[If Giovanni believes the task allotted to him is in any way unfair or undeserved he gives no sign of it, glancing down at the motionless corpse for a moment before leaning down to heft it over his shoulder as though it has no more significance than a sack of flour. Such things-- they don't touch him, can't, his conditioning making sure of it, reducing life to little more than the flipside of death.
He moves to stand beside his Handler, then, leaving a respectful space between them, and though he senses something in the other man, something in his scent that speaks vaguely of uncertainty, he doesn't give voice to it. What it might mean, it's beyond him.]
Are you certain you don't want me to take one of those, Sir?
[One of those, cargo rather than people, just a job to do. And despite the ugly display of death and sickness they've just witnessed, his voice is calm and smooth again, his earlier violence bleeding out into something almost tranquil, temporarily sated.]
no subject
He moves to stand beside his Handler, then, leaving a respectful space between them, and though he senses something in the other man, something in his scent that speaks vaguely of uncertainty, he doesn't give voice to it. What it might mean, it's beyond him.]
Are you certain you don't want me to take one of those, Sir?
[One of those, cargo rather than people, just a job to do. And despite the ugly display of death and sickness they've just witnessed, his voice is calm and smooth again, his earlier violence bleeding out into something almost tranquil, temporarily sated.]