The pages turned. It registered in the vampire's mind, even as his eyes shifted between the two present men. The red clad man's book had been perused (which Morgan could not read - the script impossibly hidden into the color of the book), the holding hand moving with same nonchalance as the annoying accent or even as the actions of Morgan's target - or lack there of. If doubt had been worming itself into the sniffer's mind, it had fully seeped done so now. [i]'He hadn't even flinched. This man, he just kept reading his book as if nothing were even happening.[/i] Morgan's stance stiffened in an attempt to keep his reaction sharp, if need be, but his judgement that had been once so firm in the belief that this man needed to die, here and now, now had been moved to the point of heavy hesitance and growing hatred. [i]'How can he be so arrogant? He has two battle-tested beings before him, and yet, he stands there like--'[/i] Morgan's thoughts were interrupted by the assassin's heavily accented speech, the tone of his voice hard pressed, as if he were growing impatient, or even bored with the whole situation:

[b]"Look, so'y I went 'n' ruin'd yer fight wi'h Blue 'n' stuff, but can't we just, y'know, not fight? The boss-man'll be right mad wi'h me if I went 'n' kill'd one of his 'investments in continuous profits', Ixie, 'n' I real don't wanna kill whoever yer mate is while he's still this weak. What'd'ya say, eh? We just walk our separate ways, eh? No one gets hurt, eh?"[/b]

[i]'Ixie?'[/i] Crimson eyes darted over towards the blade for hire and then quickly back to "Red," [i]'These two know each other?'[/i] The vampire's weight shifted as took taking the information in as his thoughts continued to whirl, [i]'So, he won't hurt the sellsword... but won't fight me because I'm...'[/i] The space between his eyes tighted, furrowing into lines of anger, but only for the briefest of moments, struggling to finish the thought, [i]'Weak?[/i]. But how could he be weak? He was a vampire, a feared creature in all of the Planes. After all, stories of attacks were not whispered among the frightened people for no reason. On top of that, Morgan was a sniffer! Trained in the art of hunting peoples of magic and helping eliminate them! [i]'Thus, the question remains: who does this arrogant son of a tarke think he i--'[/i]

Suddenly, a singular fact hit Morgan like a pile of bricks. Perhaps it was the sole purpose of revenge that had blinded him to it, or maybe puzzling manner that this assassin had portraying himself in, but this fact would slowly bring the sniffer out of his defensive stance to one of normality, eventually causing the vampire to appear without threat, even to point of being relaxed. Red was something that Morgan knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he could not face, at least not alone. [i]'Maybe not even together.'[/i] the vampire thought doubtfully. The smilng mask's light soul flowed as smoothly as a breeze, but as violently as a tornado. The amount of this man's magical capacity was tremendous, even impressive. Only once or twice had Thrainsson felt such a presence in his days of hunting for the Secularian army - these souls had left an impression on Morgan's memory, and such memories were far from pleasent. 

In his chance of stance, however, Morgan struggled to issue words from his mouth. The want, [u]the need[/u] to kill this man was one that would not be easily set free. He did not want to say it, but if Ixion had not stated something other than mutual agreement between time it took the vampire to shift from his defensive stance to his relaxed stance, Morgan would feel forced to to spit out the following words, his voice grating over the air as his staff ground into the roof's tiles with audible crunching, "Agreed - we walk our seperate ways."

However, if Ixion decided to make a move against Red, the vampire would be able to shift his stance swiftly...