[To be honest, he still doubts it's real -- the diamond, not the magic, obviously -- but that doesn't matter. It looks real. He can fence looks real, and something that looks as real as that? He can fence for more than he brought in an entire week working at the Kash 'n' Grab. Maybe even more. A lot more, if it somehow is real. And he might be avoiding the topic of what waits for him at home as intently as possible, but he still can't help but be aware of the fact that that kind of money pays for a lot of baby stuff and she-demon-hooker-wife stuff.
In other words, he's practically salivating.]
Holy shit, Sharpe.
[He tears his eyes away from Cassel's hand and back up, pulling a face.]
Fuck you, you don't have any money. You're a walking fucking printing press.
[Private] cw: misogyny, prostitution
In other words, he's practically salivating.]
Holy shit, Sharpe.
[He tears his eyes away from Cassel's hand and back up, pulling a face.]
Fuck you, you don't have any money. You're a walking fucking printing press.