[ A video clicks on; a young man is hunched over the tablet, tapping with his pen. Mostly obscured by long, greasy blond hair, his face is tense in concentration and irritation. A few more motions with the pen, and apparently something happens to his satisfaction. The man abandons the pen in favor of staring intently at the screen. ]Now
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None here will bow to your demands, mage. Your hubris does you no credit.
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Given the lack of evidence, it still remains to be seen.
However, would it be a demonstration you'd require? The list of my talents would be quite extensive. [Fine, so he's poking fun at the angry glowing white-haired ... hmm. Pointed ears. Funny, he doesn't look like a tree. Angry glowing deformed Sidhe. Obviously nothing to worry about, right?]
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[Amused, dryly] The rest, however, I have heard before. I see no reason to feel remorse for being proud of my considerable talents.
However, fame would not be my goal [anymore, it's pointless to add], though I have little doubt you'd believe me.
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Tell me, do you advocate the possession of slaves as well? And do you use them to fuel your profane blood magic rituals?
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Calkin spare you, but you've a huge chip on your shoulder, don't you? And they're about as brightly lit as those tattoos. [But he actually sobers slightly, because - well, Etienne was indignant enough at being captured. He's self-centered, but he can imagine his own ire at being a slave.]
[Lightly, he says:] I don't require cheap shortcuts or props to augment my strength, no. Anything I've gotten is through my own sweat and blood.
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Until such time more power is required, correct?
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Humans are poor materials for any complex ritual. If I rely on anyone, it will be myself.
And I've proven time and time again my methods are superior to any other's.
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Or at least I've yet to sprout leaves if I had.
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