[He steps over the white granules, the little heap of it powdered onto the floor, with a quiet crunch. One kid moves in front of the other, protectively, with a harsh, jerky motion. He could turn 'em both to absolute jelly with a wave of his hand. He could grind them between Blasters, with the shearing crunch of bone cutting through meat, and the give of flesh beneath that unremitting pressure. He stands there, serene in getting exactly what he came for.
He could.
But he doesn't.]
Don't worry, kiddos. [He chuckles, curling the word into something akin to a sneer - taking a term of endearment and curdling it, perverting it, as is his wont and his want.] I ain't here to kill ya.
[Instead, he digs around in one pocket for a second before withdrawing a thick binder of research. The font it's written in is very, very interesting.
But what do you two think?]
Where's the Fun in that?
[He throws the thing to the ground with the harsh slap of two surfaces coming into alignment.
no subject
He could.
But he doesn't.]
Don't worry, kiddos. [He chuckles, curling the word into something akin to a sneer - taking a term of endearment and curdling it, perverting it, as is his wont and his want.] I ain't here to kill ya.
[Instead, he digs around in one pocket for a second before withdrawing a thick binder of research. The font it's written in is very, very interesting.
But what do you two think?]
Where's the Fun in that?
[He throws the thing to the ground with the harsh slap of two surfaces coming into alignment.
There's something clipped to the outside of it.]