Jun 22, 2017
a skeletal finger drags across the placid wall that, on occasion, felt ENDLESS, if the material were metal, sparks would fly from his skin, the quinto almost wishes it were, for effect if nothing else. his saunter is SLOW, drawing out the inevitability of PROVOKING the other man, his face bore an expression alike his, bored, ready to devour what lay in his path, it was a pity they didn't get a long. ‘ whats stuck up yer ass t`day, sexta. aizen knock ya` down a notch again? ’ @destructionbred