the hailstorm
Neron, used to the rumblings of other patrons in the Atheneum by this point, does little until Wessex actually comes into view and addresses him. And when she does, his steel blue eyes flick up from the book to land on the Wraith, a catlike smile curling across his lips. "I didn't realise I was a fan of hers either, until today," he says. Pulling his feet back from the table to sit up properly, he finds a marker for his book and lets it snap shut with a muted thump.
"Forgive me for saying so, but I didn't really take you for a big reader yourself," he drawls, gesturing around the library. "Or - you weren't looking for me, were you? Because I think you ought to know that there was already a guaranteed chance of failure when it came to me going back to Halo. Noah and Deimos have sticks shoved so far up their backsides I'm surprised they can't taste wood all the time."
"Forgive me for saying so, but I didn't really take you for a big reader yourself," he drawls, gesturing around the library. "Or - you weren't looking for me, were you? Because I think you ought to know that there was already a guaranteed chance of failure when it came to me going back to Halo. Noah and Deimos have sticks shoved so far up their backsides I'm surprised they can't taste wood all the time."
