[ Jorah’s eyes are little slivers gleaming in the neon light -- he meets Rincewind’s look without moving his head to acknowledge it, muscle plucked rigid up the side of his jaw. ]
I have, [ he says, as a matter of fact, breath sharp -- smothering with whiskey on the point of Viserys’ nose. He’s too close, and looking even closer, weathered rough around the edges as the Khal Rhaggat will remember. Shades of familiar stink cling to his coat beneath gasoline and smoke.
Were his eyes always purple?
Maybe it’s the light. ]
Let go of him.
[ He enunciates very clearly. So that there can be no misunderstanding. ]
no subject
I have, [ he says, as a matter of fact, breath sharp -- smothering with whiskey on the point of Viserys’ nose. He’s too close, and looking even closer, weathered rough around the edges as the Khal Rhaggat will remember. Shades of familiar stink cling to his coat beneath gasoline and smoke.
Were his eyes always purple?
Maybe it’s the light. ]
Let go of him.
[ He enunciates very clearly. So that there can be no misunderstanding. ]