@edensbite asked: you’re being followed , pretend you know me . / THE DUSTY TOYBOX: still accepting.
"What?" As if but a shadow, she has already claimed his side. On her, she bleeds something layered — the gourmand, he imagines — and the earthy, spring-time soak of a long filled grave.
Interesting. "And you decided my hero had to be you, did you?"
An idiot, then. But obeying, he, his sword clinking, is an idiot who listens.
In the failing of the late-evening gloam — gentle now, chased by the umbered glow of the lanterns — he can sense it: the low and seething glare of an angry tail. Oh. He hasn't made friends here, he knows that, having been but a thorn to the side of the resident cutthroats, and dressed as a black knight with his shimmering armor? He's a beacon. And looking down at her, this maid like dripped inkwell is glared at too. "You should've just left me to it." he says. Perhaps. His hackles rise. He can't help himself; he makes for his blade. God damned fool playing noble Lancelot— "Sakra. Stay with me." His heart gallops. "You mad?"