"It was." The other Englishman only gets a sparing glance from Arthur, but those brown eyes are sharp now, eyeing off the other man for just a second with violent intent.
(Nothing personal, Hickey. He just doesn't trust easy right now.)
And attention back to the table. "Luckily, whoever brought me here saw fit to make sure the correct amount was put back inside me. Otherwise I'd be in far worse straits."
His glance flicks across the table again, and for a moment he's distracted by the thought, How the fuck am I supposed to even recognise anything else of mine? -and then he spots a hilt, half buried under some abandoned jacket, and he is whip-sharp in snatching it up to get a better look at it.
A slick, black blade - he's not sure if it's metal or stone, but its edges are sharp, still coated with a thin limn of dried blood, and when he shifts it to rest properly in his hand - fuck, but he can feel how well it sits in his fingers. This is his.
Re: feast
(Nothing personal, Hickey. He just doesn't trust easy right now.)
And attention back to the table. "Luckily, whoever brought me here saw fit to make sure the correct amount was put back inside me. Otherwise I'd be in far worse straits."
His glance flicks across the table again, and for a moment he's distracted by the thought, How the fuck am I supposed to even recognise anything else of mine? -and then he spots a hilt, half buried under some abandoned jacket, and he is whip-sharp in snatching it up to get a better look at it.
A slick, black blade - he's not sure if it's metal or stone, but its edges are sharp, still coated with a thin limn of dried blood, and when he shifts it to rest properly in his hand - fuck, but he can feel how well it sits in his fingers. This is his.