- Pronoun
- they or she
Jesse sniffed. "Can't exactly have night and day 'neath the surface like this, can you?"
Lopunny pointed up, towards the nearest gaslamp. "Our lights dim and brighten with the sky above." (The hissing flame guttered in its cage.)
Noctowl cocked his head, repeatedly, each movement evoking the hands of a ticking clock.
"Two hours remain," he cooed, softly. "One hour has been spent."
Jesse hissed through his teeth. It certainly hadn't been anything like an hour. Which meant they didn't have anything like two hours left.
"Time doesn't mean much down here," he warned Dave. "Fuckin' dungeons, y'know. The time is whatever the time wants to be."
He scanned the apparitions, wondering if he could guess guilt. Something told him the dungeon wouldn't let him get away with scapegoating someone. It wouldn't be that easy. But he had to move the conversation back to someone other than Dave, either way.
"You, Scrafty. Thievul. You were havin' a contentious argument a moment ago. Do either of you have a genuine and sober-minded suspicion of the other?"
He stepped forwards, willing the bickering and paranoia to fall on one of these poor fellows, and not the living dog he needed to get out of here.
"He ain't from 'round 'ere," drawled Scrafty, hands at his hips as if he were about to draw a revolver right then and there.
"The gentlemon giving me the evil eye is eager not to have his whereabouts questioned," growled Thievul, smooth and dark.
The rest of the crowd began to close in.
Lopunny pointed up, towards the nearest gaslamp. "Our lights dim and brighten with the sky above." (The hissing flame guttered in its cage.)
Noctowl cocked his head, repeatedly, each movement evoking the hands of a ticking clock.
"Two hours remain," he cooed, softly. "One hour has been spent."
Jesse hissed through his teeth. It certainly hadn't been anything like an hour. Which meant they didn't have anything like two hours left.
"Time doesn't mean much down here," he warned Dave. "Fuckin' dungeons, y'know. The time is whatever the time wants to be."
He scanned the apparitions, wondering if he could guess guilt. Something told him the dungeon wouldn't let him get away with scapegoating someone. It wouldn't be that easy. But he had to move the conversation back to someone other than Dave, either way.
"You, Scrafty. Thievul. You were havin' a contentious argument a moment ago. Do either of you have a genuine and sober-minded suspicion of the other?"
He stepped forwards, willing the bickering and paranoia to fall on one of these poor fellows, and not the living dog he needed to get out of here.
"He ain't from 'round 'ere," drawled Scrafty, hands at his hips as if he were about to draw a revolver right then and there.
"The gentlemon giving me the evil eye is eager not to have his whereabouts questioned," growled Thievul, smooth and dark.
The rest of the crowd began to close in.
