πππππππππΒ Β /Β Β kalixusβ.
Β Β Β Β» Β ππππ Β πππππππ Β : Β πππ πππππΌππ .
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β β Β πππ'π ππ πππππ , π πππππππ πππ. Β β Β he could only derive enough energy for a partial groan.Β Β βΒ completelyΒ Β my faultΒ Β ,Β Β not yours.Β donβt worry about it. βΒ Β
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β he hated the feeling of waking up after a sedative.Β those were tricky , werenβt they?Β poe tried to amp their tolerances and their abilities to fight intoxicated , but sedatives were probably how david actually beat goliath.Β that , or laxatives.Β Β larsson has an irrational fear of laxatives , so should you.Β he blinkedΒ ,Β hard .Β Β trying his best to shake the fog over his senses by at least taking in his environment.Β but he couldnβt quite do that right , either.Β Β
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β because it wasΒ Β pitch blackΒ ,Β he was tied down in a dark room with the otherβs voice echoing from the left.Β or maybe the rightΒ ,Β he wasnβt sure.Β the feeling of sleep began to settle in againΒ ,Β causing him to groan in another sad attempt of keeping hold of his senses.Β Β
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β βΒ so , whatβs the deal here?Β should i be begging for my life , crying for mercy , or is this a sex thing?Β becuase if itβs a sex thing , i gotta admit ββΒ Β not off to a very sexy start.Β Β β
β aw. honey, thatβs a bit rude ββ β. itβs a picture perfect pout that curls her lips, the slight trembling the one you could find on an emotional child in some daytime christmas movie ββ hell, it would be even half believable, all in all. itβs just everything surrounding her that breaks the immersion. itβs the bare concrete walls of the warehouse. itβs the smell of mold and a particularly delicate mix of rat piss and vomit in the air. itβs the faint light, greenish and flickering enough to be nauseating, blurring squares into the pavement as it trickles from the windows.
itβs that heβs not an idiot and these games of hers just arenβt particularly sophisticated.
β you seem awfully talkative, considering the amount of stuff i put into you β. thereβs an amused smirk over her lips while she taps her finger over her bottom lip, an artist in contemplation of her options. this isnβt her hunting ground ββ this warehouse is but an abandoned lot that seemed worn down enough to serve her purpose while she hangs around this neck of the woods. none of her usual resources are here. not too much of a set back ββ she never really learned to rely on specific equipment, her creativity comes from resourcefulness. the warehouse, at least, offers its fair share of options: rust-covered chains, nails of varying width and sharpness, an array of tools by now too blunt and dirty to provide a swift release. and there is, of course, her jacket ββ secret pockets holding morbid discoveries of illegal peppers, acids and drugs, a tiny pack of needles courtesy of a former lover in the business of pain.
really, heβs in for a show.
β i like that in a guy β, fingers wrap around his chin, grabbing it a bit too roughly through thatβs not her intention ββ she turns his face one side, then the other, examines the look in his eyes to gauge how much of his dialogue is the drugs speaking ββ how reliable an informer he can be. β itβs entertaining β. satisfied, she sits two steps away from him ββ cross-legged on the floor, chin over her closed fists, a child awaiting story time.Β
β so, larsson ββ β, katya snorts, narrows her eyes. β no offense, but really ? larsson ? what, dan brown was taken ? β