AGAIN, HE’S THERE. waiting beyond the shop doors, arms crossed - but beyond his mannerisms, which remain as standard as ever, something has changed. with daylight comes a newer style: a leather jacket, black boots, jeans torn with a hunting knife. his hair is still loose and falls as it should, untamed, yet still styled - effort has been taken to make himself look not necessarily approachable, but less feral. as he lives and breathes (both undead and alive, the paradox of demonics on full display), arsenal appears approachable… and yet, he does not dare cross the salt. here is his truth laid bare: he has no idea if he can cross it or not. salt did hurt when it was thrown at him, and perhaps that’s enough of an indicator for him, but he’s still curious. he doesn’t dare approach the line that’s still laid, nor does he move to cross through the door. the only motion he makes as dawn breaks and the workday begins is to check his phone, to eye the time. ideally, she’ll be out at any point. this is the fun part of his life, really. make no mistake: he’s every intention and want to tear the woman inside to pieces, but she’s enticed him now. her attitude draws him in with a crass allure, the way she addresses him - has seen through his attempts to sway her, minimal though they were - oh, she has his attention. she also has to eat. has to leave eventually. so here he is, waiting. loitering just out of sight. so eager to see if she leaves today that, had he possessed a tail, it would have been wagging. this is not a day for hunting or scouting; this is a day to sate his curiosity. to see exactly how she knows what she knows, what she does when beyond her little abode… … and, all else fails, he’ll simply play the role of the asshole beyond the salt again. this would not be the worst case scenario. both, in fact, will resolve his curiosity. one is simply more enjoyable than the other.
@neonbitch // starter call
