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[deniles]

For shipping/smut/anything else.

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[indragonyears]

[ Wrathion's brow raises, a cat-with-the-cream look stealing over his face. ]

I've always got a use for loyal men of that caliber. [ ... because what's a mission if you don't pick up your reparations along the way? ]

The Black Prince is good to his people, I assure you.

[deniles]

...I'll make a deal with you. In 24 hours, I want to have them both dead by my hands. If you can provide that, I will be the most loyal man you have ever had working for you.

And if it takes longer, I make no promises about working for you. Are we clear?

[indragonyears]

You take all of the fun out of hanging a man with his own noose, you know that?

[ There's a glimmer of irritation in Wrathion's mien, a displeasure with being given an ultimatum, of all things... but he smooths it down. Thinks it over. Rolling his shoulder and runs the calculation, ruby-red eyes flickering as he thinks through the possibilities and the steps--before he finally gives a nod and a bit of a shrug. ]

Very well. Your hands will be stained with their blood by this time tomorrow--and as a result, you will serve me for the rest of your life. We've an accord?

[ He holds out a gloved hand, golden-tipped gauntlets glittering in the firelight with equal parts danger and promise, eyes burning with dragonfire. ]

[deniles]

Sorry, I don't like to play the waiting game.

[If he wants to get his revenge, he wants to do it while it's delicious and hot. He doesn't want to wait for them to choke and die.]

We have.

[Taking it and shaking his hand.]

I look forward to it.