[Ronan scoffs at the question, because of course not, he hadn't asked anyone, and he didn't plan to. Asking meant he supposedly cared, which he didn't. What happens, happens - like a car crash. He's suddenly reminded of the sick crunching noises of the Pig, when he wrapped it around a pole.
This is the same kind of night, charged with electricity and violence is dripping from every surface. He wonders if guns are going to be produced, if night horrors are lurking in the shadows.
Probably not; this is not a dream, after all.]
A sword's never the killer. It's a tool in the killer's hand. [Words he'd been told. The same idea his new acquaintance had, in different words.] Politics are a game, man. The kind of game the populace - [He waves a finger between the two of them,] - never wins.
no subject
This is the same kind of night, charged with electricity and violence is dripping from every surface. He wonders if guns are going to be produced, if night horrors are lurking in the shadows.
Probably not; this is not a dream, after all.]
A sword's never the killer. It's a tool in the killer's hand. [Words he'd been told. The same idea his new acquaintance had, in different words.] Politics are a game, man. The kind of game the populace - [He waves a finger between the two of them,] - never wins.