“I told you, I have not come across anyone for at least two seasons,” your companion counters, brushing away the mention of his own absence with a vague alibi of travel. With no legitimate reason to doubt him to his face, you cannot contest his word; however, you are not sure that you’re inclined to believe him…until he raises a lone black leg to illustrate his point. The gesture is practiced, yet hesitant—the careful tread of a blind creature. There is something pathetic in the movement, something a little vulnerable that resonates unexpectedly in your wheezy, caved-in chest, and for a moment, your expression softens. While your transformation has done little to alter your heart, there is a part of you that understands the dark giant, for you have learned the hard way that a body that is unreliable is truly maddening.

When he turns back to politics though, any air of uncertainty is lost: he speaks candidly, forcefully denouncing both the demon queen and her consort with a voice that rings through the night. His words are bold indeed, since you sense that Morir knows as well as you do that the Regime was comprised of shadows and ghosts, of wary co-conspirators who barely knew each other, much less the secrets of their fellows. What assures him that you will not turn on him, run straight to the queen he claims not to have seen in months, and whisper reports of his infidelity in her ear? How can this near-stranger, who can barely trust the very ground he walks on, trust you—and with a statement as inflammatory as this? There are only two possibilities, you calculate. One, Confutatis truly has disappeared, and he has little fear of her returning. It is a reasonable explanation, and it has held true for the others he spoke of—while you haven’t been looking for them, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of any Regime members in weeks, just as he has told you.

But the second possibility makes you hesitate, and your blood runs cold at the thought: perhaps your initial suspicions prove true, and Morir does not fear any treachery on your part because he is working for Confutatis himself. Your ears swivel back and forth as he speaks, and your eyes strain, struggling to catch the slightest clue of his allegiance from his tone or body language. Yet the former chief of spies earned his title for a reason, and he mystifies you, leaving you as uncertain of his loyalties as you were five minutes ago. Sensing the danger of this situation, you’re growing increasingly uneasy.

“Unless…” Morir’s tone changes suddenly, and you stiffen slightly, unsure of the reason. “…You still care for the idea of taking over a herdland?” he finishes lightly, letting the question linger in the air between you. The skull swings toward you in the dark, as if he is attempting to peer into your soul. Your heartbeat quickens, but you refuse to run—you are not your mother. Stay calm. Collect yourself. “I suspect that I desire a place to rest my head just as much as you do,” you reply diplomatically, forcing yourself to keep your tone even. “But if we are the only ones left, there is no hope of taking one by force.” You stop short, for he is speaking again. It is essential to catch every word.

His question surprises you. Abruptly, he is changing the subject, inquiring after what was stolen and offering his assistance in its return. Caught off guard, you snap back, “Nevermind what was taken!” Then, remembering whom you are speaking to, your hackles lower—after all, he is one of the last characters you wish to offend. “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur; I did not mean to be rude. It is only that I alone can get it back. But…I would appreciate your aid in finding the thief. That is, if you would be willing to accompany me…?” Your tone is conciliatory, and you do hope that he forgives your indiscretion. You could use the help, yet another idea is slowly blooming in your mind—something along the lines of the age-old philosophy of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. Not that Morir is your enemy…you’d just rather rest assured that he is not. What better way to do so than to spend every waking minute with him?

OOC: She's secretly just as lonely as he is! Please excuse the rather unbecoming paranoia >_>