Ah, so Norman hasn't realized that not everybody would even want to be human and 'normal' again in a place like this. How quaint. The snarl does make him pause, but the sharp amusement cuts through most of the fear. A bit of Fog-provided bravado keeps him from backing down.
"Oooh, temper temper, Osborn. I thought you'd rehabilitated. I'm the snarling beast here, right?" He waggles a finger mockingly, and the levity in his voice rings hollow. "And you think I'm in this for the long-haul? Really?" Another laugh. It's the most genuine laugh he's had in Felfri. "You of all people should know how the world works. Power, strength... The Fog gives me tooth and claw. That is stability I'll take."
It's not something that can be ripped out of him at a different god's whims, like that tech shit. He'll take this, even if it's just as temporary as everything else.
That hollow tone isn't lost on him, and now that Norman's got himself grounded, he sees that this is just the same old game: Beck with his hackles up, snarling and spitting and barking because he's too desperate, bitter, and scared to do much else.
He remembers feeling that way. He knows what it got him. But he also knows that trying to draw any sort of paralell between them will just pour more gasoline on the fire. Norman sighs, shaking his head, not wanting to play the game. Not when he might have to protect people in his battalion if they're discovered. For so many reasons, this isn't the place or the time for any sort of lasting conversation.
Thankfully, the other Fourthies are starting to withdraw, having set whatever other obstacles and traps they came to put out. It doesn't seem to matter to them that Norman hasn't deployed his bombs - they had other supplies, after all, other nasty surprises. He frowns.
"It isn't my place to tell you who to be or what to do. Just ... watch yourself on your way back in. I don't know what they put down."
One of E+L's team captains hollers for him, and he turns to move off with the rest. Whether Beck tries to follow or get in one last shot is up to him.
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certaininequities) wrote2022-10-21 09:09 am
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"Oooh, temper temper, Osborn. I thought you'd rehabilitated. I'm the snarling beast here, right?" He waggles a finger mockingly, and the levity in his voice rings hollow. "And you think I'm in this for the long-haul? Really?" Another laugh. It's the most genuine laugh he's had in Felfri. "You of all people should know how the world works. Power, strength... The Fog gives me tooth and claw. That is stability I'll take."
It's not something that can be ripped out of him at a different god's whims, like that tech shit. He'll take this, even if it's just as temporary as everything else.
no subject
He remembers feeling that way. He knows what it got him. But he also knows that trying to draw any sort of paralell between them will just pour more gasoline on the fire. Norman sighs, shaking his head, not wanting to play the game. Not when he might have to protect people in his battalion if they're discovered. For so many reasons, this isn't the place or the time for any sort of lasting conversation.
Thankfully, the other Fourthies are starting to withdraw, having set whatever other obstacles and traps they came to put out. It doesn't seem to matter to them that Norman hasn't deployed his bombs - they had other supplies, after all, other nasty surprises. He frowns.
"It isn't my place to tell you who to be or what to do. Just ... watch yourself on your way back in. I don't know what they put down."
One of E+L's team captains hollers for him, and he turns to move off with the rest. Whether Beck tries to follow or get in one last shot is up to him.