Water droplets run off the ends of long fingers with a flick of his hands to discard wetness, silvery beads that get quickly swallowed by the black river. Deacon sniffs, twists a little where he's perched to see if his ears are deceiving him in that he doesn't hear any approach. When he sees he still has some privacy, save for the girl with the tail, he relaxes back to look at her again.

His plan for the body is to leave it exposed on the cobblestone. Give the Militia something to do (and wonder why it was dunked in the river) and find a new hunting ground for a while. Thus, Deacon ignores it.

"Good little girls don't make friends with monsters anyway. How's yours?"