[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]                  stared at the half-transmogrified hunter–if you could call a deplorable murderer like him such a thing–his eyes half-narrowed with suspicion, anger, and disgust. Farren may have been thinking more rationally now, but he still was not the least bit pleased with his circumstances. Still, oddly, after a moment, a faint glimmer came into his eyes and he let out a solitary, clipped, laugh, throwing his head back a moment before meeting Skinner’s gaze again. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Bargaining for your life are we? Don’t want to be hounded by your own retinue of immortal hunters with a taste for your blood?”[/b][/color]

Farren realized he was smiling, the absurdity of things having somewhat pushed him over from rage into a dark–cruel–bloody sort of humor. It felt familiar for some reason…like an old trusty coat he’d forgotten he liked so much, that he’d forgotten he had. Of course, the irony of his words weren’t lost on him, given that Skinner could quite literally skewer him at any moment. Thing was, both Skinner and him both knew how pointless it would be. Farren would just come back, madder than ever and equipped with more knowledge about Skinner’s particular brand of violence than he had been at the start of their encounter. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Fine. Aside from the strength in your blood, the hell do ya ‘ave to offer?”[/b][/color]