dated — january 19, 8:52PM located — felix’s apartment with — @xsuttungr status — closed
It's the dark of night, and Eoin can see his own breath as it leaves his lungs out of his nose. Pulling his coat closer around him — distinctly not his, too little holes in them to belong to him — his neck cranes up and his eyes follow the expanse of the residential building. He'd been here a few times already this month, figuring things out, looking for ways in, calculating… and frankly, he's tired of it. Careful caution isn't what he does. Eoin breaks down doors, punches through walls, tears through everything he's faced with with a reckless abandon that could be terrifying.
He's sick of it, this planning bullshit.
So he heads right up to the doors and the doorman stops him, asks him to identify himself. Eoin simply narrows his eyes; leans closer, voice low. "I don't think you'll appreciate finding your wife and kids cut in two in your kitchen, Carlton," he growls. While he's aware of the man's name, Eoin has no idea if he does have a wife and children. An educated guess; he looks like a man who'd have a family, one he cares about very much.
The shock on the man's face speaks volumes of the validity of said educated guess. Perhaps if Eoin was anyone else, looked like anyone else, the threat would have fallen flat; but that's just it, isn't it? Eoin looks exactly how the threat sounds: dangerous and slightly unhinged. "I'm gonna go inside now. Say just one word," he warns, and lifts a finger to press against the man's nose. When he pulls it away again, there's a painful-looking red spot where his finger was, like a bad sunburn; the half smile Eoin gives him doesn't do anything to round off the words.
Eoin doesn't look back when he heads into the building and steps into the lift. The button to a particular floor is pressed and a minute later, he's out in a hallway that's fancy in a way that makes him stand out especially. Every step is made with determination, he doesn't even look at the woman he passes, ignores the baffled 'excuse me?'; she probably gets the hint because there's no follow up.
The door looks unassuming, and Eoin finds his eyes moving to the lock; his hand twitches by his side. Locks are incredibly easy for someone like him to get past — it just takes a dose of acid and every locked door becomes not just an open door, but also a useless door. It'd be easy, yes, but this isn't the course of action he wants to take with this. Instead, Eoin takes a knee so the lock is at eye height, and pulls out his lockpicks.
Two minutes of silence and concentration brings success, and the door opens gently; Eoin replaces the lockpicks in his pocket and slips in, holding the doorknob while he presses against the door, slowly, slowly, until it falls shut without a sound once more. He hasn't yet turned when there's a scrambling from deeper within the apartment, a frantic clicking. When he turns around, Eoin finds himself as good as pinned between the door and the largest dog he's ever laid eyes on.
His mind is frozen, something like fear swirling in his stomach; the last time he'd experienced a dog, he was twenty-three and he saw an acquaintance torn apart by one with a simple command of its owner. And then a sloppy tongue finds his cheek and Eoin blinks in surprise. He's still alive, not just that, but… he's being licked. "Stop," he grunts, trying to push the excited dog's face and body away and out of his space.
"Fuck, that's disgustin', man," he mumbles at the dog, wiping his sleeve against his cheek even as the dog is desperately finding a way to get his free hand to stroke it. "I know you've probably licked ass." In all fairness, undoubtedly the dog is cleaner as a whole than he is. With a sigh, Eoin scratches calloused fingers into the dog's head before moving further into the residence, ultimately ending up in the kitchen.
It takes him a whole of thirty minutes to end up on the kitchen floor, legs folded under him, and for every dog treat he hands the dog, Eoin eats one of his own. Like cookies, he's decided.