11-25-2017, 08:55 AM
MAKE ME A HERCULES  Mutual dislike of a third party does have a tendency to bring people closer together. The enemy of your enemy is your friend, after all. Unless, of course, you happen to disdain making friends, and in fact regard it as a complete waste of time, which you could instead use in reconsidering every single one of your choices and mistakes in life or stubbornly refusing to improve yourself or take steps to do better, wallowing in your guilt and regrets and self-loathing until the end of time. In which case, everyone is an enemy, and Sparrow shouldn't hold her breath, lest she suffocate from lack of oxygen. He has no intention of getting close to anyone. Everâ€â€Âagain. He's learned his lesson, thanks very much.
He pins his ears back, narrowing his eyes at Sami. "I don't know what that means, but I'll assume it's nothing nice." He pauses for a moment, an impulse building up a thundercloud in his throat. The rational side of him tells him no, but some deeper, hidden part of his heart screams for him to do it. It seems he already has enemies here, so what's the harm in it? Perfectly deadpan, he says, <Two can play at that game,> Norwegian rolling off his tongue unpracticed but intent. A few years have passed since last he spoke more than the occasional, impassioned curse, but he speaks clearly, confidently, and doesn't let anything but a raised eyebrow distort his expression. Your move.
The stench of alcohol hits his nostrils and he instinctively draws back, gaze shifting from Sami to the bottle in Sparrow's paw. Distaste creasing his snout, he lifts his head, haughty and arrogant. "No thanks. I don't drink." He snorts derisively at Sami's words, unable to stifle his amusement. He succeeds in not laughing at Sparrow's retort. As Sami (gracefully, which is to say, the opposite of it) makes his exit, he catches sight of the bracelet wrapped around the tortoiseshell's hind leg. He furrows his brow, makes note of it, then turns to Sparrow. "Pointing me to a place where I can find fresh-kill would be helpful." There's nothing kind about his demand, just prickly conceit.
/ the interaction here is glorious i'm crying
He pins his ears back, narrowing his eyes at Sami. "I don't know what that means, but I'll assume it's nothing nice." He pauses for a moment, an impulse building up a thundercloud in his throat. The rational side of him tells him no, but some deeper, hidden part of his heart screams for him to do it. It seems he already has enemies here, so what's the harm in it? Perfectly deadpan, he says, <Two can play at that game,> Norwegian rolling off his tongue unpracticed but intent. A few years have passed since last he spoke more than the occasional, impassioned curse, but he speaks clearly, confidently, and doesn't let anything but a raised eyebrow distort his expression. Your move.
The stench of alcohol hits his nostrils and he instinctively draws back, gaze shifting from Sami to the bottle in Sparrow's paw. Distaste creasing his snout, he lifts his head, haughty and arrogant. "No thanks. I don't drink." He snorts derisively at Sami's words, unable to stifle his amusement. He succeeds in not laughing at Sparrow's retort. As Sami (gracefully, which is to say, the opposite of it) makes his exit, he catches sight of the bracelet wrapped around the tortoiseshell's hind leg. He furrows his brow, makes note of it, then turns to Sparrow. "Pointing me to a place where I can find fresh-kill would be helpful." There's nothing kind about his demand, just prickly conceit.
/ the interaction here is glorious i'm crying