To the Moon. Mother and Maker of worgs, and She who calls souls away from Grasping Death.
[ The disdainful canine whuff can be more felt than heard through their shared connection. ]
And I refuse. I've no need of a debt owed by some whelp without so much as a mortar and pestle to his name.
[ Is he counting on riling Quentin up by calling him a whelp and being a rude asshole? Maybe enough to spark an argument and for him to drop the whole IOU matter entirely? You betcha! ]
[ He's sitting with the explanation, wondering (as he often does) if that's something he could find any faith in. He'd like to ask more--but Khoriya lays an exceptionally engaging trap to distract him. ]
Man, we have talked about this fucking whelp bullshit.
[ There's a clear sardonic tinge to the growled monotone - clearly, Khoriya doesn't give a shit, so 'whelp' it is. Satisfied that Quentin has been well distracted from the task of doing him any further favors, he'll withdraw. ]
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Who do you pray to, anyway?
no subject
[ The disdainful canine whuff can be more felt than heard through their shared connection. ]
And I refuse. I've no need of a debt owed by some whelp without so much as a mortar and pestle to his name.
[ Is he counting on riling Quentin up by calling him a whelp and being a rude asshole? Maybe enough to spark an argument and for him to drop the whole IOU matter entirely? You betcha! ]
no subject
Man, we have talked about this fucking whelp bullshit.
no subject
[ There's a clear sardonic tinge to the growled monotone - clearly, Khoriya doesn't give a shit, so 'whelp' it is. Satisfied that Quentin has been well distracted from the task of doing him any further favors, he'll withdraw. ]