment ,      such     a     simple      question     but     he     could     feel     the     captivated     presence     of     his     puppeteer     who     craved     the     answer     to     such     a     question .         After     a     moment     he     speaks ,     there’s     a     sternness     to     his     tone     and     his     form     while     his     expression     stays     hidden     and     stoic .

‘         it’s .   .   .     not     that     simple .          impurity     cannot     be     so     easily     summed     up     into     a     few     select     traits ,     because     IMPURITY         AND         CORRUPTION         has     many     forms .         for     me ,     drawing     out     the     impure     is     simply     a     matter     of .  .  .     FAMILIARITY .         i     can     feel     it .         i     call     out     to     impures     and     specters     alike     and     they     reveal     themselves     to     me     as     i     command .         the     select     definitions     of     impurity     is     not     up     to     me     to     decide ,     i     simply     observe ,     recognize     vile     and     corrupt     entities ,     and     dispose     of     them .        

        Ah, if it isn’t his favorite customer — or, well, his only customer. He doesn’t really have anyone to compare him to. The Elsen don’t have much use for his wares, and the Guardians probably wish him dead; last time he saw Dedan, he was shrieked at for raising his prices and chased out of Alma ( which, well, didn’t last long ).

        “What are you looking for?” He drops his heavy bag on the ground with a thump, undoing the clasp and pulling it open. It seems bottomless when he digs through it, pulling one item out after the next. Meat, tickets, Jokers, and even offensive equipment he’d been withholding until he thought the Batter was capable enough to handle them. “Your bat looks a little worn, dear reckless companion, and are those blood stains? You should take better care of it. Fortunately…”

        He pulls two sleek bats from the bag, sets them down, and spreads his arms with flourish. “I have new ones in stock, and I’m sure you will find them much to your liking. If you have the credits to spare.”

The Saint watches as the items are pulled and tossed from the merchant’s satchel, occasionally glancing down and cocking a brow at the jokers and equipment that piques his interest before bringing hidden eyes back to Zacharie. Upon the gentle scolding of his treatment of the bat, he looks over at his weapon of choice curiously almost surprised that someone would be put off by the blood.

‘ I require a new bat and seven luck tickets. What’s necessary to my mission shall be done, regardless of the cost. ’

He comments idly in a rather somber tone, yet his expression reads as more apathetic. Rummaging around within the pockets of his uniform he draws out credits, thankfully he’d managed to get all of the necessary funds and then some through the seemingly aimless wandering the puppeteer had led him on throughout the Zones. Of course, he trusted the otherworldly being despite this as it had all paid off thus far. Quite literally in this sense.

‘ Of course, of course .  .  . ’

Nodding at the right bat in the other’s hands while also extending a rough calloused hand with his credits he continues.

                           ‘ .  .  . Ah, I believe that one will suffice. ’

yet that word piques his interest -- Adventure? Well, he supposes it could be, though he wasn’t sure adventure was the right word for it, -- ( especially with such a grim ending that he knew was coming. ) -- Nonetheless, he offers a breathy exhale from out his nose while a smile tugs at his lips, though something sad hides behind it.