[ Tavor is Haran's most vocal hater, for whatever that's worth. Down here with no one to talk to, no rebellion to enact. He has no one he mourns, no revenge to seek. At least Qetzi had a reason to be here rather than merely having nowhere else to go. Strangely though, the weight of his own squandered existence does not seem to bother Tavor. He is sardonic and rasping, aware of his own ugliness and pleased to inflict his cruel humor on anyone close enough to be scratched by it, but he moves at an easy if hunched gait, he responds when spoken to. He is not an utterly sullen beast skulking in the dark, there must be something here which keeps him hale. Perhaps there is something for him, deeper than any of the human members of the family will ever go. ]

The obliging ones are the ones who lived. [ There's that utterly unkind sense of humor. ] The other five were too unfriendly.

[ He crows an abrasive laugh, hissing between his teeth as he finishes on cigarette and lights another. Six, if you included Haran's elder brother: a chain reaction that had rippled through the House like a maelstrom. He glances over his shoulder with a smile that gleams in the dark, elongating the sharp flesh-rending points of his teeth ]

I don't want your favors, magus. I like to keep my hands clean of Haran's shit.