[There's a subtle twitch, an icy look coupled with the faintest hint of a sharp decline in temperature so brief one might be inclined to write it off as a stray breeze. Were they not in the middle of a desert, at any rate. That said, Murmur held in his ire remarkably, understanding that this pain of John's is real even if the target of his lashing at the moment is one the angel is designed to take offense for.

He tears his eyes away, instead letting his gaze sweep the walls that contain the city. Such a fragile barrier against the cost of status.]

I wouldn't know. We've never met.

[It's better to redirect than to address John's accusations directly, there's little to be gained from reminding him that the fallen world is a result of actions taken. He hardly needs to put the salt in that wound, and most certainly would prefer to spare himself further headache by giving John ammunition. The man has proven himself a threat and Murmur, for his part, can be very good at dodging those. He's had ample practice.

Ah but the change in demeanor is refreshing, less of this useless whining and more action. That's what he likes to see. After a thoroughly long look at the wall nearby his eyes sweep back to John, taking in that flicker of magic in eyes that could watch the ripples far beyond what John could ever hope to see.]

Not unlike the machines themselves. Of course... the size of their forces has not yet been determined. Should one not familiarize themselves with the battlefield first?

[He wants to have a look around but he needs an excuse. Maybe if he can press John to utilize a tiny bit of tactics, he can set his own plans in motion.]