[ Pain seared all the way down to his fingers, teeth gritted, a matching pair of fangs exposed by his lips pulling back around them, like he wanted to gnaw something in pain. There is an open wound there, skin ripped free from a bite that tore, a half-open wound that seeped blood when agitated. One of his eyes closed from the pain, but the other, it never wavers, staring at Vergilius as he presses in, causing pain like fire down to his fingers, arcing like a reminder of everything that his brain also hadn't quite forgotten.
How could it? ]
Of course, it isn't. I'm not done.
[ His tone forced out. He wondered if he wanted to hurt like this. Why else would he be back here? Was it because he wanted to let that monster out too? He'd said he wasn't hiding, but how often did he lash out? How often was Vergilius himself like Silco saw him? He wants to drag him out from the depths and just see what is there, vivisected and exposed. See what else could make a man as vile as he was?
He very nearly snapped his teeth at him, his finger digging in just a bit more, like he was trying to make him hurt. He reached up to press at the familiar space, where he'd sunk his fangs into, blood pooling into his mouth. Would it bleed, if he pressed at it? Would it open back up, and he'd smell blood again? He pushed with his fingers, his cigar still held between the two of them. The bright pinprick of it, heated, hovered near his jaw, like a little threat. ]
no subject
How could it? ]
Of course, it isn't. I'm not done.
[ His tone forced out. He wondered if he wanted to hurt like this. Why else would he be back here? Was it because he wanted to let that monster out too? He'd said he wasn't hiding, but how often did he lash out? How often was Vergilius himself like Silco saw him? He wants to drag him out from the depths and just see what is there, vivisected and exposed. See what else could make a man as vile as he was?
He very nearly snapped his teeth at him, his finger digging in just a bit more, like he was trying to make him hurt. He reached up to press at the familiar space, where he'd sunk his fangs into, blood pooling into his mouth. Would it bleed, if he pressed at it? Would it open back up, and he'd smell blood again? He pushed with his fingers, his cigar still held between the two of them. The bright pinprick of it, heated, hovered near his jaw, like a little threat. ]