The man was…well, nothing short of intimidating, especially staring and scowling at her as he was doing. The more Alice took the dark stranger in, the more she felt the hair prick up on the back of her neck.
But still…he had a face. That meant he had a role, according to the cryptic ‘rules’ that Wonderland seemed to run on. But even as Alice looked over him again, she couldn’t find any hint of who he could possibly work for. His cape was red, so that made her instantly think of the Queen…but there weren’t any hearts decorating his person, and his garb was almost opposite what the soldiers of the palace wore. His odd attire brought to mind Boris’ own outlandish fashion, but he definitely looked nothing like an Amusement Park employee.
So that meant…
“…do you…work for Blood Dupre and his mafia?” She asked quietly. It was but a second later that she caught sight of something that, up until then, his cape had hidden; a gun holster at his side.
Immediately, her lips tightened into a thin line. “This is a neutral district. If you’re here to assassinate someone, you best turn around and leave.”
I just hope he’s not here for me.
He is being accused of taking part in a m a f i a–now that is amusing. At one time, perhaps, he could have acknowledged such a claim, but that part of him is dead, and his love for the sainted Shin-Ra with it. Turks are the mafia; they are even found in the dictionary in private Junon schools. An empire does not let its citizens forget. The humor he feels does not show: he is as cold an calculating as the stone on which he stands. His eyes would, perhaps, be the only outward sign of his mirth, but as all is shadowed and dark…he remains a mystery. And that is how he likes it. Bemusedly, he says, “…I haven’t been accused of the mafia for quite some time. I do not know Blood Dupre.” Her further comments poke at his very small ego. He takes pride in very little, but his stealth and sharpshooting are at the forefront. Though his weapon is holstered, if the Dog needed to bark, he would show no hesitation. Second thoughts about killing meant that the one behind the trigger would be killed instead; of course, he needs not worry about such…trivial matters as death, not now, but old habits do, indeed, “die hard.” Coming one step closer, the light from the lamp-post illuminates up to his shin. The smooth, polished weaponry of his feet are glittering. “…If someone needed to be dead, I wouldn’t be wasting my time with you.”
Shifting, he juts a hip out just so and places a gloved hand on it, in a very weak and feminine manner. His gauntlet dangles at his side and barely brushes his thigh, limp and bored. Turning his head to look at the uneven rooftops before the stars, he asks, “…What is this place? Where am I?”
ashvalentine16 liked this paintedrosebriar reblogged this from dellafine and added:
dellafine reblogged this from paintedrosebriar and added: