"Strip down, you won't!" he yells, as if teasing the lord. He decided to stifle his chuckles of unwarranted disrespect this time.
Truth be told he was nervous from his closed body posture and the slight twitching at the corners of his mouth, with a hand at his front that could lead him into a breaking run- but must that be necessary to surrender in the moment? Patches' eyes were fixated onto the other's face, hungering for any sort of reaction that would either trigger him to flee or stay longer.
“I am getting rather sick of these commands to undress.” Which is true. And Patches chose a bad time to attempt it. “The first day was for a game. The second, merely a gift. But a third…?”
The Omen’s claws tighten around his trident’s haft, his golden eye narrowing in irritation. He can tell the man is scared. The sight of it fuels his ire.
“Selfish, selfish Tarnished,” he growls. “Why don’t thee undress first, hm? Indeed, show us what matters of skin and flesh the lands above have to offer our bloody age.”
