There is a mystery about this man he longs to corrupt, to tear down to nothing. It could not be blamed on anything but his nature, as the Destroyer, the Betrayer; anything he laid eyes upon suffered the same fate. It intrigues him all the more so, this act, this dance around each other. He is skilled. That face is worn and stern for a reason. He can see that. There is precious little he couldn't.
What he cannot see is his mind, his inner workings, his heart, all shielded from his power. But there are ways around that. There are ways to turn someone, many, many ways. So many ways to corrupt.
The table creaks as Prestor's weight is rested upon his palms, eyes the faintest, murkiest crimson in the dark. ]
You can call me as you like. But it would best to simply know me as a force for correction. Are you not the same? An agent to preserve the precarious balance of our world? Someone who walks the line between the light and the shadow?
I can see it in others, you know. [ In Adam's ears there is the softest whisper of I see everything. ] That you came at all, accepted an invitation from a mere stranger, is proof that you care deeply for that balance. As do I.
[ There is a warmth about his shoulders now, as though he is being embraced by something invisible, seduced and swallowed up by the shadows Prestor spoke of. Something hot, searing that is trickling through the veins that were alive and touching the parts that were not, chips, prosthetics, slithering up the spinal cord to the brain, giving experimental prods. Trying to find a weakness. Something to sink into.
Something to corrupt. ]
An alliance of sorts would surely not be a terrible thing.
[ Surely not. Surely not. The voices are disturbed, as snakelike as Prestor truly is beneath his clothes. ]
Surely the deepest desire that exists within your heart is something I can grant in exchange for your unwavering loyalty.
no subject
There is a mystery about this man he longs to corrupt, to tear down to nothing. It could not be blamed on anything but his nature, as the Destroyer, the Betrayer; anything he laid eyes upon suffered the same fate. It intrigues him all the more so, this act, this dance around each other. He is skilled. That face is worn and stern for a reason. He can see that. There is precious little he couldn't.
What he cannot see is his mind, his inner workings, his heart, all shielded from his power. But there are ways around that. There are ways to turn someone, many, many ways. So many ways to corrupt.
The table creaks as Prestor's weight is rested upon his palms, eyes the faintest, murkiest crimson in the dark. ]
You can call me as you like. But it would best to simply know me as a force for correction. Are you not the same? An agent to preserve the precarious balance of our world? Someone who walks the line between the light and the shadow?
I can see it in others, you know. [ In Adam's ears there is the softest whisper of I see everything. ] That you came at all, accepted an invitation from a mere stranger, is proof that you care deeply for that balance. As do I.
[ There is a warmth about his shoulders now, as though he is being embraced by something invisible, seduced and swallowed up by the shadows Prestor spoke of. Something hot, searing that is trickling through the veins that were alive and touching the parts that were not, chips, prosthetics, slithering up the spinal cord to the brain, giving experimental prods. Trying to find a weakness. Something to sink into.
Something to corrupt. ]
An alliance of sorts would surely not be a terrible thing.
[ Surely not. Surely not. The voices are disturbed, as snakelike as Prestor truly is beneath his clothes. ]
Surely the deepest desire that exists within your heart is something I can grant in exchange for your unwavering loyalty.