( Either of those two here? Annette was dead, and that other bastard... )
The blond. She didn't make it. ( Gutted by her own husband in monster form. Even if she'd been the one who caused his injury, shot Ada, shattered his view of Ada and his sense of purpose in one go, and had been one of the bastards responsible for the virus, there's something in his voice that... doesn't sound happy about it. Not quite sad, but it's a weight on his shoulders all the same. Your own creation, your own loved one doing you in? That's a rough way to go out, and a part of him wishes she could have been brought to proper justice. Not the justice of some monster who'd lost his sense of self. ) I'd say unlucky if I saw one of them.
( But he doesn't want to think about that. He's had enough of seeing the dead to last him a life time. Still, that other thing? It makes him sit up a bit straighter, looking around carefully as if he's expecting the tyrant to appear from somewhere around them and shatter the moment of calm he's found. But when he doesn't see anything, doesn't hear the heavy footfalls of his massive form, he lets himself breathe out again. Focusing on this guy and what he's saying. )
Owe you. ( But even those words trigger a memory, still fresh. I didn't realize you were keeping score. Though he does catch himself before he says anything else, lowering his hand from his shoulder and instead reaching up with the other arm to touch the slope of his neck and shoulder, tries to glance down at it as best he can. There's a nasty bruise there, too, the shape of a bite mark. Doesn't feel like it's bleeding, at least.
His eyes go up to the other, though, watch him with an expression that's not quite suspicion. Uncertain is probably the right word. )
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The blond. She didn't make it. ( Gutted by her own husband in monster form. Even if she'd been the one who caused his injury, shot Ada, shattered his view of Ada and his sense of purpose in one go, and had been one of the bastards responsible for the virus, there's something in his voice that... doesn't sound happy about it. Not quite sad, but it's a weight on his shoulders all the same. Your own creation, your own loved one doing you in? That's a rough way to go out, and a part of him wishes she could have been brought to proper justice. Not the justice of some monster who'd lost his sense of self. ) I'd say unlucky if I saw one of them.
( But he doesn't want to think about that. He's had enough of seeing the dead to last him a life time. Still, that other thing? It makes him sit up a bit straighter, looking around carefully as if he's expecting the tyrant to appear from somewhere around them and shatter the moment of calm he's found. But when he doesn't see anything, doesn't hear the heavy footfalls of his massive form, he lets himself breathe out again. Focusing on this guy and what he's saying. )
Owe you. ( But even those words trigger a memory, still fresh. I didn't realize you were keeping score. Though he does catch himself before he says anything else, lowering his hand from his shoulder and instead reaching up with the other arm to touch the slope of his neck and shoulder, tries to glance down at it as best he can. There's a nasty bruise there, too, the shape of a bite mark. Doesn't feel like it's bleeding, at least.
His eyes go up to the other, though, watch him with an expression that's not quite suspicion. Uncertain is probably the right word. )
What do you want?