He takes a satisfying pull from the glass, sets it down, and then replaces his hands in the pockets of the suit jacket he's evidently confiscated from one of the nearby houses. "I never particularly enjoyed murder." The words come out of him with ease, though it's possible that this is simply the first time in his... life? afterlife? that he's been able to speak so candidly of the crimes he committed in pursuit of his passions. He tips his head as if conceding some necessary point. "I'd kill a man if he became an obstacle, but never for pleasure."
(Out of spite, however, that's a different question altogether.)
"I'm Atticus." He turns his eyes back to Goodnight's and watches his face. "Who are you?"
no subject
His lips quirk wryly. TouchΓ©.
He takes a satisfying pull from the glass, sets it down, and then replaces his hands in the pockets of the suit jacket he's evidently confiscated from one of the nearby houses. "I never particularly enjoyed murder." The words come out of him with ease, though it's possible that this is simply the first time in his... life? afterlife? that he's been able to speak so candidly of the crimes he committed in pursuit of his passions. He tips his head as if conceding some necessary point. "I'd kill a man if he became an obstacle, but never for pleasure."
(Out of spite, however, that's a different question altogether.)
"I'm Atticus." He turns his eyes back to Goodnight's and watches his face. "Who are you?"