well any man with a microphone
can tell you what he loves the most
can tell you what he loves the most
When she yawns, when she replies with an utter lack of decorum that he finds almost charming, August’s smile slips a little wider. He didn’t think that if she knew the true currency of the Scarab she would find it so dull. He also doesn’t think the gambling den would be visited by the Warden any time soon, and that could only be a good thing. Not all their patrons shared the same viewpoints on Raum, and that would be far from the only thing Morrighan would find disagreeable about their little establishment.
“I will.” He has learned in his brief time with her there’s no need to elaborate. In fact, when she says nothing else for a moment, he begins to amble forward, assuming their conversation ended. Her voice catches him and he turns at once, though it takes a blink of his silver eyes to place the man she asks about. August had never heard the name spoken.
“I have no idea,” he says, and thinks better of asking her whether that isn’t something the Warden should know. With a last glance at the paint, August dips his head before turning away again. “Good afternoon, Warden.”
The truth was, August hadn’t even wondered about the stallion, or what fate might have befallen him. And even now, as he moves down the street and toward the harbor, he only wonders what that says about himself.
@Morrighan
