"Oh?" There was a sneer in the way Solitaire's mouth twisted up; he'd a chip on his shoulder half as big again as the roe sat in front of him, and it showed in his swagger. "Who says I'm lookin' fer her? 'M no more'n a runner, Tyrbsyn. 'M lookin' fer money, an' I sniffed it all th'way back t'yer . . . self."
The lack of a title on that sally was deliberate, and made unsubtle by the way Solitaire looked Tyrbsyn up and down. No, subtlety and the hyur did not often cross paths in any meaningful way. "I'm thinkin' there's somethin' on yer mind, an' I'm thinkin' there might be way fer me t' . . . ease ye along. Am I wastin' me time?"
His tone was hard. He wasn't about to stick around if Tyrbsyn was going to string him along with his nervous foolishness. Man looked half gadabout, and that was either a means to get more money then any job might warrant, or a signal to clear the hells out before his stupidity became infectious.
How Tyrbsyn answered would determine whether or not Solitaire stuck around.
The lack of a title on that sally was deliberate, and made unsubtle by the way Solitaire looked Tyrbsyn up and down. No, subtlety and the hyur did not often cross paths in any meaningful way. "I'm thinkin' there's somethin' on yer mind, an' I'm thinkin' there might be way fer me t' . . . ease ye along. Am I wastin' me time?"
His tone was hard. He wasn't about to stick around if Tyrbsyn was going to string him along with his nervous foolishness. Man looked half gadabout, and that was either a means to get more money then any job might warrant, or a signal to clear the hells out before his stupidity became infectious.
How Tyrbsyn answered would determine whether or not Solitaire stuck around.
