There weren't many people on the list. It wouldn't take Pleasant long to go through it - at least, not by himself. Cain was next to him and her lips were moving, and she was probably asking who everyone on that list was. Myron ignored them, let them take their time, finished off his water, and put the glass on the table. After a few seconds, he changed his mind, grabbed it again, and stuck it in the sink.
Help. That was another word Gabe taught Myron almost right away. How this man was standing working with Pleasant - how Pleasant was standing working with him - was a mystery. "Why do you care?" Myron snapped. "You're a detective. I'm sure you have much more important things to worry about than me." Like making Marr pay, for God's sake! What little influence Myron had as an information broker before all this happened was completely gone. He was a nonentity. Even now, he had visitors only because Marr used him. Sent him into the Sanctuary towards certain death mute, deaf, and carrying a bomb.
He had to admit, though. There was something freeing about being able to go for a walk, among sorcerers no less, and not be expecting an attack around every corner. To be asked a question, and know that he had a choice in answering it, no matter what. To be asked questions at all. It made the distant, throbbing pain he could still sometimes feel in his sleep almost worth it.
Pleasant was writing something on the back of the list. Where the skeleton got the pen from, Myron had no idea. He'd wondered before if there was a stack of things somewhere inside the detective's ribcage, or perhaps a hollow bone. He'd never quite worked up the nerve to ask, and he probably never would.
no subject
Help. That was another word Gabe taught Myron almost right away. How this man was standing working with Pleasant - how Pleasant was standing working with him - was a mystery. "Why do you care?" Myron snapped. "You're a detective. I'm sure you have much more important things to worry about than me." Like making Marr pay, for God's sake! What little influence Myron had as an information broker before all this happened was completely gone. He was a nonentity. Even now, he had visitors only because Marr used him. Sent him into the Sanctuary towards certain death mute, deaf, and carrying a bomb.
He had to admit, though. There was something freeing about being able to go for a walk, among sorcerers no less, and not be expecting an attack around every corner. To be asked a question, and know that he had a choice in answering it, no matter what. To be asked questions at all. It made the distant, throbbing pain he could still sometimes feel in his sleep almost worth it.
Pleasant was writing something on the back of the list. Where the skeleton got the pen from, Myron had no idea. He'd wondered before if there was a stack of things somewhere inside the detective's ribcage, or perhaps a hollow bone. He'd never quite worked up the nerve to ask, and he probably never would.