( For just a moment, he's tempted to scoff. Tempted to call bullshit, and point out that everyone's brave when they talk, but the talking isn't the important part. But then he considers it, and his eyes cut to her again, studying her face.
If he knows nothing else about her so far, he knows that she — wisp of a thing she is, slender slip of a girl maybe five and a half feet tall, all on her own out in these woods — approached a man who looks like him. Talks like him. Acts like him. Gnarly fucking face and uglier attitude. He didn't see her bat a single fucking eyelash about it, nor about stuffing herself up under his bloodstained armor to half-cart his lame ass across a mile of snow. Not the type to scare easy.
So he hums instead, a thoughtful noise, and then turns his eyes back toward the wisps of smoke and civilization edging into view before them.
The Darkwalker makes you run. )
S'pose we'll see about that.
( Which is, quite frankly, the kindest possible retort anybody could've gotten from him about it all, and no small feat to have accomplished. Not that she'll have any way of knowing that.
Anyway, either it'll bleed or he will, when the time comes. He won't pretend to know enough to place a bet on which. And, when finally she deposits his half-crippled hulking form into town, he makes a silent, unhappy note that he owes her one, now. A debt he'll have to find a way to pay back, the sooner the better. )
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If he knows nothing else about her so far, he knows that she — wisp of a thing she is, slender slip of a girl maybe five and a half feet tall, all on her own out in these woods — approached a man who looks like him. Talks like him. Acts like him. Gnarly fucking face and uglier attitude. He didn't see her bat a single fucking eyelash about it, nor about stuffing herself up under his bloodstained armor to half-cart his lame ass across a mile of snow. Not the type to scare easy.
So he hums instead, a thoughtful noise, and then turns his eyes back toward the wisps of smoke and civilization edging into view before them.
The Darkwalker makes you run. )
S'pose we'll see about that.
( Which is, quite frankly, the kindest possible retort anybody could've gotten from him about it all, and no small feat to have accomplished. Not that she'll have any way of knowing that.
Anyway, either it'll bleed or he will, when the time comes. He won't pretend to know enough to place a bet on which. And, when finally she deposits his half-crippled hulking form into town, he makes a silent, unhappy note that he owes her one, now. A debt he'll have to find a way to pay back, the sooner the better. )