Perhaps it was the layers of abhorrence scorched amongst the stones, the rubble, the muck and the mire – but something was off, simmering below the surface, as he stared down Toulouse, friend of Lady Tiamat. Maybe his sentiments were running wild, unhinged by the savage outcrops, by the unruly, heinous marsh seething below their feet, but he didn’t entirely trust the individual before them. He knew Ode, he knew Oizys, but he didn’t know Toulouse, but his eyes returned to their usual set, amiable, a twinkle, a glimmer, of deviancy layered behind their blue allure; nodding, obliging the phantom to continue, to seek out bones, to help in their quest for ruin and demolition.
 
The General’s attention flare to Weaver next, a mischievous grin set along his features at the Corporal’s offer – because no sooner had she proclaimed her assistance, did she completely render herself into a bird, and he laughed, boyishly, amused, watching her coast along the skies. He’d met others who could transform (and usually regaled them thoughtfully, not enviously, but with more of an impressed, proud consternation, capable of pondering the depths of their power, of their might). He did wonder why she needed to become more avian when she already had the wings; the question remained listless and shelved behind his lips, parting his mouth to whoop with abandon as she flew off, then mimicked her companion in dropping bones at their feet. “Thank you!” the youth hollered back, taking the opportunity with relish, slamming one more dagger down across its porcelain veneer, pretending it was one more opponent he’d yet to obliterate, grinning all the more when it shattered, when Orsino clawed against the fragments, when Enyo bit down on the smaller slivers.
 
They only seemed to take their separate places and stances then, but he regarded them all carefully, raised his head from time to time to survey, to examine, to scrutinize how they faired – protective until the very end. A layer of suspicion rose, crisp, blunt, a haze of machinations, over his sentiments as Toulouse and Oizys whispered, heads huddled together, but unless something truly happened he wouldn’t interfere.
 
Instead, his cousin proved to be the biggest distraction, amusing in his disgruntlement, laughable as he plunged into denizens of bones, spouting into their void with observations Erebos had never actually taken into consideration. He arched his brow significantly, chuckled at first, laughed away the notions of his cordiality (because there’d been days when he’d been a ruthless provocateur for the sake of cold, unrelenting amusement), and only responded with the first thing that came to his head. “Mother taught me about kindness and consideration,” he shrugged, as if this was the answer to everything – Huyana had been a tender, compassionate influence in his life, teaching him rules, mannerisms, customs, and he played along for the most part, intrepid, valorous, and courageous when the moments suited him – and then a defiant shadow of his father in other instances, born from the reaches of disaster and anarchy. He’d folded into his pretenses so much that it was almost impossible to sort out where they began or where they ended, and then sometimes his sorrow surfaced over everything, and naught really mattered anymore. At the envious turn, however, he laughed again, in disbelief, in irreverence, rebellious because he doubted many would adore him (not if they knew the truth, not if they understood the means and measures by which he promised, vowed, to spite the world). “Are you jealous?” The grin turned wry, a brief, kindled smirk, before he shook his head, crushed another bone under the weight of his feet. “They don’t,” he murmured, the child, the prince, who’d always been a twisted version of Machiavellian arts, audacity, and grit, eyes downcast on the morass, pretending to search for another mark of the deceased. “But I’d do anything for them.” The notion was quiet, muffled, loosened by a slight sigh, a rise of his eyes to set upon Ode, pondering how they’d gotten to this conversation in the first place, when all he’d wanted to do was destroy something. “Would you?”