He stared intently at her for a moment, as if sizing up his options and choosing his words carefully. The gaze was piercing and unmoving -- or at least it appeared that way, given how one of those orbs was glassy and lifeless.
"You Soots," he began before coughing out some more blood. Irritably, he spat it off to the side and wiped his mouth with a dirty sleeve. The more time he spent in this rathole, the more he fucking hated it. No, he'd leave this safe house as soon as he secured the Red Jackal, and had her marching out with him. Preferably in front, where he could keep an eye on her and her tricks.
"You Soots, you're not secure at all," he croaked, eyes narrowing as he glanced to the door. "Top to bottom, a cesspool rampant with disloyalty. Some of your 'finest' don't even work for the Soots. No, they're paid by and loyal to someone else."
"It's always some old man, or a beggar, or a little poor child, but they're never themselves. Something... occupies them, like vessels. But whoever they are, they used your own Soots against you."
He said no more, for there wasn't anything else that needed to be said. The Arca underground was a place of revolving powers, and it was hard to keep track of all the players. If the Red Jackal knew of whom he spoke, then she knew more than him.
