#greaterdesign

[prosected-archive-blog]

“ i liked killing them. ”

        “O-okay.”

Rowan  was  unsure of how  to respond. At first,  theywere unimpressed by the statement, even  identifiedwith it  to  some  extent.  They  weren’t sure  what  the man  was  referring  to,  exactly, but it  wasn’t as if theghoul could deny how euphoric  killing was for  them. For  a  moment  or so  violent murder was just some-thing  they  did–something  anybody  might  do–and hardly  a  thing outstanding  enough  to comment  on. Then  they  realized  exactly what they were consider-ing, remembered it meant stealing away th e lives of innocent people and making a gory mess of their re-mains. Rowan shuddered to themself  at  the horror of what they’d become.

Still, this was potentially a great opportunity, and they didn’t have the tact to resist asking, 

        “What did you, you do with the bodies?”

[carceconduit]

rough touch.

Your muse wraps their hands tightly around my muse’s neck.

  Tobias has no excuse - the stranger, albeit full of teeth that seemed to be stained to the root with blood [and he’s sure that, occasionally, beneath the flesh he sees flashes of bone], had not caused any harm. Yet.    His approach shouldn’t have warranted an instinctive flail - bone knuckles catching onto mans jaw more through luck than skill. It’s not a hard hit. He’s quite sure that, nursing the hand to his chest, the hit caused more damage to himself than the grinning man. But he regrets it - and there are apologies spilling from his lips even before white fingers clamp to his throat. Despite the evident strength of the man - and the accompanying void encompassing his vision as panic and oxygen deprivation sink in, his own hands are still raised, still trying to claw his way out of the grasp.     His words become gasps, his flails more akin to latching onto the suit of the man, weakly holding on-- in the hopes that fingers might loosen from his throat should he last a few more seconds.                 

[forgetforfeit-blog]

greaterdesign

   He’s not saying anything - slender fingers instead rap against the surface of his table;     it was a beat that had managed to embed itself in his skull since the man had arrived. 

[brxssy-archive-blog]

[    greaterdesign    ;;    continuing    from    this    ]

Rosy cheeks felt cold, but the cuts felt hot. Her core burned--- no, it stung. Like an open wound being continuously salted. Maybe it was his laugh that caused it. A sharp inhale and it was decided that the laugh definitely did it away. Doe eyes watched him, sharp.

            “ This is AMUSING to you;                 A game, even? --------                 What’ll you do, then? “