11-19-2016, 03:12 AM
Her suggestions fall to the wayside—he has no use for them.
He was not sentimental enough to want to speak to a dead relative or as foolish to think that was worth his gift; he had his own ways of making others listen to him (it was astonishing how some quickly bent when he applied pressure at just the right spot). But his eyes lighted when she spoke of her powers. Bruise was not a politician, but he knew the advantage of having powerful friends, of being owed favors.
Bruise may have his own…devices, but there may come a time when he needed numbers. There may come a time when his father required an army, of sorts. It would do them well to have allies with tricks of their own up their sleeves. Krampus thought they may be, the world was full of all kinds of things that creeped and crawled in the night. Bruise was not opposed to having the most dangerous on his side.
So he scoffed and shook his head. “I have no need for them now,” he said simply, decisively. “But there may come a time when I will. Honor your favor then, and I will consider this a worthwhile trade.” His smile was cold, eerily similar to the crocodile grin of his father. He did not elaborate on it further, did not tell her of the Fears he would pluck from her skull, the chemicals he would race through to flush her flesh. Instead he snapped his tail, the ash of it cracking against the gold of his hide, the sound smart and loud.
And, just like that, he felt the magic from the fairy slip through him and toward her.
“Now, show me just how animated the dead can be.”
Bruise
head like a hole; as black as your soul.