[And it's just as well, perhaps, that they manage to drag themselves into their vehicles and make a hasty exit before Giovanni catches sight of them-- it might stir things in him all over again, entice him to go out and finish the job. Had he seen to them all personally, not a one would have been left alive, after all. But he doesn't see that, and when he enters the only sight to be seen beyond the cockpit is the vast, barren expanse of the badlands, the ground redstained with blood in places. The decimated corpses he'd left in his wake.
He takes no notice of that, leans back against the doorway in a manner that's almost (almost) casual, hips slightly cocked. Again, wearing her clothes, the traces of violence washed clean from his face, he almost passes for normal.]
I see.
[His voice is smooth with indifference, and he wonders vaguely, for just a moment, who they'll send out to replace his dead Handler. Whether they'd be able to drum anyone up at such short notice, in an emergency situation. Whether any of the blame for that particular death will be directed towards him. But it's a fleeting thought of little consequence, and instead he turns his attention back to the woman in the cockpit, drawn by the heady scent of her still-seeping blood.]
Where did you learn to fight like that? It's not a standard skill, for a pilot. If you don't mind my asking, Ma'am.
[And there's a small implication in that-- even during those fevered movements of carnage and bloodshed, he'd kept her in his awareness as best he could. Hadn't been acting entirely without reason, without thought.]
no subject
He takes no notice of that, leans back against the doorway in a manner that's almost (almost) casual, hips slightly cocked. Again, wearing her clothes, the traces of violence washed clean from his face, he almost passes for normal.]
I see.
[His voice is smooth with indifference, and he wonders vaguely, for just a moment, who they'll send out to replace his dead Handler. Whether they'd be able to drum anyone up at such short notice, in an emergency situation. Whether any of the blame for that particular death will be directed towards him. But it's a fleeting thought of little consequence, and instead he turns his attention back to the woman in the cockpit, drawn by the heady scent of her still-seeping blood.]
Where did you learn to fight like that? It's not a standard skill, for a pilot. If you don't mind my asking, Ma'am.
[And there's a small implication in that-- even during those fevered movements of carnage and bloodshed, he'd kept her in his awareness as best he could. Hadn't been acting entirely without reason, without thought.]