Silence fell as the toxic gaze of the woman turned into that of AWE.
Sobriety. It felt as if it were wearing thin the more she stood; speaking and taunting him. Failed taunts that might’ve hurt him more than ANGERED.
Amanda wasn’t sure if it were more FRUSTRATING or satisfying. She aimed to anger him, perhaps even hurt him. But not to abuse him.
Her body stiffened suddenly when he grabbed her wrist, yet his touch was unimaginable. Gentle, like the grip of a small bird; but his hands were not soft like feathers. Clean- yes. But rough especially. They had character… Told a story. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t interested in his story.
Tightly her fingers curled into a fist; the fact he touched her so gently was almost IRRITATING. What did he think she was? Some delicate doll, frail to the surface? Perhaps he was just proud of his strength… She could feel it, he didn’t want to hurt her; and clearly he hadn’t the slightest idea how things worked there.
Clenching her teeth her mind stormed through other ways of provoking him. She really thought her threat would have triggered something… Yet he remained DOCILE. It felt strange. Many scars covered her body, not only from herself, but now from the other killers there. Each one told their own story, but from what she could see- he wasn’t being added to that list.
As he released her, her hands retreated back to her body; crossing her arms over the crimson of her jacket. “You think i’m beautiful?” She questioned with a coy smile, as if she had never heard the words before. Which really- she hadn’t. At least not for a very long time.
“Let me tell you something, Jedidiah” her arms fell and swayed as she got closer to him- if that were even possible. Raising herself on the tips of her toes, she inched her face closer to his- as if trying to whisper to him.
The soft words left her lips, her gaze downcast as she stepped back. Gracefully they fluttered back to look at him.
“There’s no leaving this place. And you’re here for a reason. That reason being, you’re a murderer” she stated simply, as if she had many times before. “You play ITS game, and we all get to live a little bit easier… That’s if you even consider this living…” She leaned against the wall jadedly.
“Now- tell me more about how beautiful I am,” she teased with a mischievous smirk. Amanda knew it wasn’t that easy to process such a thought; but nevertheless it helped her not to think about it all.
He lets her do the majority of the talking, she seems good at that, and he sure as shit isn’t, so he’d rather someone else fill the silence than attempt to do so himself, or be forced to do so himself rather. And so he says nothing, even as her arms cross across the crimson of her coat. He can’t entirely say she looks grateful for the compliment, but no one is obligated to.
Close, almost too close, he’s torn between tilting his head up to regain height or to lean his head down entirely and to rest his forehead against hers simply out of the odd impulse to truly meet her gaze. It’s an idle notion however, he does neither, simply keeps staring as he has been.
He nods, slowly, thoughtfully, and ignores the ice which grips his heart. He’s fully willing to believe her, though he doesn’t really trust her. But it still stings either way, he can’t say he’s surprised. It’s something he struggles with on the regular: Does God still love you? Bloodstained boy with the face not your own?
These internal thoughts are kept just that, internal, to be thought of and ruminated upon in solitude another day.
Instead he focuses in on her words again.
His reply to that is an almost flat: “I am.” because he is, and he knows it. He won’t deny himself a murderer, he’s not the united states military after all, he’s killed people, so he’s a murderer, intentions don’t really change that. Even if they do justify the actions.
“One makes th’ best of it.” he has no other choice, he is doing what he has always done, he is clinging to life even if by a thread, existing because there really never was any other choice.
Her teasing is almost endearing, it certainly makes him like her more than her earlier attempts at provocation.
“Remind me o’ someone actually.”
At least in looks.
“Somethin’ about the cheeks” he exhales, soft but abrupt in something like a little laugh to himself, it’s not precisely humor however, “‘nd the hair, ‘course, yours is nicer th’n hers was.”
There is a narrowing of the eyes behind his mask.
“That’n y’ strike me as th’ sort t’ not play at bein’ kindly when you ain’t” it may be a bit of a backhanded compliment but it really isn’t in his eyes, he would rather someone just behave as they are than pretend like they’re perfect.
a hand is raised, fingers touching the lower lip of the mask, the half towards the bottom, including the mouth, is soft and feminine. The gentle swell of a lip once belonging to a nurse who didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut, who got a boy killed because she didn’t understand that cops weren’t always friends. And then, who had the gall to insult his mother when he may well have spared her life otherwise.
“I s’ppose she got wh’t she deserved.”
It’s almost a threat, but not quite, instead it’s a truce: I’ll give you information about myself, if you’re willing to play nice.
“‘nd you.
Pretty as y’ may be, y’ must be here f’r a reason other th’n that.
Guess’n that makes you a murderer too.”
He doesn’t ask directly, but he is curious: Why?
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