Growing extra fingers or even limbs doesn't sound that interesting, not as much as the mechanism behind it probably is. The rest of what she has to say interests Chrollo more. Her husband. Most likely Duty if Chrollo has to guess, but he's not going to ask about it. She hasn't asked about the spider, or about Sarasa.
"I hope that's just as rude where you're from." Is all Chrollo has to say in response to being flipped off.
"I know exactly what I care about, and none of what I care about is here," Chrollo says with a shrug. It's not what Pyrrha meant exactly. They could come here, though, and Chrollo has space waiting for them more or less. Even if the spider's purpose is absent, the spider can survive.
The fact that Pyrrha calls caring about a single city a luxury is laughable, because that's all Chrollo has decided to care about. Not the people as an individual, though he does extend that some of the little care he has left to spread around. If he's not going to care about the people close to him more than the cause, he won't care about any stranger either. The spider doesn't exist to preserve any individual.
"You don't have- maybe it's a language issue? A miniature rose, or a poor man's rose. A cheap and easily produced weapon of mass destruction. It turns multiple city blocks into molten rock and metal, spreads a self-propagating contagious toxin that's faster and more lethal in its spread than most disease, and the blast cloud looks like a rose in bloom. Someone detonated one in a relatively isolated area recently, so the toxin didn't get to spread to populated areas before all the carriers died off."
Chrollo's curious if Pyrrha's society bypassed weapons like that in favor of necromancy. The spike of anger is interesting. She doesn't serve a distant god, and perhaps that's much worse than wondering if any divine being is out there watching or not.
no subject
"I hope that's just as rude where you're from." Is all Chrollo has to say in response to being flipped off.
"I know exactly what I care about, and none of what I care about is here," Chrollo says with a shrug. It's not what Pyrrha meant exactly. They could come here, though, and Chrollo has space waiting for them more or less. Even if the spider's purpose is absent, the spider can survive.
The fact that Pyrrha calls caring about a single city a luxury is laughable, because that's all Chrollo has decided to care about. Not the people as an individual, though he does extend that some of the little care he has left to spread around. If he's not going to care about the people close to him more than the cause, he won't care about any stranger either. The spider doesn't exist to preserve any individual.
"You don't have- maybe it's a language issue? A miniature rose, or a poor man's rose. A cheap and easily produced weapon of mass destruction. It turns multiple city blocks into molten rock and metal, spreads a self-propagating contagious toxin that's faster and more lethal in its spread than most disease, and the blast cloud looks like a rose in bloom. Someone detonated one in a relatively isolated area recently, so the toxin didn't get to spread to populated areas before all the carriers died off."
Chrollo's curious if Pyrrha's society bypassed weapons like that in favor of necromancy. The spike of anger is interesting. She doesn't serve a distant god, and perhaps that's much worse than wondering if any divine being is out there watching or not.