[ And just like that he's spoiling for a fight, the calm moment done and gone. It couldn't possibly last. He knew that starting out but he let himself get complacent, wrapped up in the novelty of being able to sit down and breathe for a minute. Let the dust settle without checking his sight-lines for a threat. Stupid, really, to think this would be easy. These people aren't like back home at all. One look and they start thinking they know shit about him.
The worst part is they do. His blindspot, for one. And now this fucker's seen him drawing.
He crumples the paper in his fist. Shouldn't have said anything. Shouldn't have wasted time pretending to be a person when he needs to be gathering up as many weapons as possible.
This was a mistake. Clearly.
There's a strange feeling in his hands THEN. Pins and needles except....hollow, somehow. And there's ink flowing across the little card table, forming jagged mandalas. A galaxy of planets in orbit, all of them cracked and breaking.
Sharkface jerks back with a shout, reaching for a gun he doesn't have. He's on his feet instantly, already in stance. ]
The fuck!
[ He needs a weapon. He needs a weapon now. The ink isn't moving anymore but it's shimmery-wet on the table, design half drawn. It looks like one of his. It looks a hell of a lot like the sketch he just crumpled up and oh fuck that motherfucker is watching him lose his shit.
no subject
[ And just like that he's spoiling for a fight, the calm moment done and gone. It couldn't possibly last. He knew that starting out but he let himself get complacent, wrapped up in the novelty of being able to sit down and breathe for a minute. Let the dust settle without checking his sight-lines for a threat. Stupid, really, to think this would be easy. These people aren't like back home at all. One look and they start thinking they know shit about him.
The worst part is they do. His blindspot, for one. And now this fucker's seen him drawing.
He crumples the paper in his fist. Shouldn't have said anything. Shouldn't have wasted time pretending to be a person when he needs to be gathering up as many weapons as possible.
This was a mistake. Clearly.
There's a strange feeling in his hands THEN. Pins and needles except....hollow, somehow. And there's ink flowing across the little card table, forming jagged mandalas. A galaxy of planets in orbit, all of them cracked and breaking.
Sharkface jerks back with a shout, reaching for a gun he doesn't have. He's on his feet instantly, already in stance. ]
The fuck!
[ He needs a weapon. He needs a weapon now. The ink isn't moving anymore but it's shimmery-wet on the table, design half drawn. It looks like one of his. It looks a hell of a lot like the sketch he just crumpled up and oh fuck that motherfucker is watching him lose his shit.
So. That's happening. ]