— I'll break you a hundred different ways —
Her answer does not disappoint him. Something in her seems to alight at the opportunity to speak of her abilities, and he obliges in listening attentively, even if his facial expression perhaps doesn’t show it. He has nothing that could be considered powers; his wings, perhaps, although they are more of a physical attribute, much like his legs would be. He would function just as well without them, he assumes, although he does enjoy being able to bypass many of those that are forced to remain grounded. ”Everyone is a skeleton, stripped down. Seems foolish to be afraid of something we all are,” he says in reference to those being afraid of her puppet. He isn’t surprised, however; he’s seen firsthand how many react to skeletal forms.
There is a quirk of his brow, accompanied by a curious tilt of his head when she speaks of possession. What an interesting power that would be, he finds himself wondering. To creep into someone’s mind and grasp their ability to control themselves. ”Lucky for you Beqanna has no shortage of dead and weak things.”
She asks of him, what can he do, and he glances up towards the sky, where the sun still hung lazily; night was still a ways off. ”I don’t have any sort of power. I can’t control what happens at night.” A flicker of amusement, brief and fleeting, as he adds, ”Otherwise your pet and I would make quite a pair.”
— and I'll make you remember my face —
