dakog
The curt remark seemed to elucidate his senses, a blade rending the intangible veil of mania that so easily deluded and disguised reality. His laughter came to a short stop. She didn’t understand, did she? How could anyone understand that madness could be preferable to reality? It was all a vision. He wasn’t here.
“Yeah,” the goliath came up smiling, an altogether unnatural countenance on his usually grim features. “Yeah, I’m done.” His body gave to the tremor of one last chuckle. “Go grab some food. I’ll take care of the mess.”
She hated when he was in a good mood. It usually meant someone was about to die. There was no reason to correct him about the ‘mess’; there was no arguing with madness whether he realized his visions or not.
“Right,” was all she gave Dakog, before leaving him to whatever he might see. She’d still send up someone to ask about drawing him a bath, where he could scrub his own skin off if it’d help him feel clean. Who to send, though? Probably that snide little shit who’d thought he could sneak a septim or two when she wasn’t looking. No great loss if the boss smeared him across the floor just to ease his mania.
