The Heartwood re-restart

The urge to spit, to just land a good blob of filth right before the filthy girl’s eyes had tarnished him internally, smoging his retort in a suffocating silence as she blinked a quick silver dime his way. It was not clear what he asked? Or was she just an imbecile? The graceless dog in him howled it so much more blatant than he worded the question, a screech of simply asked ‘Who’d you cross?!’ scalding a plain scar over his blistering temper. 
But alas, the Prince of Deceit held his tongue, his own smile whisking ivories to match her own. He felt a roll of shoulder bask the useless situation on a wave of nonchalance as he dismissed the notion, completely. It, in the end, didn’t matter. He would cross others, and only dealing with them, there would be no need to confuse blunt peons with basic conversation. 

His pride, however, interrogated him as she arose another question, expecting his answers but too fickle-minded to answer his own. Could he really tolerate such a presence for as long as he had planned to? Could he embrace a roll of friendship as he enacted his own plans?

’I’m going to have to’, his bitter voice shot acid over his porously resolved choice. 

“Well,” he began, interest gilding his features appropriately. “For it to be nice and full, id give it a few years. Perhaps 20, to seal a good green deal.“ 

In all reality, he had no damn clue. But he wasn’t going to let her know that. “However, I feel as though it’s worth investing in, now.“