@refallens said: “ how fine you look when dressed in rage, ” said with a swoon, probably. || ACCEPTING.
“I assume, then, that you...” he turned to Raoul, taking his sweet time, all the while a fallen man chokes on his own blood right next to them. “You are enjoying the show.”
Of course this RAT has followed him here, it’s no surprise. No surprise either in how his former lover finds this so terribly attractive. If rage burned, then Antonín’s is deadly frostbite. A fine dress? A veil of modesty, keeping the worst of his wretched cruelty concealed under an emotional guise. The worst of the worst, his most despicable crimes... those were devoid of rage. Those were replete of pure joy.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He shoots with expert precision, aiming not to kill but to inflict agony. The man on the floor cannot scream anymore, gurgling of blood and incoherent curses echoing through the abandoned building.
(it was a failed business transaction, which ended up with him threatening Antonín and his family. He tolerated no such disrespect.)
“Burner phone. I bet you still carry at least one of those with you, right?” Far too casual, if not a tad mischievous. He extends his hand to Raoul, palm up in bold request. “Would you lend it me, darling? I forgot my own,” a lie, and then a smirk. “And this man clearly needs an ambulance.”
But he wants the piece of shit to survive, to tell his bosses how the Crow feels about their little blackmail attempt.