In Warden's case, forty years actually seems like a short time. (It's a pity really, such short lifespans, and yet some go for work that shortens even that.)
Very few things inspire that kind of anger from him. (One of which are certain miserable cunts and their enablers that seem determined to disobey you at nearly every turn and ruin everything you worked for.) And it does involve those busy young turks. Sure Waxey might benefit from Luciano and possibly anyone else working for him dying horribly, but everyone else? (Including himself.) No. Who would even believe it anyway, a grief-filled broad taking on New-fuckin'-York.
Maybe if everything goes to hell, they'll see it as it really is. But Warden has little faith in most humans except for their fear of what they don't know and ability to kill or do worse to it. (And Aramat's...talents don't exactly quell fear, it creates it.)
There's so many ways this can go all to shit... Aramat needs to contained.
"Thanks." He sits down in a chair. One thing he liked about Waxey, he had great taste in furniture. Train seats are a pain, and Jerry always was cheap. (But being a werewolf, maybe he and his pack might chew the furniture.) "Have anything nice to smoke?" He sets his yellow tinted glasses down nearby, messages his temples. He swears he's starting to age like a human now due to all the stress.
"These past months have been...stressful." He opens his eyes, the shade a strange glowing shade of purple.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-03-27 08:43 am (UTC)Very few things inspire that kind of anger from him. (One of which are certain miserable cunts and their enablers that seem determined to disobey you at nearly every turn and ruin everything you worked for.) And it does involve those busy young turks. Sure Waxey might benefit from Luciano and possibly anyone else working for him dying horribly, but everyone else? (Including himself.) No. Who would even believe it anyway, a grief-filled broad taking on New-fuckin'-York.
Maybe if everything goes to hell, they'll see it as it really is. But Warden has little faith in most humans except for their fear of what they don't know and ability to kill or do worse to it. (And Aramat's...talents don't exactly quell fear, it creates it.)
There's so many ways this can go all to shit... Aramat needs to contained.
"Thanks." He sits down in a chair. One thing he liked about Waxey, he had great taste in furniture. Train seats are a pain, and Jerry always was cheap. (But being a werewolf, maybe he and his pack might chew the furniture.) "Have anything nice to smoke?" He sets his yellow tinted glasses down nearby, messages his temples. He swears he's starting to age like a human now due to all the stress.
"These past months have been...stressful." He opens his eyes, the shade a strange glowing shade of purple.