~His face remains emotionless at this news of his son's betrayel. Seemingly absent of care or expression, Armand tilts his chin back softly, eyeing the message one last time before idly burning it to ashes with a subtle, incendiary snap of his fingers. Sighing, and adjusting his black suit a bit, the mage sends the Russian soldier who brought him this message away with a dismissive wave of his hand. Removing the glass cigarette holder from his soft, perfect lips, which curve into a collective smile, Armand Eastlock turns back to his glass of wine with out another thought~
"There is always another ... son, to turn to..."
|