@blessedmisfortune | continued
Mercury studies the huntsman, a deceptively disinterested veneer of teenage apathy painted over his face. He takes in the details, from the lithe, angular frame to the steady way he moves despite the hoarse slur of his voice. Of course he knows who this is--he’s been briefed on the who’s who of Ozpin’s little circle--but he’s careful to pretend that he doesn’t.
“Fair enough,” he concedes. “Buy you a drink? A man shouldn’t have to walk around sober. These are tough times.”
What Cinder would think of his self-assigned side missions, he didn’t know. He sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. But as far as he was concerned, any sliver of understanding he could glean from the enemy was an advantage he could use.