@pareo-x
RETROSPECTIVELY : he warned them. was very specific, actually. felix remembers what he said, word-for-word. but considering his tendency to monologue it was better summarised as ‘don’t ask any more questions’. don’t ask any more questions because it makes locus uneasy; the vague stiffness of his shoulders reiterates itself, and the white-knuckled tenseness of his hands comes back, too. it doesn’t ever occur to felix that by creating REASONS to react exclusively on impulse, he ends up pulling off with the same effect.
it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter, since as soon as he hears the where-what-when-why-how he’s standing up. all ready; baseball player’s poise legs tense with anticipation, hands moving so fast and matter-of-factly from his waist that it’s difficult to figure out what happened until that grotesque TCHINK is heard. muffled by what you can assume is a knife moving through a skull and brain matter and it’s all the rest; felix doesn’t know the details, didn’t particularly care about physiology classes and all that. their former questioner was the best option for providing information, he knows. but there’s a point where there’s TIME CONSTRAINTS; where his patience runs thin and his control runs even thinner.
runs now like a game, and there’s a whooping shout and he’s on the table he used to be sitting behind. the enthusiasm would be contagious if locus wasn’t a hardass and, seemingly, completely taken aback by the excitement that encapsulates him in the middle of such an extended silence. he seems ready to leap off the top of the table; to stride, with his usual confidence, to the now very dead man in the corner of a room with a knife sticking from the outside of that oval visor. ❛ fucking bullseye fucking right there man! that’s right there! fuckyou! i fucking told you, man. ask another question and you’re dead ------ you were fuckin’ made for target practise, man! you’re really carrying out your use! you suck, you suck dicks. how’s the fucking handle in your head? ❜
