I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
She repeated his introduction and for a fleeting moment he bit back the desire to ask whether she was stupid. He had just said that he was Bruise of Pangea, hadn’t he? Instead he gave her a cold smile, unable to shake the thought that this had been a mistake. People came to the field because they cared about their home or because they cared about making sure people found the right place to live. Bruise did not care about either of those things and it was truly a wonder that he had managed to find his way here at all.
The only thing he could hope for in this moment was that she would be brief.
Or at least actually be stupid so he had a decent enough reason to leave.
“Your father has an odd sense of humor,” he said, smile cruel as he considered her. “Or perhaps you are indeed perfect.” Just a hint of charm again, enough to soften his angular face, to make it easy to note that he was indeed handsome, that he was indeed easy on the eyes. “Either way, it doesn’t really matter to me.” She could be the prettiest damn thing he ever saw, but he only cared about what she looked like when her eyes were rolled back in her head, when terror claimed her face. Until then, she was just another zombie wandering Beqanna and sucking it dry of life. He just didn’t have the patience for it all.
Shrugging, restlessness clear in every line of his lithe body, he glanced back to the border. “I really don’t have all day, Perfect,” her name rolled sardonically off his tongue as he brought his flat shark gaze back to her. “Do you want to come live in Pangea or do you want to wait for some bottom-feeder to sweep you off your feet and take you to your happily ever after?” At this point, he really didn’t care.
