[ Nothing, apart from the patience of his rapt attention, changes in Brandon's expression to indicate his thoughts. But then, that's a matter of course for everyone in this house, or under it (Petre aside). ]
Interesting.
[ He can begin to understand something of the Morrison attitude toward - well, breeding, he supposes, though of course he finds it distasteful. It certainly did yield some fascinating results, but then what did they do with them? Apparently, they locked Tavor in the basement and put the hyenas outside, and then the favored hybrid murdered them.
If he was going to say anything else, Brandon stops at the insinuation of some faint sound. Flapping, not from leathery-skinned wings, but a feathery rustle that grows more frantic as his messenger careens around the tunnels, trying to avoid cages and anything else that might be lurking down here to find here. When it finally barges into the musty gloom, the spot of illumination from Brandon's flashlight glancing off its oily black wings, it first deposits a chunk of meat on the designated spot, then hurls itself into Brandon's waiting hands to tremble violently.
The meat is a substantial chunk, a few pounds, perhaps, not too fresh, and not human, either. But it is meat. As for Tavor, Brandon rummages amidst the feathers a moment and retrieves a carton of cigarettes, which he unceremoniously tosses Tavor's way. Gifts all around. ]
no subject
Interesting.
[ He can begin to understand something of the Morrison attitude toward - well, breeding, he supposes, though of course he finds it distasteful. It certainly did yield some fascinating results, but then what did they do with them? Apparently, they locked Tavor in the basement and put the hyenas outside, and then the favored hybrid murdered them.
If he was going to say anything else, Brandon stops at the insinuation of some faint sound. Flapping, not from leathery-skinned wings, but a feathery rustle that grows more frantic as his messenger careens around the tunnels, trying to avoid cages and anything else that might be lurking down here to find here. When it finally barges into the musty gloom, the spot of illumination from Brandon's flashlight glancing off its oily black wings, it first deposits a chunk of meat on the designated spot, then hurls itself into Brandon's waiting hands to tremble violently.
The meat is a substantial chunk, a few pounds, perhaps, not too fresh, and not human, either. But it is meat. As for Tavor, Brandon rummages amidst the feathers a moment and retrieves a carton of cigarettes, which he unceremoniously tosses Tavor's way. Gifts all around. ]