"A war?" Cypress pauses, lifting his chin to see Moon standing behind Vormav. He nods subtly to her as she enters their conversation, feeling a bit more comfortable knowing that he did not have to speak of her in third person any more. He slips his left hand into his pocket, the right holding onto the leather strap which keeps his .30-06 carbine lowered in preparation for any enemies who wanted to take a shot off at him. The Angel of Caine purses his lips into a casually somber expression as his saphire eyes lid thoughtfully, cast towards the floor subtly for a second in consideration.
"Moon. I don't know exactly how to say this... But Armand's had it. Or he's going to get it. I just wanted to know exactly what you talked with him about. And why you didn't tell me..."
He pauses. Fuck. I sound like I'm interrogating the poor woman. Shaking his head, Cypress purses his lips bitterly. Though the sour expression was certainly reserved for Armand, and the organization he represented, not for Moon or Vormav. They understood... Surely.
"I mean. I am not angry. That's not what I'm saying. I just wanted to make sure he hadn't filled your head with his lies. And... since you did talk to him, I need to ask you where he's planning to go? I assume he was going to head a fledgeling Warlock Order cell in the new colonies. That would be very bad, as your towns would soon become a refuge for their terrorists and spies. He would rule through political assassination and subterfuge, and attempt to make what ever government the colony sets up for itself a Warlock Order puppet and eventually a stronghold. Trust me, I know this guy. He will never stop until he is put down like a rabid dog."
|