[Threats, shallow or not, were something Fabius was used to receiving from Lucius. An attack dog that only heeled for one master, he had seen first had just how readily Lucius would sink his blade into the flesh of a brother. For millennia, his own usefulness and possession of the chirurgeon had ensured that he would be kept far from those culling pits. Yet here, now, neither of them were under Fulgrim's command, and only one of them has an advantage.
Fabius chokes the anxiety down from his sallow features, knowing good and well that Lucius would take a mile if given an inch. His expression remains even, his oil-black gaze, mutated by Eyespace, watching every twitch in body language and soaking up the information like a sponge.]
Bitterness, towards you? Don't make me laugh. Did your eldar mistress treat you as good as promised? [His sunken eyes fall half-lidded, and despite Lucius' tense posturing, Fabius finds the strength to push himself up to height. There's a moment where he finds it laughable, even now, Lucius is still the runt of the litter. He uses the silence between them to size Lucius up, and if his own lack of sense and strength is anything to go by, then that would mean the Astartes before him is also significantly downgraded. Ideas and plans are calculated, executed, and tossed aside in a matter of milliseconds within his head. Fabius is thankful that, if anything, he still has his mind. Weak flesh has always been a crux he bore, so this new reality was hardly one to adjust to.]
Always the devoteeβyou should know by now that gods are not whoms, but whats. [He straightens his hunching back, savoring the sickening series of cracks as his vertebrae align themselves, and the screams of pain through his fatigued muscles that remind him this body is still alive.]
I wonder, do these new mutations suit your tastes? [His eyes lower to that tail poised behind Lucius, and idle curiosity has his tongue rolling over his thin upper lip.] Your new nerves must feel impotent in comparison to my previous work upon you.
no subject
Fabius chokes the anxiety down from his sallow features, knowing good and well that Lucius would take a mile if given an inch. His expression remains even, his oil-black gaze, mutated by Eyespace, watching every twitch in body language and soaking up the information like a sponge.]
Bitterness, towards you? Don't make me laugh. Did your eldar mistress treat you as good as promised? [His sunken eyes fall half-lidded, and despite Lucius' tense posturing, Fabius finds the strength to push himself up to height. There's a moment where he finds it laughable, even now, Lucius is still the runt of the litter. He uses the silence between them to size Lucius up, and if his own lack of sense and strength is anything to go by, then that would mean the Astartes before him is also significantly downgraded. Ideas and plans are calculated, executed, and tossed aside in a matter of milliseconds within his head. Fabius is thankful that, if anything, he still has his mind. Weak flesh has always been a crux he bore, so this new reality was hardly one to adjust to.]
Always the devoteeβyou should know by now that gods are not whoms, but whats. [He straightens his hunching back, savoring the sickening series of cracks as his vertebrae align themselves, and the screams of pain through his fatigued muscles that remind him this body is still alive.]
I wonder, do these new mutations suit your tastes? [His eyes lower to that tail poised behind Lucius, and idle curiosity has his tongue rolling over his thin upper lip.] Your new nerves must feel impotent in comparison to my previous work upon you.