Life on Mars
06-21-2020, 07:12 PM
“Good, because I haven’t given it to you, either.” She chuffed softly — ‘didn’t ask,’ her ass. That was a stretch, snark or no snark.
And anyways, this was squarely on his shoulders. “You did ask what I was doing here,” she reminded him, head cocked, ears planing back. “I just answered, or am I not allowed to do that, either?” Her ears flickered forward again, and she slid her gaze to the river.
He could squint at her as long as he pleased, which would be delightfully ironic if it wasn’t mildly irritating. Askan Selwyn didn’t owe her anything — but then, neither did she. As long as he remained his prickly self, she would continue to point it out. Of patience, she had little, and even less for edgy little shits like him. He hadn’t personally offended her thus far — they knew too little of each other for him to take a real jab at her — but gods, if this little interaction wasn’t the slightest bit tiring for her.
And surely it had to be the same for him? Willfully (she assumed) interpreting her every word and movement as something to be sneered at? The man had done plenty to show her his quills, though he’d actually said very little.
But hey, that was a personal problem.
The observation that followed was distinctly snark-less. “I don’t disagree.” It was all she offered in reply, and almost mockingly short. If he didn’t want to hear her life story, she certainly wasn’t about to give him a thesis on pack placement in southern Boreas.
Not at first. She couldn't keep him in the dark for long, could she? "Both are a part of the Ashen Empire," she explained, turning to face him. "The Armada is an offshoot of the other pack, Ashen. A bit of a warrior school, you could say."
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