Oh, he definitely hadn’t forgotten his manners, but Mal didn’t challenge him, not this time. He figured the response wouldn’t have been the fun kind of pain, and he was in a good enough mood to not push the envelope. It was Dom’s game to win, and who was he to break his perfect streak?
He stopped pouring glasses for himself, deciding to drink straight from the bottle, “Th’lovely old lady at th’bodega, when I paid her for it.” simple enough response, and he takes another sip, wiping the excess off on his sleeve. “Got one’ve those, too,” the point isn’t with his hand, but his eyes, just for a second. “in case y’decided t’switch things up an’ use one.” not that Mal minded at all, never being able to get away from Dom’s scent on him. That was the best.
his moods are simple: irate and irritable. consider the lack of broken glass and the fact mal is still seating in lieu of on the ground with claws digging into his throat; it meant he was merely irritable and decidedly growing closer to his default simmering rage the longer the other wolf ran his mouth.
which is why it takes until mal is finished talking for him to snarl low, yank the bottle away, and promptly throw it at the window. words carried consequence with him, like barbed taunts goading him on and on and on.
glass shatters and distantly he hears when the bottle hits the ground far outside.
“uh huh.” he rises from the table, silent as he went to the open window, peering out the broken glass and flicking a loose shard or two free. his cigarette is flicked outside next, smoke slipping free in his wake as he circled around to regard the ashtray briefly.
one of those novelty ones, the type you use for anything but an ashtray cause it looked like shit. dom scoffs, ignoring it in favor of tossing aside his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, his eyes on the broken window with a vicious sort of smile hiding on his lips.
“when have I ever asked for one?” the wolf approaches the table now, gaze narrowed upon that annoyingly present smile. when he moves, it’s in broad violent motions. grabbing mal by the throat and lifting him clean from his seat is fluid, it takes the span of a breath and results in him taking a step forward, in having him pressed hard to the wall. a low snarl rips free, echoing a quiet threat.
“you smell like more than the bodega.”
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