Tannusen considers him back for a moment, then snorts. "I thought you had the context already?"
A pause.
"I don't know what your fae are like, but I'm... not a guy who turns into a big cat."
It's deeper than just... changing shape, or whatever.
"I'm a big cat who turns into a guy."
There's even a more... middle, thing, in between the mask of humanity and the reality of his other skin. His mien isn't fuzzy like so many pooka, definitely not furry material like they usually are. But it definitely ramps up the whole elf thing that only slips through the cracks, here. And then there's the whole markings situation of it all. The black sclera. The visibly, incredibly sharp teeth, swapped out through nocker surgeons for carved-down manticore fangs. The claws, likewise enhanced but with fragments from a jabberwocky. Both, his own kills, although he'd worked with a group for both of those particular contracts.
(Him taking the teeth and claws of things he kills is pretty normal, it turns out. Sometimes they're useful! With a whole lot of pain and suffering in the process, but whatever. That they'll also be useful as currency even when they're inferior to what he's already had grafted into himself isn't an unnatural idea, either.)
But he'd have to burn some glamour to drop the wyrd, or enchant this guy, for him to ever see what he really looks like in humanoid form. And he just doesn't feel like that, just yet. Doing that to humans willy-nilly is the sort of thing that gets you hunted down by the local court, where he's from, and he's not in a great position for that... today. Maybe tomorrow. He'll go ahead and pencil it in.
"Anyway," Tannusen continues, back to watching the reanimated devil, "In the depths of my other instincts, I was really disappointed it stopped moving so fast, earlier. We're kind of assholes, you know? So this would have been a neat trick."
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A pause.
"I don't know what your fae are like, but I'm... not a guy who turns into a big cat."
It's deeper than just... changing shape, or whatever.
"I'm a big cat who turns into a guy."
There's even a more... middle, thing, in between the mask of humanity and the reality of his other skin. His mien isn't fuzzy like so many pooka, definitely not furry material like they usually are. But it definitely ramps up the whole elf thing that only slips through the cracks, here. And then there's the whole markings situation of it all. The black sclera. The visibly, incredibly sharp teeth, swapped out through nocker surgeons for carved-down manticore fangs. The claws, likewise enhanced but with fragments from a jabberwocky. Both, his own kills, although he'd worked with a group for both of those particular contracts.
(Him taking the teeth and claws of things he kills is pretty normal, it turns out. Sometimes they're useful! With a whole lot of pain and suffering in the process, but whatever. That they'll also be useful as currency even when they're inferior to what he's already had grafted into himself isn't an unnatural idea, either.)
But he'd have to burn some glamour to drop the wyrd, or enchant this guy, for him to ever see what he really looks like in humanoid form. And he just doesn't feel like that, just yet. Doing that to humans willy-nilly is the sort of thing that gets you hunted down by the local court, where he's from, and he's not in a great position for that... today. Maybe tomorrow. He'll go ahead and pencil it in.
"Anyway," Tannusen continues, back to watching the reanimated devil, "In the depths of my other instincts, I was really disappointed it stopped moving so fast, earlier. We're kind of assholes, you know? So this would have been a neat trick."
At least he's aware, albeit utterly unapologetic.