And did he believe that she believed? Alastor wasn't sure, and he laughed with bright, quick mirth that lit the space beyond the purview of the low lamplight and the flicker of fire from the wood stove. And if she did believe, what did that matter? It would be interesting to see her try to kill him, though he had no sights on ever threatening her in such a way that would warrant it.
Still, one could never know what the future held. One could never know if she would one day become dangerous to him in such a way that he would have no choice but to try and eliminate the threat to preserve himself. And if he did, she would fight back. At this stage, he couldn't see which of them would prevail.
That uncertainty was more thrilling than it should have been.
"Maybe it is," he agreed, watching the shape the tendril of smoke from her lips took, as if he could divine their futures from it. It was hard to focus on now, with the whiskey swimming in his belly all the way up to his ears. "I can still feel it there, you know. In Hell. Waiting for us. Maybe it'll rot there!" he exclaimed with a sort of joy and pressed himself back tighter into the pillows, his shadow shifting around him to accommodate the further reclining of his position. "But not what's in you. Suppose I'll see it again? Your blood?"
no subject
And did he believe that she believed? Alastor wasn't sure, and he laughed with bright, quick mirth that lit the space beyond the purview of the low lamplight and the flicker of fire from the wood stove. And if she did believe, what did that matter? It would be interesting to see her try to kill him, though he had no sights on ever threatening her in such a way that would warrant it.
Still, one could never know what the future held. One could never know if she would one day become dangerous to him in such a way that he would have no choice but to try and eliminate the threat to preserve himself. And if he did, she would fight back. At this stage, he couldn't see which of them would prevail.
That uncertainty was more thrilling than it should have been.
"Maybe it is," he agreed, watching the shape the tendril of smoke from her lips took, as if he could divine their futures from it. It was hard to focus on now, with the whiskey swimming in his belly all the way up to his ears. "I can still feel it there, you know. In Hell. Waiting for us. Maybe it'll rot there!" he exclaimed with a sort of joy and pressed himself back tighter into the pillows, his shadow shifting around him to accommodate the further reclining of his position. "But not what's in you. Suppose I'll see it again? Your blood?"