[ The man stokes a point of pride when he speaks of Daud's assassins. While Daud wouldn't call the Whalers any work of art, they're of his making, certainly. Have been carefully honed through his direction and training, his powers, his will. In many ways, Daud considers them an extension of himself. Knows they'd be less than nothing - dead or scraping together some sad excuse for a living - without him. That the stranger recognizes some part of this speaks well for him.
Not all of the phrases the stranger spews are so well-received.
Daud could point out that he has known the Outsider for years. That before the little shit went silent, there had been frequent visits, conversations held beyond the realm of dreams. But Daud prefers to think that none of that matters. Reminds himself once again that he's better of without the bastard.
He could point out that if he'd read the man's bloody messages as death threats, the man wouldn't be standing right now. Mark or not, he'd be dead in the gutter, a feast for rats.
And... Is the man asking for feedback?
For fuck's sake. ]
I'm no critic.
[ He takes another draw on the cigarette, releases the smoke. ]
this icon is what's up
Not all of the phrases the stranger spews are so well-received.
Daud could point out that he has known the Outsider for years. That before the little shit went silent, there had been frequent visits, conversations held beyond the realm of dreams. But Daud prefers to think that none of that matters. Reminds himself once again that he's better of without the bastard.
He could point out that if he'd read the man's bloody messages as death threats, the man wouldn't be standing right now. Mark or not, he'd be dead in the gutter, a feast for rats.
And... Is the man asking for feedback?
For fuck's sake. ]
I'm no critic.
[ He takes another draw on the cigarette, releases the smoke. ]
And I don't have your name.