[ Fight, she says, do what it is you do best. Take blade and gunpowder to the streets, to the beasts and the knights, be loud so that she may slip through the shadows unseen. So she may gather strength in secret, so she may sharpen her claws.

Laughter bubbles to his lips escaping with a low noise, muffled as he drinks. ]

You would have us be your goats. [ For that is the truth of it, the real truth, what she truly wants. ] Prance about and bleat, annoy them until all they become blind to you.

[ He turns back to her lips curved upwards, manic, eyes wide and wild. He relishes the chance she hands him, the promise of blood and violence and gunpowder. Opportunity to clash against the dangerous beasts of the night and then day, force his will against theirs and see who comes out whole. ]

I will do this, but my men... [ A sudden surge of movement has his return to the bed though he does not sit, resting instead a foot upon it, his body leaning towards her. ] They are not dead men, they thrive of money and warmth.