@lcstrega | Catching Up With Some Friends Creed whirled around with inhuman speed and started back toward the witch.
“I didn’t ask you to drink with me, did I?” The lycanthrope argued. Practically snarling, his tone was as sharp as the knife he’d spotted in her stocking. He stopped just a breath’s distance away from her, throwing his own cigarette into the street. He was fuming. There had been something about her sudden appearance that night he’d found particularly irksome; he couldn’t parse it.
In the brief instance of silence that fell between them, he considered removing the gun from the holster beneath his arm, shoving the muzzle against the bottom of her jaw, and squeezing the trigger as hard as he could. He knew it wouldn’t kill her, but shooting the smug grin off of her face would have gone a long way to making him feel better in that moment. As tempting a thought as it had been, it faded quickly. He couldn’t. They were too exposed. And the last thing The Foundation wanted, he knew, was to clean up another of his messes so soon after the last.
Creed withdrew, taking a few measured steps backward. “What the fuck are you even doing here? We’re a bit far from that ramshackle shit-box you call a home, aren't we?"
