[Eridanus eyes the folded note, and whatever defensive hostility he had been holding onto fades away. His shoulders relax, and he takes another sip of his brandy before running his thumb over the rim. His free hand takes the note, pressing the opalite pads of his fore and middle fingers against the paper and sliding it towards himself. As he unfolds it, his head tilts back to get a better look at the scrawl through his glasses.]
Not the type to cook, or not the type to enjoy a stew? [He asks, and there's a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.
His eyes follow the bartender as the drink is poured, his attention momentarily drawn to what Slade had ordered. He'd never heard of either of the drinks the man asked after, and he considers himself a connoisseur.]
And how did you come to work for this "guy". You seem to be guarding his identity, but I assure you, I'm really only interested in the food. It would be nice to meet someone who's got the recipes already written downโrather than buying a meal off of him, perhaps he can teach me the skills himself.
Not the type to eat a person. [ And just in case Eridanus is sensitive about his diet: ] No offense. 'm sure your Chef Boyarde tastes great.
I'm not one of the ones holding off, either. I get it. I respect it. Got more concerns about the ones that don't hold off than the ones that do. Can't trust a guy who accepts cannibalism overnight.
[ Sure, there's the distinction between the humans and the monsters. Slade may not look very human these days, but he's a far cry from seeing the others as somehow beneath him because of it. ]
And how does anyone meet anyone around here? I found him on Monster Craigslist and offered to buy him a drink, same as you. Works for everyone... You mean you haven't been making friends with the locals yet? [ It's a bit off-topic, but he manages to circle back around before the conversation gets ahead of itself. ] I'll pass the word along.
[ Chances are a guy who openly talks about his meat shack on the network doesn't have many reservations about his identity. That's more of a Slade thing. Thirty years working in the shadows and you learn how to deal in few details. ]
[There's a moment of stillness to Eridanus at Slade's words, where he takes in the man's features, once sharp but weathered with age and no doubt the wisdom that came with it. There is a familiarity to the way his flesh wrinkles and creases around words and emotions, as if almost gazing into a mirror. Dull eyes that have seen things better left unsaid, and roughened hands that could tell more tales than words could ever express. Eridanus tips his brandy to his lips, relishing the acrid taste of the liquor as it coats his tongue and throat, a suitable replacement for the venom he could have unleashed upon the monster at his side.
He is fully aware that not everyone will walk in his shoes, understand his reasons, nor justify his desires. But the idea that their differences would make Slade even a fraction of a better person is a laughable one at best. Even Eridanus knew there are times when stubbornness in refusal of fate was foolhardy, and in the end, humans would be a food source for all monsterkind, whether they liked it or not.]
I don't meet with strangers off of the network often, not unless they have something I want. [Eridanus corrects him, because it is a very important distinction that needs to be outlinedโthat he is cautious too, and that should anything happen to him, others would know.] Considering there are monsters more powerful than I am, it would be foolish to meet with just anyone. That is how you get yourself killed if there's even a hint of betrayal in the air.
[Gaurded is a word that could describe Eridanus, but it's not without merit. The way his shoulders remain slightly stiffened, as if ready to pounce away at the slightly spark of tension, is a practiced one. His hands that are coated in glittering opal with pointed dagger-ends, were once smooth and dainty, unlike the roughened paws of a warrior. Even his size, large as it may be now, is akin to an animal that puffs itself to appear intimidating, rather than the trained physique of a practiced fighter. The air around the elf-troll is dubious at best, as if every word and twitch of the body that passes between them, was being cataloged strategiously within his mind. ]
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Not the type to cook, or not the type to enjoy a stew? [He asks, and there's a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.
His eyes follow the bartender as the drink is poured, his attention momentarily drawn to what Slade had ordered. He'd never heard of either of the drinks the man asked after, and he considers himself a connoisseur.]
And how did you come to work for this "guy". You seem to be guarding his identity, but I assure you, I'm really only interested in the food. It would be nice to meet someone who's got the recipes already written downโrather than buying a meal off of him, perhaps he can teach me the skills himself.
no subject
I'm not one of the ones holding off, either. I get it. I respect it. Got more concerns about the ones that don't hold off than the ones that do. Can't trust a guy who accepts cannibalism overnight.
[ Sure, there's the distinction between the humans and the monsters. Slade may not look very human these days, but he's a far cry from seeing the others as somehow beneath him because of it. ]
And how does anyone meet anyone around here? I found him on Monster Craigslist and offered to buy him a drink, same as you. Works for everyone... You mean you haven't been making friends with the locals yet? [ It's a bit off-topic, but he manages to circle back around before the conversation gets ahead of itself. ] I'll pass the word along.
[ Chances are a guy who openly talks about his meat shack on the network doesn't have many reservations about his identity. That's more of a Slade thing. Thirty years working in the shadows and you learn how to deal in few details. ]
no subject
He is fully aware that not everyone will walk in his shoes, understand his reasons, nor justify his desires. But the idea that their differences would make Slade even a fraction of a better person is a laughable one at best. Even Eridanus knew there are times when stubbornness in refusal of fate was foolhardy, and in the end, humans would be a food source for all monsterkind, whether they liked it or not.]
I don't meet with strangers off of the network often, not unless they have something I want. [Eridanus corrects him, because it is a very important distinction that needs to be outlinedโthat he is cautious too, and that should anything happen to him, others would know.] Considering there are monsters more powerful than I am, it would be foolish to meet with just anyone. That is how you get yourself killed if there's even a hint of betrayal in the air.
[Gaurded is a word that could describe Eridanus, but it's not without merit. The way his shoulders remain slightly stiffened, as if ready to pounce away at the slightly spark of tension, is a practiced one. His hands that are coated in glittering opal with pointed dagger-ends, were once smooth and dainty, unlike the roughened paws of a warrior. Even his size, large as it may be now, is akin to an animal that puffs itself to appear intimidating, rather than the trained physique of a practiced fighter. The air around the elf-troll is dubious at best, as if every word and twitch of the body that passes between them, was being cataloged strategiously within his mind. ]