[And so, the invitation is given. Vergilius moves like a colossus - a heavy, worn thing who has experienced more wear and tear than he perhaps deserves. He would argue himself he deserved it all. He deserved more.]
[Is this a good decision? No. But he moves, anyways.]
[He shifts inside, closes the door quietly, and moves into the room. He casts his gaze around, before - his eyes pause on something. A little gun-like device on the table. He points to it with a low grunt.]
no subject
[Is this a good decision? No. But he moves, anyways.]
[He shifts inside, closes the door quietly, and moves into the room. He casts his gaze around, before - his eyes pause on something. A little gun-like device on the table. He points to it with a low grunt.]
What is that?