The Cross Cloaked in Mists
01-18-2014, 07:02 PM
OOC: But he's being a gentleman, Twig D:
Carlito "Sucre" Dalibor
Still she resisted. What was a wolf to do? He'd been friendly, he'd been witty, hell, he'd even been respectful and still she remained unreachable. No, more than unreachable. She was cold. What else could he do? She'd made no sound of irritation and this time when she spoke there was no sneer to her words, although they still remained unfriendly. This was progress. He'd ignore everything else and fixate on this one small victory. Progress had been made.
The brute sighed, conceding for a moment the conversation. Perhaps from there he could nudge their talk into becoming more than just civil. This politeness on his part was becoming exhausting. All he wanted was a genuine conversation and maybe, just maybe, if he wasn't asking too much (and maybe he was), how about some sign that she was happy? Or at least amused...and NOT amused by his needless suffering.
Sucre opened his mouth to spill what he knew about the crosses and then slammed it shut as a thought struck him. He didn't need to be so forthcoming. After all, she was being as tight-lipped and unyielding as they came. Two could play this game. If only she'd been nicer, then he wouldn't have had to stoop to her level.
He studied the mark on her shoulder, staring at it hard until the shape was seared onto the backs of his eyelids. Finally he asked the question that might prolong their conversation. "Does it have to look exactly like that?" It was simple and a bit tactless, but served a duel purpose; one he hoped she wouldn't pick up on.
Carlito "Sucre" Dalibor
Still she resisted. What was a wolf to do? He'd been friendly, he'd been witty, hell, he'd even been respectful and still she remained unreachable. No, more than unreachable. She was cold. What else could he do? She'd made no sound of irritation and this time when she spoke there was no sneer to her words, although they still remained unfriendly. This was progress. He'd ignore everything else and fixate on this one small victory. Progress had been made.
The brute sighed, conceding for a moment the conversation. Perhaps from there he could nudge their talk into becoming more than just civil. This politeness on his part was becoming exhausting. All he wanted was a genuine conversation and maybe, just maybe, if he wasn't asking too much (and maybe he was), how about some sign that she was happy? Or at least amused...and NOT amused by his needless suffering.
Sucre opened his mouth to spill what he knew about the crosses and then slammed it shut as a thought struck him. He didn't need to be so forthcoming. After all, she was being as tight-lipped and unyielding as they came. Two could play this game. If only she'd been nicer, then he wouldn't have had to stoop to her level.
He studied the mark on her shoulder, staring at it hard until the shape was seared onto the backs of his eyelids. Finally he asked the question that might prolong their conversation. "Does it have to look exactly like that?" It was simple and a bit tactless, but served a duel purpose; one he hoped she wouldn't pick up on.
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