Quinn

Morgan watched her go in a pensive silence, then turned to look at the portrait again; his arms folded over each other. The cookie hung from his hand, crumbs tumbling from the bite mark; slowly eroding as he held it in stasis; waiting to either be eaten, or collapse apart. He shook his head - not the best metaphor to concern himself with. Her words echoed in his head for a goodly time as he stared at that portrait; eyes looking at either side, but always drawn back to the purple point in the centre. It almost seemed to grow slightly as he stared at it; the paint soaking into the canvas, more like. The voice remained silent at that thought; save perhaps a darkling chuckle from the deeper recesses of his mind. He didn't shake his head again. It would do no good, anyway. "It would help," Morgan murmured to himself - "if one of those things wasn't ambition." The crunch of a cookie. A whisper of wind. And the lawn found itself devoid of heroes - at least for the nonce.

It was a telling sign that Morgan didn't bolt towards the body, call out, or react violently to the obvious murder in front of them. Instead, the temperature around the young man dropped by several degrees, and the slightly amiable demeanor that had characterized him since he had met up with Blodeuwedd a few blocks away from Claremont vanished. He wasn't sure if she knew about Parkhurst, so when the dwarf had asked for both him and her, he'd dispatched a message by arcane means for neutral meeting ground. Scry-and-pry was good that way. A bit of an explanation later, and he'd started on his way; thoughts of the black-armored knight occupying his head, and hopes that the heroine would follow behind across the rooftops. Crow had been keeping tabs on the guy since he made his appearance - much the same way that he kept tabs on any magic-wielding hero that wasn't a member of Parkhur-...that so sounded better in his head earlier. Regardless, it was still good policy to keep track of magic-wielders in the city; you never knew when something might go south in an arcane manner. Granted, the knight wasn't visibly a wizard; but his methods of entry and exit definitley bespoke a caster's mean. Back to the scene at hand, though; now he pondered if a knight's poignard was bespeaking a caster and a killer's mean. Uncharitable, maybe; but Crow's cold mind took everything into account, and that was the only sure lead. The scene was memorized in his head, and he moved forward very slowly; nodding for Blod to follow. Looking about - with distinct care.

Okay, magic time. Morgan's going to do a bit of prep (hopefully whoever's carrying him is nice enough to fly low enough to grab a rock). Using the piece of chalk always in his belt, some handy rocks, a bit of woogity, and some luck - he's gonna rig a magic communicating rock. Once that's done, he'll toss the other two rocks Tona and Blod's ways. The stones have a 50-feet radius, but it's pretty much up to Thevvy if they trek outta it's range.

Morgan took it in from point to point; an abandoned building lit up like a Christmas tree was nothing new in this line of work. Just meant someone had gone to work beforehand - and judging by the major point of interest on the upper floors, they'd done a good job of it. "Trap." He deadpanned, the chalk starting to dance over the rocks. "Good one, too. Power sources linked to devices. Probably booby traps." Small symbols started to appear on said rocks, sketched out in white chalk - similar to ones he'd drawn ages ago, during a rather unique event involving flying sharks. Good times. He rattled off the information as he went - the deadpan going to a clinical tone; like he was listing off groceries rather than hazards to life and limb. "Scattered throughout whole building, floor by floor. Point of interest - third...maybe fourth floor. Prisoner; female. Likely hog-tied - suspended from ceiling? Unknown. Conscious, struggling. Ten to one odds Raven II." He let out a breath, and eyed his rocks for a moment (har har), finishing the runes on them; at least for the nonce. "Need plan...Jay already out of cover, Blod and myself still in cover...distraction..." A tap of the chin. Then Morgan lifted a hand and lowballed one of the three rocks off the building - the thing bouncing to a halt by Tona's foot; rune-side up. The other was neatly passed over to Blod. If Tona picked up the rock...

"More than likely." He murmured from atop the building across the street; he'd been rather impressed by Tona's swift descent. He was mildly irked as well that she'd revealed herself; upon seeing the bars, the entire situation more than screamed trap, it lit it up with giant neon lights and did a capering dance in tiny circles while singing trap-trap-trap in an annoying singsong voice like a bratty younger sibling. He wondered if he'd been hit harder than usual in the Doom Room, his head felt a bit off. As-is, Morgan just knelt down; idly gathering three small stones from the rooftop gravel - he and Blodeuwedd still neatly concealed behind the hot air that slowly shifted about on the rooftop - and while a piece of chalk slid into his hand, the runes on the iron mask started to glow just a bit. "Surveillance first." Archer's rule number one hundred and twenty-two, never go into a situation blind if you can help it. His mask, wrought iron, and carved with the strongest runes of true sight his meagre skill could muster, panned over the building - looking through the walls at the light and heat signatures behind them. The Eyes Of The Rook missed very little nowadays. School of hard knocks made sure of that.

"Wait, it's a Gourd's? Nice!" Morgan clambered out of the passenger seat, pageboy cap appearing over the top of the car first, followed by the rest of himself - shoulders down. He was wearing a hoodie this time, and sweatpants; his duffel bag over his shoulders. No surprise what was inside - Mali likely knew as well as everyone else at Claremont (at least, back in the day) what he never went anywhere without. Still, it was buried under a goodly few supplies for training; gloves, shoes, shorts, the works. He nodded in her direction, closing the car door. "Yeah, it's a good chain - I tend to work out at the one up on the Waterfront; though they give me some dirty looks now and again." The owner had a long memory, and troll problems tended to leave a bit of an impact. "How'd you find them?"

Board of Directors? Contract? Hard-light interfaces? Morgan's head was practically spinning as he took the business card, sliding into an inner pocket with great, almost exaggerated, care. Ye gods and little fishes, he wasn't losing that card - oh heck no. And new suits, too! For a reasonable pricetag, he'd be able to do business with a far greater swath of individuals - and picturing Vickie's face when he shows up in a sharp three-piece to take her to some kind of fancy dress ball... Even if he was being paid just a dollar to work, that would make the whole effort worthwhile, hee. "I...uh...yeah - I'll get right on it as soon as I get back to headquarters. You should have a series of circuit diagrams within the next day or three; not the finished product, but general layout slash suggestions. I'll need some building blueprints for finetuning, but other than that..." He clambered to his feet from the chair, still somewhat dazed as he processed everything the meeting had covered, and just stuck out a hand. "Thanks for lunch, and it'll be good doin' business with you, uh, Baron. Hopefully we won't end up blowing up any of your buildings." Slightly weak chuckle. He REALLY hoped none of the diagrams went haywire - probably a few sleepless nights prior to testing making sure of it! Joy!

Player’s Name: Quinn Character’s Name: Breaker Power Level: 7 (105/105PP) Trade-Offs: -0 Attack / +0 Damage, -0 Defense / +0 Toughness Unspent PP: Progress towards Silver: 0/60 (Bronze status earned with Push) In Brief: Ex-Liverpudlian Small-Time Crook Turned Ex-DNAscent “Volunteer†Turned Ex-Superpowered Gangster Turned Project Freedom 'Hero'? Alternate Identities: Frank Flynn, Subject 24. Identity: Markus Flint Birthplace: Liverpool, England. Occupation: Project Freedom Volunteer Affiliations: Liverpool Underworld, Freedom City Underworld, The Knights In Shiny Leather, Project Freedom. Family: None living (so far as he, and I, know). Age: 33 Gender: Male Ethnicity: Caucasian Height: 7’0†Weight: 200 lbs Eyes: Brown Hair: Neon Green Description: A somewhat unconventional hero is our Markus Flynt - a mountain of a man frequently clad in biker leathers; a new patch sewn onto the back of the jacket, with the name "Knights In Shiny Leather" embossed above a neon green plumed knight's helm. (working on rest) History: Personality & Motivation: Power Descriptions: Powers & Tactics: Complications: Stats: Abilities: 10 + 4 + 10 + 2 + 2 + 4 = 32PP Strength 24/20 (+7/+5) Dexterity 14 (+2) Constitution 24/20 (+7/+5) Intelligence 12 (+1) Wisdom 12 (+1) Charisma 14 (+2) Combat: 10+ 10= 20PP Initiative: +2 Attack: +5 Base, +7 Unarmed Grapple: +12/+14 Defense: +7 (+5 Base, +2 Dodge Focus), +2 Flat-Footed Knockback: -5, -10 vs. physical, -2 w/o powers Saving Throws: 3 + 3 = 6PP Toughness: +5/+7 (+5/+7 Con), Impervious 4 Fortitude: +5/+7 (+5/+7 Con) Reflex: +5 (+2 Dex, +3) Will: +5 (+2 Wis, +3) Skills: 40R = 10PP Diplomacy 3 (+5, Skill Mastery) Gather Information 3 (+5, Skill Mastery) Intimidate 7 (+10, Skill Mastery) Knowledge (Streetwise) 9 (+10) Notice 9 (+10, Skill Mastery) Sense Motive 9 (+10) Feats: 12PP All-out Attack Attack Specialization (Unarmed) Contacts Connected Dodge Focus Improved Grapple Luck Power Attack Skill Mastery (Intimidate, Diplomacy, Notice, Gather Information) Startle Takedown Attack Well-Informed Powers: 4 + 4 + 4 + 4 + 3 + 6 = 25PP Enhanced Strength 4 [4 PP] Enhanced Constitution 4 [4 PP] Impervious Toughness 4 [4PP] Super-Strength 2 [4PP] Leaping 2 (x5 distance [100'/50'/25'], Power Feats: 1 Alternate Power) [3PP] Alternate Power: Speed 2 (25 MPH) [2PP] Regeneration 6 (Recovery Bonus 2 (+2 to recover), bruised 1/round, injured 2/5 minutes, resurrection 2 (1 day)) [6pp] DC Block: ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed Touch DC 22 Toughness (Staged) Abilities (32) + Combat (20) + Saving Throws (6) + Skills (10) + Feats (12) + Powers (25) - Drawbacks (0) = 105/105 Power Points

Crow (39) - 3 posts - 21 posts - 15 posts

The bathroom line had him stop a moment, jaw slightly slack, then blink - nodding. "Okay, yeah, I don't do that. I mean, if it was bad information about evil corporate secrets slash torture experimentation of eeeeevil, then maybe...but Windows confuses me, and I'm still not sure why you'd name a computer after a fruit; so you're probably fairly safe." He might have been exaggerating slightly. Just a bit. On the subject of clothes... "Provided you're okay with lots of pockets, I don't think we'll have a problem with dress codes or anything like that." Morgan sketched a slight shrug. "But hey, suits are effing immortal." He was noncommittal as to the whole tailoring business - given that he had a few sidhe who owed him favors, and a dwarf who could probably do cufflinks or watch chains like nobody's business, he might be able to dredge up something nice. Only reason he didn't wear a suit today was getting in contact with them was an exercise in pain. Generally tended to be that way for fae, on the whole. Ah, well. "Normal office building? In that case, I'll stick with the projected week. Still, I'll send designs your way as it progresses; keep you in the loop as best I can. I can forward you a couple of names for interpretations and translation if you need it, but..." A moment of consideration...yeah. "Nah, you prolly won't - it's straightforward enough."

"..." Morgan dwelled on that question for a moment - Crow as well. Did he trust his own runes? The gift of his mother started him on the path, but he'd have been hard pressed to say he trusted her; or what her gift was capable of. Gods above, he'd seen enough magic misused, tools misused, and what happened when he screwed up on a rune. But then, what he'd built on his ownself from it was...it was his own sweat, blood, and tears what made the gloves. Made the Iron Mask. And he damn sure trusted his own work. "I've never had the chance to see my own aura." Morgan said, almost idly; looking down on his arms - at the rhythmic clockwork she'd made from the aether. "My sight isn't quite as...acute...as yours - even with the mask over my face. Would that it was, I might see more before it bites me in the arse."

Okay, here's the stunt! Teleport 6 (10 miles per Move Action, Extras: Accurate, Portal, Progression (Portal Size, 10x10); Flaws: Long-Range) [14PP] (Wind Portal Rune) + Concealment 4 (All Visual Senses; Feats: Area (Shapeable) 2, Flaws: Blending (-1)) [9PP] (Magic) (Upgraded Rune of The Veil)

There was a short nod. The man was right - Sin had the resources to hire a wealth of villainy to do his dirty work; or there was a wealth of villainy who wanted revenge on any one of the kidnapped Claremonters, and just got the other two as luck of the draw. Bad luck, if he had anything to say about it. A small piece of chalk flicked into his palm from his cuff, and a small pair of lines were neatly drawn onto the backplate of his left glove; briefly covering one connection, sketching a new one, and adding two lines to another. He gripped his hand into a fist, and the lines began to glow. "Best be off." Crow murmured. The others felt an odd 'pop' sensation in their ears, followed by a light thrum - and then the air in the room felt just slightly...heavier. Like humidity pressing in, but only just...and a small wind began to kick up in the doorway. Those standing near could feel the tail end of it, a hot breeze brushing past their ears - but those further away could still see it. A shimmer, like a wave of heat; and the ruffling of papers from the desks in the secretary's office just outside. Underneath the iron mask, Crow resisted the urge to smile slightly - his face still impassive. The heat shimmer was starting to flow around the three of them; doing nothing as of yet. If he'd done this right, it wouldn't kick in until they'd gone through... "We'll bring them back."

"Oy, I'm the magic equivalent of a barely-competent adolescent hippy hacker, chief." A lopsided grin. "Except less barely-competent, more workaholic. And less hippy. Sort of. I dunno, tie-dye's pretty awesome if you get it in blue and green..." Morgan trailed off thoughtfully, then realized precisely what he'd just said - and looked like he rather wished the seat to open a giant maw and swallow him whole. Darn Magnus for being a cool enough guy to lull him into a false sense of casualness! He's supposed to be Mister Professional! Stone cold security expert, the master of the trade, the defender of righteousness in a darn sharp suit and tie! Admittedly, he was lacking the suit and tie, but the general intent was 90% of the image, right? "Uh, I mean - awesome for casual wear; suits really are the way to go if you're looking for style. Basic charcoal, all the way." Actually black, but only undertakers wore black suits. Damn fashion. Right, back to business before he hurt himself. Best non-sequiter ever! "And speaking of charcoal, that'd prob'ly be one of the materials used in the test formulae - easy enough to replace in a pinch, or tweak if you need it. As for the small building, that's doable; I can have a small-scale test formula worked up in a couple of days, if we're talking house-sized." At least he wasn't stammering or anything.

It was an odd thing. When she approached, he recoiled slightly - like he didn't want her taking his hand. It was only a moment, and she could see him forcing himself forward; but he did, ultimately, let her grab the gloved hand. It was just a short, odd thing - and he ducked his head slightly when he did. "...I want to believe that. We want to believe that." Oh, cry me a river. You knew exactly what you wanted when you picked up that stone, boy. ... Oh, no 'shut up'? No 'silence'? Fah. I repeat- you know exactly what you stood to gain, child - power, and lots of it. More than you could ever dream; enough to do more than you ever could now. The wench is right, you will change again, and it will be your choice when you do - and you know exactly what choice that will be. Morgan kept his face impassive, trying his level best to blot out that purple dot. If that was what she saw in him, then so much the better - it was tiny, and the two were greater than it by far, no matter how else you cared to slice it. All the voice recieved was just cool, black, silence. He drew on another subject, filling the air with more than just invectives. "So what you see on that painting is your...perspective? Is it what you see every time you look, or is it just...switched on and off?" Mild desperation may have been there. Probably not.

"Simple enough." Flat. Crow had remained silent for most of the briefing, logging away the information in his head. Morgan didn't quite trust himself once he'd heard two of his friends were currently held under the authority of a man with a lengthy list of crimes against humanity at large - and if it was one thing he had learned exceedingly well after the only rescue mission he'd ever lead, it was that to act in haste meant one repented greatly at leisure. He cogitated on Cerys and Tona, what he knew of them both. Competent infiltrators, canny, cunning - Raven's style and approach in their own ways, with their own twists to the formula. If he wasn't looking at it from a dispassionate viewpoint and the situation wasn't so grave, he'd be marveling at what the circumstances. As-is, different combat maneuvers and tactics simply rotated around, being noted, set, logged away or tossed away depending on their use. "Assume worst-case. Sin known for intelligence. Cunning. Matched wits with the Raven during the worst years." Like he needed to tell Summers that. More for his ears than any, perhaps - or for Cerys and Tona; gods knew he'd been obsessive about finding information about any cowl who'd hit Freedom's streets. He dragged his brain back from hero-worship, Crow planning as best he could; as cold as he could. He hadn't done that before - and bad things had happened. "Headmaster's dead on. Odds...exceptionally high he's left contingencies. Building rigged, assault teams on standby, satellite laser aiming down...reccomend running as silent as possible until we find Raven. Everything on the downlow." Oddly enough, he couched it as a reccomendation - even looked to Tona when he said it, sounding like a question. "Principle of the mouse. If the trap isn't sprung, it's still open - to sneak in or sneak out. If they spring it on Raven and we're concealed..." That was when Crow gave a very, very small smile. "Easier to kick it open from the inside."

Morgan didn't have any words. Neither did Crow. Even the Eye had dropped silent - a practical miracle, if one believed in those things. For some time he simply stared at it - appraising, debating, just plain cogitating. So many thoughts whirled about in that head - questions, statements; it was a perfect likeness, in a metaphorical sense. Two halves of the same coin, with a blot at the centre that just could not be rubbed out, no matter how hard they tried. Two directions pulled, two thoughts in one - sometimes in accord, sometimes not, but always looking at different sides. It strengthened him. It frightened him. It was so much more than he'd initially thought, when he took the moniker on. Perhaps that point hadn't been driven home as strong as it had been when Etain had turned that portrait. Now...he simply wasn't sure where he stood. He tried to push the feeling away - at least for a time. Just simply croaked - "And what if the person doesn't know who they are? Or who they should be?"

Back to business - probably wise. Morgan mulled over the questions for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table. "Hrm...like I said, I'd want at least a week to plan out the network and work up a feasible prototype; probably less if I get lucky and don't end up with any major interruptions. Or explosions." Probably shouldn't have mentioned the explosions. "Though once the primary network's been constructed, it'd just be a matter of copying it to each floor you want covered. As for access - see prior answer. I'll need whatever level is proper for the floors you want safeguarded. As for disruption..." He stroked his chin some, the question actually a fair one - and one he hadn't pondered. "That'd depend if you want the wards openly out there, or in the structure of the building itself. Both have pros and cons - the former's easier to mess with and to spot, but much easier vis-a-vis maintenance, and we don't have to pop any walls open - plus, they look rather pretty. The latter means we'd need to get a construction crew in here to rip the walls for a couple of weeks while I engrave the runes in. On the positive side, it'd take a helluva lot more to futz with them if someone means to play merry hell with your security." Morgan shrugged. Both were doable, depending on how tolerant the other man was of disruption to the operation. Hopefully he wouldn't break anything important while he was doing so...probably need to subcontract an electrician, an architect...plumber? No idea. "Time of day? Well...okay, there are some formulae that'd be affected by the time of day, but frankly working with that's rarely worth the time and effort. General rule of thumb in this case - make sure you're done whatever you're working on before midnight."

Despite the situation and being ridiculously far out of his depth, Morgan's perceptive skills weren't reduced any. Nine hells, he'd once cold-read something akin to a demigod; granted, it'd taken a riot and a lot of thrown stick dudes who could hit like freight trains to prove him right, but still. So when those eyes flickered and his grip tightened an ace, certain facts or conclusions may have drawn into his head. He didn't speak immediately, just sitting quietly, rotating those facts in his head as he pondered what to say. He sipped from the root beer in his hand, putting the cup down real slow. Best approach it cautiously. "...take it you got a few of the programmers instead of the engineers." His favorite metaphor. "Sorry, frequent analogy. Some of us who use it tend to obfuscate - honestly, given how magic operates half the time...it's like a chicken-and-egg thing; I'm not sure if the wizard came first or the mystery."

"I've always wondered what would happen if radiation met pure elemental chaos." Morgan deadpanned, reaching for humor and snark when his well of gratitude and just plain dumbfoundness was filled to overflowing. He wasn't quite overwhelmed at this point, thankfully - after hearing about investment and such, that grounding he'd had pounded into him through training really kicked in proper. No shopping sprees, no staring at ludicrously expensive reagents - get set up properly, be smart, and only use enough as you had to. Though he'd be darned if he didn't at least pick up a new PS4 when it came out. File it under buisness expenses. For...uh...psychological breaktimes. Yeah. "Well, all I can say is...I'll do my best, si-Baron. I won't promise miracles, and I can't say you'll find half of it believeable or reasonable, but I do promise that it'll work. I do that well enough." A grin. "And eh, magic's just as prone to magibabble as science is to technobabble. Trick is figuring out how to get rid of the babble part." He didn't mention the reason why he thought of magic differently - there was no need, or cause. Still, he did wonder how any of the other Parkhurstians would have fielded the interview. Out of sheer curiosity, he asked just one more question before the man seemed game to close up the interview - the meal having been mostly demolished by now. "You've run into mages before?"

There was a moment of silence, then a sound from the room just outside Summers' office - a small breeze blowing through the door, ruffling the papers on his desk a bit. A sign the Headmaster likely knew well enough, given how clued he was of every event in his school. A sign of respect, in and of itself - the cause never appeared directly into that office, before or after it's rebuilding. That would have been rude. A second or two, and a youth in black from toe to throat silently moved through the door - Archer having caught him just leaving the training simulator. He was beaten, battered, and bruised - but that glow of triumph on his features was emblematic of what happened every time Morgan Crowe threw himself against something supremely out of his league and came out with a win. Cerys and Tona both recieved a nod of acknowledgement - one he knew rather well, the other he knew of by reputation. Both, whether by knowledge of or by simple rumor, were worth respect. He rendered such. The Headmaster, in turn, recieved his full attention as he halted; hands behind his back, and waited. "Sir." Oh dear gods gag me with a spoon - did you actually call him that? Yes. Without sarcasm. Yes. I hate him already. Go howl.

"..." Morgan didn't reply, but his face was enough to tell the story. At the three words, his expression changed - even if it was only for a moment; traveling through a mix of emotions. Hunger. Desperation. Disgust. Resignation. Then back to the stone flatness that characterized Crow, rather than the teenager. His hands slid into his pockets again, and when he talked she could easily tell it was the hero who spoke from behind the iron mask - even if the mask wasn't on his face. ...and maybe it was the arcane in the air, or the oppressive silence - or maybe just the strangeness of all wrought into now; but his next words just weren't...right. "It vexes us." Terse. But explaining much. "But whether it is more or less than other things...we don't know. Insufficient data." In truth, it was insufficient - enough for Crow to proceed, at any rate. "For now, it is contained. From others. And from us. That is enough."

Judging by the fact that the young man promptly did a prime impression of a freshly landed fish in front of Magnus, despite his prior impassive demeanor, that offer was likely more than acceptable. Sweet baby Jesus in a runaway carriage, sixty-five grand? That'd be enough for...for...gods, the things he could build with that - hell, he could put together battle armor on that money! Or at least a better utility belt...yeah, something like that. If he was frugal, and didn't go overboard. His innate grounding kicked in, and he promptly snapped his jaw shut. "...y-" His voice sounded like a croak for a split second, and he promptly took a kachug of the root beer, shaking his head. "Yes, that would be acceptable - generous, almost. Very much so. You'll get top service for that, most definitley. Well, you'd have gotten that anyway, but I think I'm supposed to say that for a quote like that." Another draught from the drink, and he tried to regain his equilibrium. There was a moment of casting about for other things to say, and he managed to eke out a crooked smile as he leaned on the table. "I think this would also be where I'd say something like...I'll have my people talk with your people - except I don't have people."

That evoked a laugh - a short, bitter thing; not the sort she'd heard when she'd first met him. Then, at that snowball fight on the quad, it had been a high, cheerful thing - youthful and happy. This was as close to opposite as you could get before being ridiculous; and he likely knew that fact. He still held his position, save now his fingers twitched slightly - like he wanted to be gripping something in them. Some sort of ball, perhaps. "Hah, good one, E. No, I don't trust myself. And isn't that a damn fine admission for a person to have about themselves, hm? That I can't actually trust my own self - if it wouldn't be so outrageously stupid, I might bemoan my fate or curse the universe or blame something ephemeral. Though I admit, I've got a perfect excuse." The gripping hand squeezed into a fist, and his tone turned...apologetic? The voice behind it was silent, at least for a time. "Bah. I made my bed, Etain - I'll lie in it. I am sorry that trust is...well, for lack of a better term, shot thanks to that."

Yes, yes you are. He didn't voice that aloud, instead just shifting his weight slightly as she asked her next question; several of her statements were such that he could not answer easily, or willingly. To not trust magic you didn't understand was a wise thing, at least from his perspective - it was indeed a very wise thing not to trust something unless you'd built it yourself, or took it apart with your own hands to see it tick. Hells, he didn't even trust his own coat, now did he. Or me. Be silent. "Trust is...something that should be valued. And it's rarity gives it that value." A moment of consideration, and given the subject matter of their conversation, and their friendship...he elected for honesty. "You are...a friend. Someone I would back to Fomoria and worse. But I am never sure if I trust, to be brutally honest - your magic smacks of things close to home, as is your...I suppose nature. That is more my fault than yours; to be honest, you use yours a helluva lot better than most I know with similar or the same." Sigh. "...but I still can't trust it easily. Should I ask for your pardon or forgiveness?"