Humming to himself quietly, Zendyr sketched out the cityscape. It was an easy drawing--nothing he hadn't done before--but calming. It put him at ease, a bit, from the recent events.
"The fewer who know, the better." Elya pulled on her jacket, setting the clasp and putting away her knives. "You aren't going to get me to talk, so I recommend you leave. If Ni says you can stay, then you can wait outside until he returns."
"If I told you who the Angel of Death was--where they come from, what they do, why they do it..." Elya crossed her arms. "Perhaps you'd understand why we'd kill to stop the Emperor and his Pacis."
Elya faltered for a moment. She fingered the dagger carefully.
"It isn't my intention to bring down this city," She said, voice even more controlled than usual. "I should ask you, sir: where is it that you come from?"
I tried to think of something. Good. A hero. Anything other than...
For a moment he faltered.
But then I thought about it, and remembered.
"Sure." I said, weak; it was closer to a whisper. "A fool."
"Whatever you are, I don't owe you anything." I crossed my arms, hoping I looked somewhat brave. "And I'm not going to do anything for you or your darn kingdom."