"Would you?" he echoed back, rhetorically. There were unsavory people everywhere, a curse of humanity, but there just weren't many at all, out here, so Alastor had a hard time imagining Lotte knew the full width and breadth of humanity's indecency. There were no cities here, no strong-armed criminals, no folks who made a career out of maiming any weaker thing they could get their hands on. Not to the scale one saw in cities, anyway. The victims were too far and between, out here. Pain was inflicted on those closest to these mundane criminals, their wives and children, mostly. Sometimes witches who roused their ire.
"True enough," Alastor agreed with a nod and a shake of his foot, dangling where it was crossed over his opposite knee. "But I know plenty of places to hide a body. It isn't only this grave of a place that's good for that." In fact, though he didn't doubt her estimation of the place, he imagined it only got by on its sheer vastness, unchartedness. Everything here was so flat and featureless, there weren't exactly many intentional dumping grounds, that he could tell.
But then, as he'd observed to himself so many times before, he didn't know much about this place. He was glad, in a way, not to know it.
At her question, his foot bounced again, and he sucked at his bottom lip, sliding his glasses back onto his nose. They were hardly necessary, anymore, but he didn't feel quite himself without them. "I don't suppose I have any need of that," he mused. Not to strike up any new bargains, anyway. And that wasn't to say that he wouldn't, only that if he did, it would be purely by his own devising. There would be no more calling him up from Hell against his will. He simply wasn't there. "But if a man wants killing, I suppose I'll have to oblige."
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"Would you?" he echoed back, rhetorically. There were unsavory people everywhere, a curse of humanity, but there just weren't many at all, out here, so Alastor had a hard time imagining Lotte knew the full width and breadth of humanity's indecency. There were no cities here, no strong-armed criminals, no folks who made a career out of maiming any weaker thing they could get their hands on. Not to the scale one saw in cities, anyway. The victims were too far and between, out here. Pain was inflicted on those closest to these mundane criminals, their wives and children, mostly. Sometimes witches who roused their ire.
"True enough," Alastor agreed with a nod and a shake of his foot, dangling where it was crossed over his opposite knee. "But I know plenty of places to hide a body. It isn't only this grave of a place that's good for that." In fact, though he didn't doubt her estimation of the place, he imagined it only got by on its sheer vastness, unchartedness. Everything here was so flat and featureless, there weren't exactly many intentional dumping grounds, that he could tell.
But then, as he'd observed to himself so many times before, he didn't know much about this place. He was glad, in a way, not to know it.
At her question, his foot bounced again, and he sucked at his bottom lip, sliding his glasses back onto his nose. They were hardly necessary, anymore, but he didn't feel quite himself without them. "I don't suppose I have any need of that," he mused. Not to strike up any new bargains, anyway. And that wasn't to say that he wouldn't, only that if he did, it would be purely by his own devising. There would be no more calling him up from Hell against his will. He simply wasn't there. "But if a man wants killing, I suppose I'll have to oblige."