Moonspear Once More Into the Fray

Oh, he had heard this story before.

He had lived it, too.

And perhaps if the timing had been better, if the present state of the world itself had been better then perhaps he would have thought better of her plea. Instead it felt like the ugly twist of a knife unseen beneath a sleeve. He didn’t like playing the role of the bad guy; Dirge was a wolf suited for perceived suave and knavish things, not sifting through questionnaires and all the political intrigue they may have involved.

He knew he would be happier when Hydra was able to attend to these things, when all he necessarily had to do was enforce and play voice of reason. But until then, it was a tiring process and as of late, there were many tiring things that had wore into all of them.

“So those are your only talents then? A pity,” and a ploy off a tongue that felt more a cruel whip than a saccharine morsel. “And here I had hoped you were more than the last lot I’ve had to run off, all of them with the same spiel. Tired, hungry, lonely—none of them suited to thrive here if they can’t thrive out there too.” They couldn’t afford to keep holding hands and guiding wayward souls. He believed they needed something more substantial than that, and now.

“Last chance,” he prompted her.