He doesn’t expect the tone that comes, surprisingly, he has no retort outside of a short grunt of annoyance below his breath. He waits, to see if he gets his explanation. What comes, he didn’t at all expect. Words upon words, it becomes difficult to take in. For a good moment, the old man’s hot blood that only seconds ago threatened to boil over, now runs cold.
The man known for his wolfish grin and snappy mouth is anything but either, seemingly stunned to silence. The mention of his sister— bless her soul— was not expected, and he finds himself… empty. This could be all set up, all just someone gathering intel that had finally bitten him on the ass, but something within knows that isn’t true because he’s felt this one too many times before. He has no means to deny it, and though his blood boils, his words are escaping him.
His glory days were nothing more than the chronicles of a handsome young man that had wound up in a bad situation, it’s all coming back to him now, just a threatened, hot-blooded and vicious young animal—a streetrat with both the best and worst luck the world had ever seen. He’d never escaped that life entirely, but he can’t deny those he’s killed, both too proud and too honest. And now he feels something more, some kind of unwanted guilt sticking to him just as underground grime and muck once had and this… fear, almost. Normally, he would not care if others knew what he’d done, but they’d only heard rumours as there’d never been true witnesses. Here, it is all known, every encounter and every detail, there is no mystery to how disgusting this man truly is. He loathes it, the idea of being read like an open book. He’d always been the one at the poker table hiding cards up his sleeve until this point, but now his hand had been seen through. Instantly, the concept of what he is leaves him with nothing more than the sensation of being a fly, indeed.
“…it ain’t my fault, what happened to my sis.” He speaks with gritted teeth, needing to reassure himself more than anything. A part of him is thankful to hear she passed in some sort of peace, only having stumbled upon the body once it was too late. Another point he hates—things could have been different had he found her days earlier. Idiot. He lacks aggression all of a sudden, acknowledging he is nothing in the power of such an entity and instead holding his head down to dwell in old sorrows. “That was her life, she needed to get by. Yeah, I’ve done shit far worse in my time, I kill when it suits, take care of threats. Whatever. I did what I did back then to send a message, to protect what I could, I couldn’t have done anythin’ to improve her, couldn’t have saved her if I tried. . . couldn’t fuckin’ save myself, let alone her.”
His voice had grown to a quiet mumble by the end of it, hardened glare lifting back up towards the other. He’s spent many years wondering if there was anything beyond, and he knows there is no chance for redemption, especially if his dream never comes to fruition. He doesn’t show his dread and he doesn’t see the point in turning over a new leaf right before him. He remains as he is aware nothing’s going to improve. He hides the fact that he’s insignificant outside of the few jumps and pauses in his speech.
“You say I feed off others– but that’s just the way of the world nowadays. Titans ain’t different, same goes for people– right? I’m wonderin,’ though…– that truly it? You finally show your face just to ask me a question and tell me how my life don’t mean anythin’? For a fly, I must be pretty damn special to you. You a fan? Hah– or are you gonna make this worth your while and tell me how much I’m gonna rot while you’re here? I already got a good idea, but go ahead.”
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