It's very obvious Greed's dodging the question, which Murmur expected. For the moment he decided to let it drop, but that didn't mean he wasn't sticking a mental pin in it and going to continue listening for clues later. His interest was piqued, and being the information broker that Murmur was meant he wouldn't stop hunting until that curiosity was sated. As far as the accusation of being harsh goes, Murmur just gave Greed yet another one of those flat and unimpressed stares. It didn't take much to guess that the general level of competency was suspect here, given how easily Greed himself had been captured, and Murmur wasn't expecting to be proven wrong on his hypothesis.
Having nothing further to say on the subject of Greed's minions or their location Murmur stays silent, eyes wandering about taking in the details. Old walls stained with ages past, faded and fresh graffiti layers deep, piles of rusted and rotting trash and debris forming twisted abominations in the dark. All the signs of human life in its stinking, twisted refuse that rolls downhill and piles upon the 'less desirable.' It was a matter of fact that the most interesting of their species could often be found in places like this. Even more a matter of fact one could gauge the quality of a society by just how deep these urban junkyards went. For how they treated their least fortunate directly weighed against the value of those sitting at the top.
This world was rotten. Fortunately they'd been sworn to never do another flood.
As much as he seems to no longer be paying attention Murmur was listening to Greed's instructions. Thankfully he in fact did not need to breathe, and was mindful not to inhale when the demon began forging the door to his domain. Were Murmur a fledgling to such things he'd likely have been startled by the sudden violence of it all. The light, the sound, the smell would have sent most angels reeling in a panic of holy light and lashing out. Greed's lucky he's not dealing with someone more skittish, or he might have had a few burns that would prove much harder to heal than the minor inconvenience of his capture.
As it was, Murmur appeared barely phased by it all. Once it was over he simply blinked down at the devil on his ass, reaching up to casually dust some rain off the shoulder of his coat while the one identified as "Dol" came crashing over exactly like an over excited pit bull terrier. To his credit, Murmur didn't move. Not to assist, nor to get out of the path of a rampaging hell hound. He, more than most, understood the song and dance of bluff and bluster. To flinch would be to show weakness, to puff up and display would be to show threat. To do nothing at all? Well, he's long found that to have a much more amusing effect. No threat, no bluster, no flinching or showing off. Only calm watching with his head canted ever so slightly to one side. Curious, but not too curious. Let the demons scrabble about finding their footing with an enemy in their midst, he can wait.
"What were you saying about competence again?" He asked lightly, flippantly even as he eyed Dol fidgeting and admitting his failure. Really, just how hard was it to go out with a shovel this time of night? He did offer something of a faint inclination of his head in greeting. Polite, if heavily reserved. One did not risk excessive deference to a hound they didn't know. "I suppose there is a point to be made, if not for me your night may have been cut tragically short." Do stop blaming him for your failures, Greed, he doesn't much appreciate it.
no subject
Having nothing further to say on the subject of Greed's minions or their location Murmur stays silent, eyes wandering about taking in the details. Old walls stained with ages past, faded and fresh graffiti layers deep, piles of rusted and rotting trash and debris forming twisted abominations in the dark. All the signs of human life in its stinking, twisted refuse that rolls downhill and piles upon the 'less desirable.' It was a matter of fact that the most interesting of their species could often be found in places like this. Even more a matter of fact one could gauge the quality of a society by just how deep these urban junkyards went. For how they treated their least fortunate directly weighed against the value of those sitting at the top.
This world was rotten. Fortunately they'd been sworn to never do another flood.
As much as he seems to no longer be paying attention Murmur was listening to Greed's instructions. Thankfully he in fact did not need to breathe, and was mindful not to inhale when the demon began forging the door to his domain. Were Murmur a fledgling to such things he'd likely have been startled by the sudden violence of it all. The light, the sound, the smell would have sent most angels reeling in a panic of holy light and lashing out. Greed's lucky he's not dealing with someone more skittish, or he might have had a few burns that would prove much harder to heal than the minor inconvenience of his capture.
As it was, Murmur appeared barely phased by it all. Once it was over he simply blinked down at the devil on his ass, reaching up to casually dust some rain off the shoulder of his coat while the one identified as "Dol" came crashing over exactly like an over excited pit bull terrier. To his credit, Murmur didn't move. Not to assist, nor to get out of the path of a rampaging hell hound. He, more than most, understood the song and dance of bluff and bluster. To flinch would be to show weakness, to puff up and display would be to show threat. To do nothing at all? Well, he's long found that to have a much more amusing effect. No threat, no bluster, no flinching or showing off. Only calm watching with his head canted ever so slightly to one side. Curious, but not too curious. Let the demons scrabble about finding their footing with an enemy in their midst, he can wait.
"What were you saying about competence again?" He asked lightly, flippantly even as he eyed Dol fidgeting and admitting his failure. Really, just how hard was it to go out with a shovel this time of night? He did offer something of a faint inclination of his head in greeting. Polite, if heavily reserved. One did not risk excessive deference to a hound they didn't know. "I suppose there is a point to be made, if not for me your night may have been cut tragically short." Do stop blaming him for your failures, Greed, he doesn't much appreciate it.