['I'm looking for Flint,' says (more or less) the big slab of muscle, and Desidério's first thought is What, those big arms can't rub two sticks together?
Stood at the top of the Gallows ferry slip stairs, having arrived two minutes too late to catch the boat to Kirkwall and apparently right on time to answer blunt inquiries after Riftwatch's leadership, Desidério narrows his dark eyes on the man in question.
He's a small man, the Riftwatcher in the stairs. No more than five and a half feet, and narrow in every direction save for in the broad dueling glove he wears in his left hand and the sword jutting from the belt at his right hip, he cuts an impressively diminutive figure compared to I'm Looking For a Man Named Flint. Nonetheless, this would-be discrepency doesn't stop him from sucking in a long pull from the cheap cigarette—too cheap, really; this business of pirates interrupting trade from Antiva is killing him personally—stuck between his lips before he answers.]
no subject
Stood at the top of the Gallows ferry slip stairs, having arrived two minutes too late to catch the boat to Kirkwall and apparently right on time to answer blunt inquiries after Riftwatch's leadership, Desidério narrows his dark eyes on the man in question.
He's a small man, the Riftwatcher in the stairs. No more than five and a half feet, and narrow in every direction save for in the broad dueling glove he wears in his left hand and the sword jutting from the belt at his right hip, he cuts an impressively diminutive figure compared to I'm Looking For a Man Named Flint. Nonetheless, this would-be discrepency doesn't stop him from sucking in a long pull from the cheap cigarette—too cheap, really; this business of pirates interrupting trade from Antiva is killing him personally—stuck between his lips before he answers.]
What?
[You know. That's sort of an answer.]