------﹙AGENT.﹚
He starts off well. Ness is quick to quirk his mouth in a lopsided grin, raise his hand to the back of his neck, almost start to laugh — and then his skin prickles, current not-quite-burning against his cheeks and in his fingertips, magma shifting and rising deep in his chest. What an odd thing to say. How specific — and fair a response to his own quip, if…
Oh, if he hadn’t said it — there’s no chance he isn’t overthinking things again.
He shuts his mouth, swallows. What an unsettling voice. What an… interesting accent. Ness’ chuckle is forced, dry, lower than befitting his normal pitch — “ I s’pose it is an interesting psychological… slant, but the whole ‘blaming video games for violence’ thing is too big a misconception already… ”
He doesn’t notice the smile, too occupied with studying another game’s vibrant box art, too occupied studying the wall behind it, too occupied with nothing here at all.
In what fucking circumstances would that be a normal thing to say—? To get away with murder — to be blameless — the phrases playing on loop like a broken record, over and over, muffled bass from another room in the back of his head.
His hands have long since stuffed themselves in his hoodie pocket, his shoulders betraying the tension crawling up his spine. A flicker, a glance, but no more than the whites of his eyes move. “ F-Fair enough. I’m pretty sure she’s got tips for all skill levels, and I bet you could find playbacks somewhere… HueTube or Twitch or a torrenting site. That’d give more of a picture than I ever could, really. ”
it is not hair raised, but a spider's trichobothria feathering the fine pores of his neck. sin's pedipalps dig deep, piercing skin upon ness' persistent pondering. the slight, prideful inclination of his chin sends shine shimmering down the curvature of his lenses.
releasing the tarantula, as riveting as it was, reaped little pleasure. relishing in the fear was intoxicating, but nowhere near as salivating as invoking it first-hand. a genuinely grown smile steadily digs into his visage, intent obscure.
❝ nonsense, ❞ says he, a grandiose swing of his hand parting the air above ness' head. ❝ to insinuate violence as child of play is to disregard the foundation in which your -- our -- entire sport stands upon. that is to say, our reality imitates history, not immersive fiction. ❞
without sleeves to rest his arms, he simply crosses them along his torso, shifting his weight to his left leg amidst the spacy ascent of his gaze. ❝ alas, videos do little for me. i learn nothing from watching, only doing. surely you understand my predicament? ❞
