petrovafiires
movement hitches mid-step, well-crafted shoe an axe hovering in the air, awaiting the crashing snick of blade against bone, blood spilling upon floor-- & perhaps a RIPPER should rip, but it may just be he who sheds it. viridian optics narrow beneath furrowed brow, lips parting to perhaps allow a scornful comment beyond a ⁽ ᵐᵒᶰˢᵗᵉʳ'ˢ ⁾ maw, before arms cage his ribs & hands tuck within the folds of his shirt. of course. why is he surprised?
❛ -- i didn't realise my house was a HOTEL now. ❜
