Wisp is the one who watches him go, though he jerks his gaze back again at the last moment. Back to the cave scones they're working on. "R-right," he says, his cheeks still red. "Are these about done? I should set them out to cool."
He moves only enough to keep out of direct accidental scorching distance. Carefully, he checks the edges of the scones. It doesn't particularly stop the next potshot, merely delay it while he ensured a good batch.
"Had you the attention to spare me? Why, Wisp. I'm flattered."
"I'm honestly surprised you haven't thought about it." He stacks the emptied bowls and hands them to Wisp for cleaning, dusting off his hands. "Or would you like me to say it so you can pretend to be offended and claim oh, no, it wasn't you who could think in those terms."
"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," Wisp says stubbornly, even as he accepts the bowls wordlessly. Not really questioning why he's stuck doing the dishes.
"The latter, so be it. Never let it be said I'm not an agreeable fellow."
There's something here, and he has to know. It would be a shame not to get the full feel of it, understand it's minutia.
He'll need it if he's to grind Wisp down properly, after all.
"You propose to have..." There's a thick layer of doubt here, " some claim. It would seem... incomplete without some indication of acceptance. An ends it works towards. Oh, perhaps not to further some master scheme, but even in, say, spilling blood to protect you. Revenge for misdeeds done to you? Hmm. Any preferences? How would you like your mark to blossom?"
Good god. It's like the Bastard can laser-target his weaknesses and just hone in on them. Wisp chokes hard enough that he nearly drops the bowl he was cleaning; only quick instincts make him manage to set it down hard rather than let it meet an untimely shattered end on the floor.
The truth, of course, is that he doesn't know why he feels so possessive of Fawn. Why he'd waited on the worms so they'd make their mark so indelibly. He ... is certain there was some plan, because he'd felt so fulfilled in seeing the early piece come to fruition, and yet. Any of those options the Bastard lays out are plausible, aren't they? Revenge. Power. They don't feel right, no, but they don't feel wrong either.
"Maybe I'm just reclaiming him from you," he says sharply. "Maybe - maybe you're the reason why we're all here to begin with."
God. Wisp just goes terribly scarlet and more than a little miserable, furiously washing the dish in his hands. How did this man manage to leave the decision up to Wisp and yet also use that secret to get leverage over him? How? Shouldn't Wisp get a break somewhere?
(No, of course not. He'll teeter between Bastard's insinuations and his own horror of Fawn's potential reaction for a while. Forever, maybe.)
"You did," he says, his tone acid. "Are you breaking it already?"
"Well - well good. That wouldn't be a very good note to start this on, would it."
He can be just as much of a bastard back even without the capitalisation, okay. Don't try him. He's got a memory backing him up now.
Although ... he can't help his curiosity watching Bastard take up one of the scones. He certainly put his best effort into following Bastard's instructions, so if it's bad it won't be due to his sabotage or something.
It is... passable, approaching not-half-bad. It certainly had a denser, harder texture than one might like, but the flavor is reasonable, just sweet enough without being overpowering, and well, it could certainly do with some tea to soak in, likely one of the stronger blacks over the florals, but.
"Well. Certainly will need tweaking, but wont leave too much wanting." He breaks the scone in half and tosses the other to Wisp to give his own verdict.
Wisp fumbles his half but manages not to drop the darn thing. And then bites into it. Overall, his opinion is much the same, except ... well, he gets a little more out of it, doesn't he? The rough density of it is very filling, and he's abruptly aware of how empty his own stomach is as a result. Since, unlike his teammates, he didn't get a meal out of the game today.
It's gone quickly enough with enough obvious pleasure that he can't pretend he hadn't enjoyed it. Dammit. "It's - decent, yeah," he says. "Are there any more?"
No, the last few minutes of the game was filled with a certain fear and misery that keyed so exquisitely to the Eye. Or at least, the type of manifestation this Bastard holds in him. It was a meal and a half, full of the voyeuristic appetizer tray of the bravery through adversity, the sick twisted enjoyment that Blanks hoped were noticed, or the mortal fear and outrage. It had been incredible.
... actually, he was surprised that Wisp WAS hungry. Enough that instead of denying him, his eyebrows simply raise.
He waves to a few of them setting on the counter. They weren't quite as nicely shaped as the others. They would do for Wisp.
Wisp will not feel grateful to the Bastard. He will not, he refuses, he won't do it. But. He is hungry, and he devours at least one of the lumpy ones sitting out before he remembers that Bastard and Fawn haven't had anything yet.
"Aren't - aren't you hungry?" he asks uncertainly.
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"Not particularly subtle, are you?"
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"Had you the attention to spare me? Why, Wisp. I'm flattered."
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"I could imagine someone like you... rather enjoying it, for the right circumstances."
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"You make me sound like a bloody sadist," he says.
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"Too narrow a diagnosis, I think." He waves it off.
"Lets call it... practical."
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There's something here, and he has to know. It would be a shame not to get the full feel of it, understand it's minutia.
He'll need it if he's to grind Wisp down properly, after all.
"You propose to have..." There's a thick layer of doubt here, " some claim. It would seem... incomplete without some indication of acceptance. An ends it works towards. Oh, perhaps not to further some master scheme, but even in, say, spilling blood to protect you. Revenge for misdeeds done to you? Hmm. Any preferences? How would you like your mark to blossom?"
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The truth, of course, is that he doesn't know why he feels so possessive of Fawn. Why he'd waited on the worms so they'd make their mark so indelibly. He ... is certain there was some plan, because he'd felt so fulfilled in seeing the early piece come to fruition, and yet. Any of those options the Bastard lays out are plausible, aren't they? Revenge. Power. They don't feel right, no, but they don't feel wrong either.
"Maybe I'm just reclaiming him from you," he says sharply. "Maybe - maybe you're the reason why we're all here to begin with."
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"Now, now. You have no more indication of that than I do."
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1/2
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A pause. "My apologies."
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(No, of course not. He'll teeter between Bastard's insinuations and his own horror of Fawn's potential reaction for a while. Forever, maybe.)
"You did," he says, his tone acid. "Are you breaking it already?"
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He gives a light, casual sigh. "Not at all."
And scoops up one of the cave scones to try. Moment of truth.
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He can be just as much of a bastard back even without the capitalisation, okay. Don't try him. He's got a memory backing him up now.
Although ... he can't help his curiosity watching Bastard take up one of the scones. He certainly put his best effort into following Bastard's instructions, so if it's bad it won't be due to his sabotage or something.
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"Well. Certainly will need tweaking, but wont leave too much wanting." He breaks the scone in half and tosses the other to Wisp to give his own verdict.
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It's gone quickly enough with enough obvious pleasure that he can't pretend he hadn't enjoyed it. Dammit. "It's - decent, yeah," he says. "Are there any more?"
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... actually, he was surprised that Wisp WAS hungry. Enough that instead of denying him, his eyebrows simply raise.
He waves to a few of them setting on the counter. They weren't quite as nicely shaped as the others. They would do for Wisp.
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"Aren't - aren't you hungry?" he asks uncertainly.
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