scantilycladsnail
Senior Member
Finley’s grin widened—too wide, the kind of grin that knew it was teetering on the edge of something sharp but danced there anyway. He leaned in, balancing effortlessly on the table’s edge, his bells giving a soft jingle as he wagged a finger between Mordecai and Ephraim.
“Oh, but of course,” he said, his voice slipping into a conspiratorial whisper, though his eyes still gleamed with that performer's mischief. “It makes so much sense now! And here I thought I was merely gracing two ordinary souls with my presence—fool that I am!” He placed a hand over his heart, mock-wounded.
His gaze flicked back to Mordecai, golden eyes narrowing. “But no, no, no—this is much more interesting. I know you.” He tapped his temple, swaying slightly. “Shadow guy. Prophecy man. The whispers in the alley, the murmurs over drinks—you’ve got quite the reputation, friend.”
He clicked his tongue, tilting his head as if studying a rare, dangerous artifact. “Some say you crawled straight out of Wrath’s own belly. Others say you are Wrath, all dolled up in a mortal suit. And some?” His voice dipped into something softer, almost sing-song. “Some say you’re the reason this whole city’s gone to hell.”
The words lingered, curling in the air between them.
Finley let them sit for just a beat too long before his grin snapped back into place, bright and unfazed. He turned dramatically toward Ephraim, throwing out his arms as though presenting a grand reveal.
“And you! You’ve been keeping such delightful company this whole time—tell me, did you know you were sharing drinks with a legend?”
Ephraim’s smirk faltered, just slightly. Barely enough for most to notice, but it was there—the smallest crack in her usual confidence.
She didn’t answer Finley right away. Instead, her eyes flicked to Mordecai, searching his face for… something. Confirmation? Dismissal? A sign that this was just another one of the jester’s over-the-top performances, full of embellishments and half-truths?
“Oh, but of course,” he said, his voice slipping into a conspiratorial whisper, though his eyes still gleamed with that performer's mischief. “It makes so much sense now! And here I thought I was merely gracing two ordinary souls with my presence—fool that I am!” He placed a hand over his heart, mock-wounded.
His gaze flicked back to Mordecai, golden eyes narrowing. “But no, no, no—this is much more interesting. I know you.” He tapped his temple, swaying slightly. “Shadow guy. Prophecy man. The whispers in the alley, the murmurs over drinks—you’ve got quite the reputation, friend.”
He clicked his tongue, tilting his head as if studying a rare, dangerous artifact. “Some say you crawled straight out of Wrath’s own belly. Others say you are Wrath, all dolled up in a mortal suit. And some?” His voice dipped into something softer, almost sing-song. “Some say you’re the reason this whole city’s gone to hell.”
The words lingered, curling in the air between them.
Finley let them sit for just a beat too long before his grin snapped back into place, bright and unfazed. He turned dramatically toward Ephraim, throwing out his arms as though presenting a grand reveal.
“And you! You’ve been keeping such delightful company this whole time—tell me, did you know you were sharing drinks with a legend?”
Ephraim’s smirk faltered, just slightly. Barely enough for most to notice, but it was there—the smallest crack in her usual confidence.
She didn’t answer Finley right away. Instead, her eyes flicked to Mordecai, searching his face for… something. Confirmation? Dismissal? A sign that this was just another one of the jester’s over-the-top performances, full of embellishments and half-truths?