#* mournus.

[unlore]

@mournus from here

Ankha slapped the straw wrapper out of the air with a little huff and a roll of her eyes, fixing Ronan with a particularly unimpressed look as she continued: "Where's your ambition! Killing things that can't be killed is, like, the whole point!"

It wasn't really fair of her, truthfully. She didn't know how to kill a reaper - she didn't even know how to kill herself in a way that mattered. Not that she was the type to try - but the point was that she didn't understand her own immortality. Just the same as she didn't understand his, or Seth's, or really anyone's.

"I'd help you. Totally." She stuck her elbow on the table, leaning her chin against her hand, and gave him a calculating look. "But maybe if he dies, you lose your powers, huh? Drop dead on the spot kind of thing. Poof." She gestured disappearance with one hand. "So maybe you don't wanna, not really. Depends what's more important, don't it?"

Exactly what the point of this argument was would have to remain unclear.

[unlore]

@mournus from here

The onslaught of questions was... excessive. They came almost quicker than Rosie could parse, centered around a subject that brought something sour to her expression. It had been some time since she had been referred to as a sinner, and she found she didn't like the designation one bit. Or the concept of sin as a whole, but that was the subject of a larger conversation.

So she shushed him, finger raised in a warning gesture, delicate, dark-stained hand hovering in the air between them. She could almost see the cogs turning behind his eyes as she held the position, time moving molasses-slow between the two of them.

Zahrosa could have withdrawn her hand. She didn't. She allowed him to crunch down on her flesh - which he would find, unexpectedly, to be more like smooth stone than flesh and blood. A terrible trap for one who might unthinkingly snap at her fingers without caution, to be sure. She smiled, slowly, icily.

"One. At. A time."

[unlore]

@mournus from here

A threat was always interesting. People responded in different ways to a threat: anger, fear, violence. Dramatically, or hardly at all. Sincerely, or with bravado. It told one a great deal about the person, in Zahrosa's opinion, and was a perfectly reasonable way to start a conversation with a person.

Or whatever Sang was.

Whatever she knew of him was vague, pulled from her own experience and assumption, taken from scraps. She did not have much in terms of concrete information, but she would have more - she would learn more, if she had her way. Perhaps she felt something of the soul that had been made part of him, sensed the strangeness of it when she had spent so much time touching souls in her own ways. Perhaps she sensed far more than she was willing to let on.

She smiled, though there was little humour in it. It was a cool, calculated thing. Deliberate.

"Do you find it dull? The idea of being broken? Do you find it boring to contemplate all the ways in which it might be done?" She certainly didn't, by the sounds of things. She regarded him with that cool, monochrome gaze, not exactly harsh in the face of his gentleness, but firm. Sure of herself. Unwilling to back down from this position she has set herself in. "No. It must certainly is not. But we had best take one thing at a time, no?"

[unlore]

@mournus from here

Ankha grinned. This conversation had been some time coming, Ankhirmaa wanting to speak with the princess but finding her initially elusive - but it was inevitable that their paths would cross eventually. And now that they were, Ankhirmaa intended to enjoy herself.

That was easy enough. Her gaze caught on the jewels that adorned Leila - she took in her posture, her perfect poise, the silken flow of her hair as she moves. There was more than enough to appreciate, there, and Ankha could stroke an ego with the best of them.

"A great many things, my lady." Her smile flashed - teasing, perhaps. Testing. "You are nothing short of a masterpiece tonight."

Ankha, meanwhile, was clothed practically - dressed half in men's attire, well-fitted, hard-wearing leather and light cotton. Her hair was tied back in a long braid, flyaway strands escaping here and there. Decent pirating attire, one might even call it, if one were so inclined. She was certainly armed, as ever.