I have 34 things to be doing today what would result in personal growth. Benefit. Individual profit.
Bully for me that I don't particularly care!
The woods on the road up are suitably dark, in Spiel's opinion. There's no use in a woods that aren't. What good are trees if they can't offer shade? Photosynthesis?
Tch. Breathing is overvalued.
"Hmmm... hum hummm hmm hmmm - mmh!"
Spiel's cane tippy-taps along the dirt path in time with his humming, a fashionable black coat trailing behind him and hanging off his small but memorable frame. Further behind that, a retainer of servants - not too many, but enough to take adequate care of their master on the trail. Or to serve as sacrifice for... well... anything, really. Disposable.
Spiel likes taking the new hires on these excursions for that reason alone. They scream and cry the most.
Delicious!
Spiel's grin - that GRIN, that terrible, horrible, OBNOXIOUS yet undeniably charming grin of his - sits upon his face like a lion might sit on a small rodent. That is to say, elegantly yet accidentally committing murder simply by existing with little care for those around it. Bottom lip pulls up over his lower teeth and the edges curled in a way that makes Spiel look like a particularly adorable yet demented goblin of refined taste.
Perhaps I should leave the similes to Gunter. Smart mouth that boy has when it isn't right slobbering on-
"GUNTER!" Spiel's chirpy voice rings out as he continues his march into parts unknown, "Up front and center, there's a lad! Where is that boy? Someone send him up here so I can make sure he's not run off! You dastardly servants, you dastardly few! I can ruddy sense the temptation to fly the coop festering in your treacherous loins~"
Treacherous loins? Not his best vernacular. Spiel's brows twitch fainly above his lidded blue eyes, a microexpression hidden from view by his round glasses that catch the moon's light and glint in a magnificently mysterious and ominous gleam. Perhaps he should stop this little excursion into the Schwarz Woods and head back for some stress relief, if his thoughts are looming towards such filth.
Then again, perhaps not.
He's having fun making Gunter scream every 20 minutes whenever he feels like conjuring a suitably terrifying illusion in the brush, after all.
"Almost there!" Spiel crows back, even though he has no bloody idea where 'there' is.
"Any minute now, forward march! Pip pip, tally ho! On we go!~"
