@etokami
THE BLOOD SMELLS SWEET, cinnamon in his nose and he swallows thickly –– thinking back to when he scarfed down the mangled remains of her kakuja. however, those carnal urges have no hold over him ( liar ), and he keeps his fingers from twitching as he sows up the laceration sloping up her arm. why? the skin is already starting to twine itself back together without his help and, in hindsight, it was a rather ridiculous idea to try and patch together the wound of a ghoul in the first place. so why? perhaps to keep his hands busy, as his mind mulls over the slew of information she’s so kindly bestowed upon him. he’s always fiddling with something, after all –– his glasses, his hair, a pen, or the pages of a book. to be idle is a quick and steadfast road to death, anyways.
––- ‘ that funny, takatsuki - san –– considering you’re the one who’s currently in my possession. ‘ his words are poised and polite and monotone. laid out carelessly as so to hide the jab hidden in them.
Between chattering teeth, and clicking tongue, she manages to smile at the young man. It is nothing of pleasure to be captivated by the CCG’s newly appointed ‘Reaper’--but a dream of hers to be attaching the marionette to the former ‘Centipede’. Pain wedded to loneliness, is what this laceration annoyingly trots her endless imagination back to. Flesh twists, and turns, meeting to form anew. Breaking the faux-attempts to reconnect her. Her smile stays a constant, while her tongue clicking is an ever-changing variable. It is nothing but sanguine that keeps people like the boy marching. Showing precedent that they believe in the hope their mothers instilled into their psyche.
“--I’m proud in your confidence! Such ability can only back up the broad statements you have made.” It is a wild tone, something a madman may have. “Surely, you have what it takes to suppress little me.” It is insulting, and moderately threatening.
