Of course a headless man wasn’t going to be able to talk but he pointed his axe at Edward. He wasn’t happy about the hulking brute’s latest endeavors towards areas claimed by the Horseman.
(@hcrseman)
The Englishman raises one thick brow staring at the headless man holding a axe.
“The hell am i looking at ‘ere?” Edward almost chortled, “ah never mind then, what ever it is your trying at it’s not going to work. You think some damn axe is going to scare me off?”
You can't bargain with a headless man....let alone a headless HORSEman. The Hessian stared....or the equivalent of....daggers at Hyde.
Even without a face...the aura of anger was seeping inside this living corpse. A rasping echo from long-dead lungs as a deep, ethereal voice rumbled.
" By calling it 'just an axe' reveals how much of a dimwitted fool you truly are."
“Oh, oh ho my mistake. You named then?” The great beast sneered, he was caught off guard only for a second by the voice coming from god knows where. He’s dealt with aliens and god knows what else the past few years. “Now, why did you come to me? Surely you are looking for a fight or something else?” Although the latter was mostly something HE went in search for. He had hours to kill so whatever this fella wanted he was free until the League called him and returned like the massive guard dog he was.
A low huff-like noise of annoyance echoed.
" No, I did not. These are forged in Hell and can cut through any flesh. A life taken by them....is absorbed by the axe.
So I suggest you give them the respect they deserve.....or it might be YOUR head that rolls next."
As for why the Horseman was here...
" This is my home, beast. I may have come here from a distant land but I have lived in this place for centuries. And I really don't like it when....how do the Americans say it....someone pisses in my porridge?
He visibly shuddered.
" How Ichabod can stand this time is beyond me. It's filthy."
“Ooooo fancy” Hyde mocks, lips parting in a sly grin. He leaned his weight against his cane now, thin but sturdy enough to hold his weight, custom made. “Home? Home is where the heart is, that’s why they say” he rolls his shoulders stretching out, the strain of his crisp suit jacket. “And I don’t-“ he sniffs “I don’t seem to recall your scent, I lived here all my life”
“Now out of my sight, back to your chum Ichabog” his eyes narrowing eyeing the weapon.




















