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She doesn’t care for duet’s little one. And your pale imitation serves only to irritate my ears. Grow to the point she listens back, and we shall have something to talk about. And with as much ceremony as the bucket of water (read : None.) a fluffy, dry towel drops over Gerome’s head.
Gerome receives his own bucket of water over his head. NO.
A thin pillar of red smoke rises out of the floor beside Markus. Swiftly coalescing into a nearly ten foot tall crimson woman, one busily engaged in a highly theatrical yawn. She finishes that and glances lazily around the room, seemingly unbothered by everything inside it. A little daughter of the stars, trying hard to hide her scars. Sleeping power long since lost, strong if we can bear the cost. Little black wings spoke it true, but all 3 - not one - to pay that due. Heart to craft the metal dream, Heroes more than what they seem. Two crazies in that damned city? Fine, but keep them far from me. She smirks. An oversized hand rises, a single taloned finger pointing square at Ouroboros. And that one stinks of Archaeomancer. Going back to sleep now. She vanishes as every eye turns to the Tiefling. |
