Lost Creek Hollow i'm out of the game

did i say that it was? joaquin counters; pale jade gaze studying the pale cream colored boy with a twitch of his tail against his hocks. if the st. clair is surprised as the boy's sudden defensiveness, at the snap of sudden fire in his voice, drawing into question the audacity of the assumption. regardless, joaquin thinks rather indifferently, of intents and purposes the boy's senses are nonetheless dulled. would he be able to think quick enough of joaquin attacked? likely not. i never said i did. joaquin points out briskly. frankly, the devil draws on a breath. i don't care what you do or why you do it. caring required apathy, which he was conditioned long ago not to have. joaquin's perception and role in the consortium didn't have much use for either apathy nor empathy; both were cumbersome obstacles. both would get in the way of his missions. regardless, your reasons don't change the fact that your reactions are slower, that your ability to process the world around you is slower. joaquin says bluntly; matter-of-factly in a tone that almost challenges the boy, now shivering like a leaf caught in the persistence of the wind, to prove him wrong.