Gris' gaze scans Mike's lazy position on the couch, smiling at his vulnerability, but only for a moment until they truly begin to listen to his words. Grisangore returns the look, albeit a bit more intense than usual. Their voice drawls as they speak slowly, softly, eyes not yet leaving the mic, "I believe you. In fact, I'm quite fascinated with its capabilities." 

Their eyes meet Mike's, but the grin remains. "I'm surprised you didn't immediately return it to where it came from. Wonder why, when it's given you such a destructive task," they tap their chin, a laugh whistling through gritted teeth. "Felt nice, hm? It gave you power that you didn't have before."

The sound of glass tickles their ears as a single spear, three-quarters the length of their body, materializes at their side. Fingernails scraping the weapon's smooth surface, Gris' expression twists, overjoyed at the mere thought of violence, revealing their warmongering spirit as they ask Mike carefully, "How much would you take for it?"

"I had a horse once. Gave her to the children of the people years ago, haven't seen her since then." Gris' smile seems to widen. "If you had a pet that you gave to someone and you learned they mistreated her so badly that she ran away, would you recommend still remaining kind to those people? That was my instruction... clearly, I didn't listen."

Margot offered a somber look. “I’m very very sorry about your horse!! I don’t understand how somevone could be intentionally cruel to animals?” 

Margot shook her head. 

“I can completely see vhy you’d never vant to speak to zhose people again!” She stood up confidently “I say you look for zat horse! I mean zheres no harm in trying? Also, you should give zhose people a piece of your mind!!” 

—

Margot sat down next to your character. “I don’t really like to speak about my past but I zhink it vould be helpful for me.” 

She sighed and looked to the side. 

“I knew Adolf Hitler. Personally. Vell before he vent.. crazy. Im fact I knew him very vell. 

Ve vere so close and as soon as he left to serve in ze Great War, I zhink apart of me died zhat day. 

Honestly, after hearing about his avful ideals, I cant help but zhink i was responsible for his actions..”  

Proxy muffled her snicker in one of her palms, her golden eyes shining with mirth, as she pondered the man's statement. Coughing away the remnants of her giggles, she squared him up with a look of mild interest. This one's interesting.... She almost let a predatory smirk flit across her face, but refrained from doing so, remembering that having metal aliens with six arms and sharp teeth smiling at you like you were a slab of very delicious looking steak wasn't exactly something that Humans liked. And so she brushed away her eerie mannerisms for a moment and smiled normally. "Well," She starts, her audials twitching slightly. "It could be worse, I suppose. They could be calling you worse things, couldn't they?" She grinned at him. "Twinkletoes ain't that bad, if you ask me."

-----------

Proxy huffed, scratching at the wires of her neck with a low rumble. "I, uh." She coughed, flicking her audials much like a dog or cat would if something was buzzing around them. "If you tell anyone I told you this I will make you eat your own intestines." She threatened, but she knew she wouldn't. They probably knew that, too. "When I'm warm and content, I purr like a cat." She stated, before going silent. That was it. The whole fact. Nothing else.

Noel was silent for a moment, a wistful expression upon his face. He didn't like to daydream, or to hope too much from the future, but he still yearned for an orchard of his own. It would probably never happen, and he knew that. Still, Arsene's story was pleasant for him to hear, even if it didn't quite seem that way.

"..You're lucky." he told him, "I don't like to think about it too often, no, but it sounds lovely to have somewhere like that to spend your time. Maybe one of these days, I'll have one, but I'm not as wealthy as I used to be. It'll be a pain just finding a house somewhere in the countryside. But.. still. You and him, you're both lucky. Gods, keep changing, if it makes you two happy."

"Women often like a man who can cook." said Noel, "So, way back then, that's why I did. I started in the first place for my wife." He paused, and then frowned. "She was expecting, then. I suppose I had to learn for her, anyway... But, that was a long time ago. It shouldn't matter now. But, women still like a man who can cook, so I kept at it. Now, I cook for the girl. Goodness knows she can hardly do it herself."

"!" Though he's never truly at ease with strangers, the common ground gives Petrel just small amount of peace. "I cook too. I learned for my husband." Though he doesn't say it outright, and though he doesn't feel it's his place to judge, it's clear he approves. "Do you have any recipes?"

"I... don't know my age." It doesn't seem to bother him any, but he speaks a little more stiltedly, already a feat. "Or birthday."

_{(sorry for short, my computer crashed while I was typing a longer response and I didn't want to hold the game up any longer)}

"Why is that?" Dean asked. His birthday never got celebrated as a kid, so he could understand exactly how someone might be able to forget their age or birthday himself- he often did.

"I'm ambidextrous. I prefer using my right though. It's a bit more comfortable."

"I can see that," Johnson said while shooting the other party a very, very unamused look. Nice. "Considering yourself, you do seem like the individual who places great pride in your physique. I wouldn't be surprised if you somehow rendered yourself able to use both hands proficiently..." He trailed off so that he could look at his own hands, measly and lanky as hell compared to the younger man. Already, a well of envy started to rise up, yet it only manifested with a subtle twitch of his lip. Johnson hated this feeling of inferiority; he really did. He was so used to making other people feel that way that when the tables were turned, all he could do was stare at his hands. Helplessly.

Johnson hated being helpless. It suggested a lack of control. Control was what he needed to survive and thrive in a place where the strong ate the weak. Mercilessly too.

Shooting the other party a harsh glare, the older man snarled, "It's not like you'd be particularly subtle about that trait of yours either. The arrogance in you, it seethes. I can detect it, and I can't smell for shit." Ummmm... Way to express your cynicism, Johnson. He turned himself from the other party, still clearly irritated for an absurdly petty reason.

Johnson raised a brow at the stranger but otherwise expressed little to no emotion. He, for the most part, was actually fairly reserved when it came to personal anecdotes and facts. After all, if he knew too much, he'd be rendered vulnerable, and that was very much an issue for a man like himself. Sourness wasn't particularly prevalent in his mood at the moment though, thank goodness; apathy reigned in this situation. Nevertheless, the raised brow did suggest that he was feeling a bit more open than usual... Or, as much as he hated to ever think of the term... Sweet. (Gag.)

He rubbed his hands together before merely stating, "This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm not particularly interested in parties." A chuckle followed this quip, yet it was clearly forced. This man wasn't used to laughing. It showed. "I just see them as a means to an end, but if I didn't need them to maintain my standing, you could expect me to stay home most of the time. When you're at home, you're in a calm and controlled zone. Elsewhere, it's more difficult to recreate that type of environment..." Johnson's eyes darted while his feet started to tap. "It's a real shame too, because I know fellows who genuinely enjoy parties. They do seem a bit intriguing, but I must also reprimand them for giving in to such an emotional vice."