[Phoenix eyes Stoneface for a moment, then glances over at the crayon box and its scattered contents. Many of the crayons have been swallowed by the growing pool of blood. It's not difficult to reach the same conclusion as Bastet: that Truth was following the directions of the map, and was either successful and paid the price, or was brought into a trap already laid.]
Sure, [he mutters, stepping over to the items in question. Crouching down, he carefully picks up the crayon box, holding it between thumb and forefinger at the very edge of the open lid. He sniffs it with the casual noncholance of a man who has grown accustomed to behaving in such a way, and thinks nothing of doing so in front of others. The box smells like wax and cardboard and drying blood, but there's no trace of the personal scent such an object might pick up if used often enough.]
It don't smell like him. If they are his, he didn't use 'em much. Can't say I blame him. [He flips the box over into his hand, examining the design. Looks back up at Stoneface, then over at Bastet.] Pretty sure I've seen writin' in crayon in the journals before, though.
Re: 8Db
Sure, [he mutters, stepping over to the items in question. Crouching down, he carefully picks up the crayon box, holding it between thumb and forefinger at the very edge of the open lid. He sniffs it with the casual noncholance of a man who has grown accustomed to behaving in such a way, and thinks nothing of doing so in front of others. The box smells like wax and cardboard and drying blood, but there's no trace of the personal scent such an object might pick up if used often enough.]
It don't smell like him. If they are his, he didn't use 'em much. Can't say I blame him. [He flips the box over into his hand, examining the design. Looks back up at Stoneface, then over at Bastet.] Pretty sure I've seen writin' in crayon in the journals before, though.