@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.
