[Twisting his hand free of hers, he shoves his gun back in his pants and proceeds to drag her over to the couch, keeping his eyes focused on her face as he takes slow steps backward. Several seconds pass before he says anything.]
Who says you can't destroy the system and get rid of that insufferable piece of shit? I never fucking said you can't. That's not the problem. The problem is planning out how to.
[He threads his now free hand around her arm so that both have a hold on her and keeps pulling her along.]
And the first step toward that is you calming the hell down. When humans are cornered, their thinking becomes simplistic and predictable.
[It's hard to tell since he's never been that expressive, always wearing veneers of neutrality, boredom, apathy, or annoyance for most of his life, but something in his eyes gives off the feeling of heaviness and burden, and painful remembrance. There have been times when he's flipped his shit, when he's completely cracked and gone off the deep end. During those times, he'd usually been alone. But one of those in particular, the small girl who'd accepted him from the moment she met him had come running and embraced him once more, telling him it'd all be okay, and that had been all he'd needed at the time. It hurts to think of the brat right now, it makes his throat tighten and his shoulders tense up; but as awkward as the idea is, he just doesn't feel like shoving it aside and stabbing it to death will do any good.]
no subject
Who says you can't destroy the system and get rid of that insufferable piece of shit? I never fucking said you can't. That's not the problem. The problem is planning out how to.
[He threads his now free hand around her arm so that both have a hold on her and keeps pulling her along.]
And the first step toward that is you calming the hell down. When humans are cornered, their thinking becomes simplistic and predictable.
[It's hard to tell since he's never been that expressive, always wearing veneers of neutrality, boredom, apathy, or annoyance for most of his life, but something in his eyes gives off the feeling of heaviness and burden, and painful remembrance. There have been times when he's flipped his shit, when he's completely cracked and gone off the deep end. During those times, he'd usually been alone. But one of those in particular, the small girl who'd accepted him from the moment she met him had come running and embraced him once more, telling him it'd all be okay, and that had been all he'd needed at the time. It hurts to think of the brat right now, it makes his throat tighten and his shoulders tense up; but as awkward as the idea is, he just doesn't feel like shoving it aside and stabbing it to death will do any good.]