Verdant Basin made me a believer with the touch of her skin

The assassin was not alone for long. The sound of footfalls coming from behind him triggered every hostile instinct the Ghost had: archaic, natural and those forged and created by The Officer. Hyper-vigilant, as always, Ghost's mahogany hackles bristled, his body turned, his muscles pulling taunt as his mercurial, silver gaze analyzed the other male moments after the soft chuff slipped from betwixt the other male's lips. The light grey agouti colored male's posture was neutral. Yet, the assassin did not relax his posture. Not yet. The male had approached from behind whether he had meant to aggravate the Ghost's hyper-vigilance or not. Ghost was violent but not out-rightly so. He gave a single chance and thus far, his companion was on the path of avoiding it.

The muscles beneath Ghost's (incorrectly) tally marked shoulder twitched with anticipation and slowly the assassin relaxed his posture slightly: but the warning remained. Come no closer. He had no qualms about giving into his fight instincts, neither did he care much for the lives that he took. In this way, The Officer had almost desensitized him from feeling pity, and without a master Ghost was little more than a loose cannon: his reaction was unpredictable. He had been reduced back to the basic and oldest of instincts: survival. Survival at all and any cost. His survival did not currently feel threatened but he wasn't the greatest in social interactions.

“Hello.” Ghost responded to the other's greeting, analyzing the odd smile that the other male was giving him but unable to process it or it's (potential?) meaning. Such things — naive as the lethal Ghost was about how the world worked outside of missions, targets and The Officer — went over the assassin's head and thus he did not strive to return the gesture of the other male's lips nor offer anything more than discernible indifference towards it.