The more Ghastly talked, the more impatient Corrival got. It wasn't that Corrival didn't believe him, even though he didn't. Quite. He didn't disbelieve him either. Mostly, it all sounded so ridiculous that Corrival couldn't take it perfectly seriously. What Ghastly was saying, injured Archangels or not, wasn't important.
What he wasn't saying, on the other hand, was.
"Bespoke!" he barked on the heels of Ghastly's final words, his tone commanding and sharp, the voice of the man's former leader. Corrival was old--ish--not senile. "Get to the point and fast or I'll toss you to Ravel's tender mercies!"
God only knew what the man would come up with for punishment. He was even near enough to the area for Corrival to do exactly that. And he would. Ghastly knew he would. Corrival didn't like have his time wasted, particularly when it was time he set aside to enjoy instead of dread.
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What he wasn't saying, on the other hand, was.
"Bespoke!" he barked on the heels of Ghastly's final words, his tone commanding and sharp, the voice of the man's former leader. Corrival was old--ish--not senile. "Get to the point and fast or I'll toss you to Ravel's tender mercies!"
God only knew what the man would come up with for punishment. He was even near enough to the area for Corrival to do exactly that. And he would. Ghastly knew he would. Corrival didn't like have his time wasted, particularly when it was time he set aside to enjoy instead of dread.