#// sam vc i see ya bird pun and raisa ya one meself

[fishermcn]

@sunmad // x

Her wordplay is rewarded with an amused huff. Though for the cowl obscuring the better part of his visage, who could say if the noise is the genuine article? "Not here. Least not till them lads from Yahar'gul show up." Something in his already dispassionate stare hardens at the thought, as though recalling some prior spat or altercation with the lot from the Hidden Village. It's as soon in passing as it was arriving, and with a blink he's back to giving Miriam the same regard as before-- the one might have for a holstered pistol and all the promise for violence lying within it even while at rest. "Reckon ya knew that, though. Ain't seen ya stick 'round long enough t'run afoul o'them yet."

With a flick of his grey gaze and the slightest tilt of his head, Crow gestures for her to follow. His unhurried steps lead away from the press of hungry-eyed scoundrels bartering and barking over the illicit goods, and the few that drunkenly stagger across their path or dare bare their teeth in preparation to spit swears are warded off with the rattle-clink of the riflespear slung over his lean shoulder. All the while, Crow lets the rasp of his voice carry back to her beneath the din and clamor of ragged men and women. "Thinkin' ya after somethin' these lot ain't tryna find. Much as that Church o'yours wants us gone, what sells ain't hard t'scrounge up. Dead beasts, dead men, they're all o'er Yharnam." He chuckles, but the noise is harshened by a fit of dry coughing that nearly threatens to pause his stride.

Fitting then that they seem to have arrived at that place his sharp eyes had caught sight of. Among the ramshackle, overgrown buildings there's a particularly rough-looking shack tucked just beyond the scant lantern light offered by the temporary gathering of rogues. Crow turns back to Miriam then, allowing himself to lean against the weathered doorway while planting his trick weapon into the ground to likewise lean against him. "But you? Turn ya nose up at th'standard fare, ya do. Too good for it. For th'plague beast bits, even." He scratches at his chin through his cowl, a thoughtful hum in his throat. "Makes two of us, it does. Birds of a feather, even. Least by that figurin' o'yours."

For a long moment, Crow considers Miriam. Even gnaws at the inside of his cheek for a little too long for the muttered oath under his breath. "Wantin' a way to th'labyrinth. Reckon ya want th'same. Got things down there Yharnam ain't ever seen."