::Luca. I’m on the ground. The slave-trader bastard that had me is dead. Tell me where you want me, and what you want me to do.::
For the briefest moment, Luke was confused, as Mike’s voice was replaced by Mystral’s. Then he smiled, a fierce snarl of an expression.
“My kids aren’t mutt’s.” He stared at a direction that was close to where the woman actually was. She was either getting careless with her voice-throwing or taunting him. “Damn you, my children are not mutts.”
“Must be hard for you.” While she gloated, Luke send Myst a mental map. ::Come in this way. Watch out for traps.:: “Your blood looks pure, with those wings. But the mutt blood shows in the children. Don’t worry.” Her voice changed position, and the tone changed to something conciliatory. “They’ll know what they are well enough when they serve us. They’ll always know. Won’t you, children?”
“Stay away from my kids!” ::Now:: He made a lot of flapping, useless rage-noises, that put him “accidentally” between the bitch and the children. It also drew her attention to him, so that Myst could make a move.
Once in a while – once in a very long while – Luke enjoyed playing stupid.
He knew when Myst was in position. He thought he would always know. “Fuck your slaving asses.” He snarled it, and stepped forward into the woman’s reach.
She had a sword. It was steel, at least. His was, too. He hoped he’d gotten in the better shot.
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