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Mᴏʀɢᴀɴ Bʟᴀᴋᴇ; ʀᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴛᴇᴍ (
2015-11-06 01:50 am (UTC)
Tall and wide, but Morgan probably doesn't have the capacity to look at this guy and call him
.' 'Big,' probably, in a very easily misunderstood way, for the man looks exactly like the last person you want to be picking fights with. Tapping him on his arm, his form isn't extremely soft; there is definitely a firmness below, wrapped around bones perhaps even larger than normal.
So it's strange when his golem-sized person responds with the energy of a guitar string wound
way too tight
, Morgan has to work to keep his face looking perfectly neutral. Okay, an eyebrow might be slipping upward, just a little.
He doesn't have a lighter. "Oh, uh... That's fine, then, thanks though."
But -- damn, this guy's accent. It's incredibly familiar to Morgan, of trips with his mother and brother up north to the border. It's twangy. Morgan's eyes narrow thoughtfully as he tucks his cigarette behind his ear. "Uh, say -- can I ask you somethin'? Where you from?" He doesn't sound like he's from Tennessee, but boy is it close, and Morgan is shamelessly eager to keep his man's attention until he can find out what's going on. The Raven seems like it wants Morgan to stop this guy along his way, so he's hoping to at least delay him, or detour his current path all together, to avoid whatever doom is waiting for him.
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