[That draws Diavolo's attention. He leans in, elbows on the table, for a closer look. It's scrutiny at its finest, and it isn't Steven's expression that he's examining. He had tells, he knows, in brief moments surfacing — a flash of the eyes, a twitch of the lips, a subtle shift in posture. Cervo's physical presence may be bound to the fog, but, until Diavolo has proof that that rule applies to others as well, he will look for signs of another with them. And, if he finds any, he will dig in and pry whoever he finds out.]
I know of someone, [he says, softly, not breaking his intense stare,] who might say the same. Go on. Tell me what is so familiar about losing control.
[It could be nothing. He could have been a man prone to wild mood swings and nothing more — or it could be the answer Diavolo is searching for. What connects them? Why did the Fog fashion them into forms so similar?]
no subject
I know of someone, [he says, softly, not breaking his intense stare,] who might say the same. Go on. Tell me what is so familiar about losing control.
[It could be nothing. He could have been a man prone to wild mood swings and nothing more — or it could be the answer Diavolo is searching for. What connects them? Why did the Fog fashion them into forms so similar?]