Ravensblood Forest shark bait

well... crowell perks up, eyes widening only briefly—a toothy grin, a flash of yellow, as he beams. n' ain't dat just genr'ous, cap'n. the lanky man lifts upwards from where he'd leisurely taken a seat, waited for nox to make his verdict.

slipping into a circle, waltzing lazily about nox, raking those blood thirsty eyes across the man. yep! he exhales, making overly expressive faces as he takes in the man's body condition. yer a lil on 'n weak side, but i can fix ya.

he takes a quick step away, as if expecting nox to pounce, and then laughs sheepishly. the muscles along his gaunt frame highlighted by the sun and the thin, frazzled coat pulled taut over him like an old carpet. his head tilts, his tongue lolls, as he looks the man in the eyes. come awn, c'pn. come at m' low. i'm ah tall fuck'r, means ye go for me legs. a pot shot. i give it to yas free.

his lips curl. see, ah can be genr'ous too.