[ He listens, standing with boots settled and gaze silently attentive. He's good at that, listening, paying attention to details, constructing a picture in his mind, and this one is familiar, but with strange, subtle differences that make him wonder, not for the first time, how they know it wasn't real, or how they know any of this is. ]
Maybe I am. [ A skeleton. His voice is rough, but his delivery is smooth, the ghost of long-dead charm. He shakes his head.
But whether he's nothing more than Charles Snippy's fever dream doesn't seem to concern him so much as, ] What sort of mutants?
[ So maybe he's more a threat assessment than a small talk kind of guy. ]
no subject
Maybe I am. [ A skeleton. His voice is rough, but his delivery is smooth, the ghost of long-dead charm. He shakes his head.
But whether he's nothing more than Charles Snippy's fever dream doesn't seem to concern him so much as, ] What sort of mutants?
[ So maybe he's more a threat assessment than a small talk kind of guy. ]