SMUT... BOX

[photophobic]

for all our where should we put this needs

Comments

[cucaracha]

"I could be?" Murphy suggests weakly.

It's never a good sign when the guy in charge repeats your words back at you. Granted, Murphy wouldn't believe himself either. The nearest settlement isn't exactly stumbling distance away.

"I left Polis a little while. Looking for work. I'm a cook, you know. Not to brag, but I'm one of the best. Do you need one? A king could always use more cooks. I can prepare you a whole feast if you want. We'll call it a trial."

[photophobic]

"You'd like a knife, would you?"

Kylo considers his guest for a moment, then reaches out a hand. Invisible force coils around Murphy's body, dragging him smoothly across the floor until he kneels at his feet, close enough for Kylo to see the marks and bruises from a brief but certainly determined scuffle with his warriors. Some of these marks are older, though. Much about him suggests a long history of surviving in the tread of another's boot, and when Kylo reaches to lift his chin with a touch, he catches a flash of something like resentment. Resignation shot through with a streak of bitter defiance. Loathing, perhaps, but not...

"You don't look like you've seen a feast for quite some time."