exsecutus | inbox.

From:

He doesn't enjoy.

[And neither does Nikos, if his tone is anything to go by. Still.]

I'm beginning to think you don't know him at all.

From:

sarcophage

Everyone enjoys something.

[For the benefit of those only listening in: Lea's just snatched a bottle of liquor from a catering cart on his way past, casually and confidently.]

Hmm. Bottle from the Anderfels, windmill on the label. Have you ever tried it?

Edited Date: 2019-04-17 03:45 am (UTC)

From:

exsecutus

[Nikos snorts. The first part confirms that this guy does not know Kostos. The second part--]

Why. Are you offering?

From:

sarcophage

To the man who cordially invited me to fuck off only moments ago? Mmmn... no. Another time, perhaps. What's your schedule like?

[If only there were someone nearby who could understand the face he's just made as an aside; the rando walking by didn't properly appreciate it.]

From:

exsecutus

That was a direction. Not an invitation. And for a bottle from the Anderfels, my schedule is un-fucking-available.

Your courtesy is noted.

[Prick.]

From:

sarcophage

[But so friendly a prick.]

Very well—another time and another bottle, let's say. What would you prefer? Something... Antivan, maybe?

From:

exsecutus

[Whatever u say and also what the fuck]

Preferably left on a doorstep. Unaccompanied.

From:

sarcophage

Ahh, now it's your turn to fuck off, I think. I'm not a delivery service.

All jests aside—if you do change your mind, my name's Lea, and I'd be delighted to make your acquaintance. With or without a bottle.

From:

exsecutus

Now I'm disappointed.

[Also--]

Why.

From:

sarcophage

Why... for the sake of it. I'm interested. I'd like to have a look at you and so forth.

[He's stopped walking.]

Has no one ever been friendly to you before?

From:

exsecutus

Oh, no, my mother kept me locked in a cellar and my father had a moat installed to prohibit any overtures of friendship.

[In almost the same breath--]

Of course people have been fucking friendly to me before. But the way in which this has gone feels suspect. Like a sad widow writing letters to anyone who will take them.

Not to mention you thought I was my brother first.

From:

sarcophage

[That sad widow comment, of all unexpected things, cools him off considerably—and yet, he manages not to sound defensive.]

As you may recall, I did attempt to leave this conversation—you're the one who kept it going.