02-22-2020, 02:12 AM
"So."
He stepped forward, out of the brush, leaves rustling as his long limbs pushed past, each step delicate, precise, calculated, as he moved to stand next to the snakes. Fitting that this should be where they met and had a nice little chat.
Grey eyes passed over black lenses, a smirk plastered onto his face, as precise as the steps that moved him here. "Figured I should be expecting a house call sooner or later," he said, simply. It was the truth - ever since that fateful meeting at the party, he knew it was only a matter of time until Miller came looking for him. He didn't suspect the stress that his existence would exude upon the cheetah, no, not until he saw said cheetah sitting in front of him, muscles tensed and ready to move at any point, but he did know that he'd be getting a visit one of these days. The past, it seemed, didn't like to be buried. It was very much constantly trying to reveal itself, to mess up any carefully laid plans that the one known as Ocelot might have - and yet, he hadn't taken action. The result of a change of heart, perhaps, if one was foolishly optimistic; the honest answer, however, was more in line with his beliefs: the potential negatives of being found murdering an allied citizen in cold blood far outweighed the possible damage Miller could do to his plans.
That, and he honestly didn't consider the cheetah much of a threat.
He decided to show this, to show power in this scenario, by relaxing his muscles, keeping himself purposefully calm, as if he was in no danger here, even if he knew the cheetah would come armed. Revolver knew he wasn't stupid. To waltz over into a potential enemy's domain without any means of defense beyond your claws and teeth, especially an enemy that was known to be armed at most times - well, it certainly wouldn't impress any tactician, that was for sure. As he looked at his former ally's body, though, he knew such preemptive insults were misplaced. He could see the strap, as small as it was, from the front, confirming his thoughts. All according to plan, then.
He reached up a paw, adjusting his scarf, a blearing crimson thing that had remained around his neck for a very long time. "We should be alone, unless you hid some people around here," he said, eyes remaining trained where they were, not even giving him the satisfaction of glancing around even somewhat conspiratorially, "which gives us plenty of time to talk."
He stepped forward, out of the brush, leaves rustling as his long limbs pushed past, each step delicate, precise, calculated, as he moved to stand next to the snakes. Fitting that this should be where they met and had a nice little chat.
Grey eyes passed over black lenses, a smirk plastered onto his face, as precise as the steps that moved him here. "Figured I should be expecting a house call sooner or later," he said, simply. It was the truth - ever since that fateful meeting at the party, he knew it was only a matter of time until Miller came looking for him. He didn't suspect the stress that his existence would exude upon the cheetah, no, not until he saw said cheetah sitting in front of him, muscles tensed and ready to move at any point, but he did know that he'd be getting a visit one of these days. The past, it seemed, didn't like to be buried. It was very much constantly trying to reveal itself, to mess up any carefully laid plans that the one known as Ocelot might have - and yet, he hadn't taken action. The result of a change of heart, perhaps, if one was foolishly optimistic; the honest answer, however, was more in line with his beliefs: the potential negatives of being found murdering an allied citizen in cold blood far outweighed the possible damage Miller could do to his plans.
That, and he honestly didn't consider the cheetah much of a threat.
He decided to show this, to show power in this scenario, by relaxing his muscles, keeping himself purposefully calm, as if he was in no danger here, even if he knew the cheetah would come armed. Revolver knew he wasn't stupid. To waltz over into a potential enemy's domain without any means of defense beyond your claws and teeth, especially an enemy that was known to be armed at most times - well, it certainly wouldn't impress any tactician, that was for sure. As he looked at his former ally's body, though, he knew such preemptive insults were misplaced. He could see the strap, as small as it was, from the front, confirming his thoughts. All according to plan, then.
He reached up a paw, adjusting his scarf, a blearing crimson thing that had remained around his neck for a very long time. "We should be alone, unless you hid some people around here," he said, eyes remaining trained where they were, not even giving him the satisfaction of glancing around even somewhat conspiratorially, "which gives us plenty of time to talk."
tags - "speech"