“You say that like you’d be my first. Murder, I mean.”
Atlas respected him, though, just a sliver, for not doing that; for not tucking tail and running. It spoke to a certain stoicism that, while perhaps foolhardy, she could appreciate; she’d have been all the more likely to kill him if he’d been unable to stand up for himself, to put things simply and honestly. Maybe it was born of a somewhat unattractive elitism, but she had little patience for people who too early and too readily proved themselves to be lesser in one way or another; be it in skill, strength, or intellect. Even so, her eyes glinted with her words; hands unwavering. No, he wasn’t her first, and almost certainly wouldn’t be her last; but, ah, who was counting?
Still—he was offering an arrangement, and that at least was worth hearing out; if only to reformulate it by her own standards when all was said and done. She could be civil, no? Even staring at him down the barrel of a gun, she could manage that. Criminal, she was; monster, she was not. Besides, every gentleman (gentlewoman, whatever, what were gender lines again?) was a patient wolf.
“60 percent mine, 40 percent yours. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”
Short, clear, and straight to the point; he was at least right in the sense that there was no reason to waste unnecessary time.
“You know that’s not somethin’ to be proud of, right?”
Oh, he had seen murder. He’d seen it in the eyes of his father as the powers of the Dark One caught a firmer grip on him by the day. And especially for that reason, he wanted nothing better but to steer clear from such things. Petty thieving was one thing, grand larceny a little more on the edge, but cold-blooded murder wasn’t something he would ever be likely to dabble in.
And of course, he could have expected there would be terms from her side. To be fair, he was surprised she hadn’t seen through his bluff of there being ‘people’ behind the job he had taken on; he was a lone wolf with no pack to account for, and all winnings would go to him. This also meant, however, that he had nobody to back him up in case things went haywire, so having a woman who seemed to be armed to the teeth and ready to shoot at will at his side to clear this job and earning 40 percent of the winnings didn’t sound like such a bad bet.
However, since this had all spiraled down into a little game between them, he was not yet willing to put his cards on the table. No—the show had only just started, and he wasn’t going to settle unless he could squeeze in one more cheeky offer towards the woman pointing a gun at him.
“Forty-five…and you buy me a drink. After that, we’ll go our own merry ways and never speak of this again.”
(Source: magicaedestruit)
