“It’s like trying to put out a fire with gasoline, scare them, but don’t give them a reason to bring bigger guns, ‘scuse the expression, next time.”
( ... ) Almost in a split second his expression morphed into something else, a skill he’d so expertly honed after his centuries of existence. His lips drooped down to form a pout and his hands placed themselves behind his back, tendrils of darkness already beginning to swirl around his fingers. “Ahh. You let them get away,” he complained in a sing-song voice, slowly taking steps to breach the distance he was certain was intentionally placed between them. “Didn’t you hear me? I said that I didn’t give you permission to tell me what to do. I hate those type of folks, see. Those that assume they can boss me around.”
The wind blew: chilly, promising more - rain, maybe, or snow. His breathing fogged the air. Himchan had dealt with a lot of supernatural creepy crawlies. He knew power when he felt it. It felt like a vampire, but different. Dark, the goosebumps on his arms told him, darkness. He couldn't see anything, but power was often like that. The necromancer leaned down, putting the can of soda down and raising his hands as if to show he was unarmed.
Of course, he wasn't. Himchan never left home without weapons. In a shoulder holster hidden by his coat, was a browning high-power, 9mil. Strapped to each of his forearms were two custom made knives with enough silver content to slow down a lycanthrope. His bullets were silver coated, too. Silver was often the only thing that monster's responded to. A vial of holy water was strapped to his ankle, and a silver cross was tucked inside his shirt. Often his faith helped him more than any gun or blade.
He knew the man wasn't a vampire, though. He knew vampires, knew the feel of them, they were a kind of undead, and they always echoed in his head. Though this power tasted similar, it was alive. He'd have guessed shapeshifter next, but there was no heat, no electric pull. Nothing. Whatever this man was, it was new for him. Maybe a sorcerer, but this didn’t feel evil, not necessarily, only dark.
"Hey fella, I wasn't bossing you around," he states with a shrug as easygoing as he could manage, with the stress of the man's power beating along his skin. "I just didn't wanna see you get in trouble," he smiles a little wider, and as he does, he pushes back. Not physically, it was nothing you could see. If it was a word, he'd say it, if it was a muscle, he'd move it. But it wasn't either of those things.
It was a like a fist that held his power tightly in check in his stomach was easing open, the cold touch of death pushing into the atmosphere like a wind - but not a wind, you couldn't feel it without unless you were preternatural, supernatural, or psychic. It settled around Himchan protectively, not an aggressive gesture, but a firm one. He doesn't say anything else, but he lets his eyes empty out, the look that sent most bad guys - humans, at least - running. The look that meant he didn't care what happened next, a truly neutral gaze.
He hadn't always been able to manage that look, but now it was like a shield. That gaze and lack of emotion that allowed him to kill, to look down the barrel of a gun, pull the trigger, and end a life, without ever losing sleep.
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
stormborns
vaporwave
titsay
