off track
nonverbal starters. (accepting)
"WE’RE LOST." With a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, his frustration is clear in the way he seethes out the observation.
Angel looks indignant; his head on a swivel as he looks this way and that, as if the restricted view from within the car is enough to give him any insight on their whereabouts.
He’s hopping onto the defensive with a ‘what? nah-nah-nah, come on.' The 'psh, no waaay' attitude does little to make Arackniss feel any better. The eldest stares until Angel turns his face away, to peer at his own grimace in the wing mirror. Arackniss allows himself a moment to rest his forehead against the wheel and imagine he's elsewhere—anywhere that isn't stuck in a car with Angel, the pair of them out in the fucking boonies.
A few minutes pass between them, until Angel breaks it with a half-laugh, half-sigh.
"I’m startin’ to think they gave me a bum address!"
Arachniss slams his fists into the wheel.
"NO SHIT? The hour we spent driving through Assfuck Nowhere didn't tip you off? Yer lucky I ain't ditching your ass on the side of the road. Fuckin’ idiot."
A harsh exhale, and he’s turning the keys to start up his car again—click, click, click. There’s no growl from the engine, and Arackniss’ attempts to get the car to respond grow more frantic until Angel suggests that the tank is probably empty.
The elder wheels around, claws flying out to thump at whatever parts of his brother he can land a hit on.