[... Honestly, if she whipped out one of his own knives and stabbed him with it, he'd be all the harder for it. But no --
There his tiny little target is, cowering as she rightfully should be as he makes his way closer and closer... his footsteps clanking and heavy against the metal sheets lining the floor, his cloak fluttering behind him and masking his form - This is something he's done hundreds of times, after all (under different circumstances); the art of striking fear into someone is as second nature to him as breathing. He lives for this thrill - breathes it, knows it more intimately than he's sure anyone else might in all of Ellipsa. To chase someone down, corner them like this, knowing that at this moment, he's the top of the food chain... That sharp-toothed grin on his screen couldn't get any wider, lines starting to form above it as if nonexistent lips are peeling back to show nonexistent gums.
As he walks past one of the last shelves at the end of the room, though, there's a strange little sound - a thin little "shhhik", metal brushing along metal... and as he turns the corner, it's clear what that was. While she decided against taking up any of the knives he has stored down here, he hasn't.
And with every step closer, he lifts it up higher so she can see exactly what it is -]
I been meanin' to share this belle with someone else... you gonna be a good girl 'n humor me, right?
[- A big, high-polish hunting knife as long as his own forearm, held with his claws around its handle and its tip pressed into a fingertip on his other hand. Already, a little bit of glowing, orange blood is pooling around it.
...
And the antennae on his helmet are wiggling a little. It's like the crest of a bird, almost. He's excited, too.]
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But no --
There his tiny little target is, cowering as she rightfully should be as he makes his way closer and closer... his footsteps clanking and heavy against the metal sheets lining the floor, his cloak fluttering behind him and masking his form -
This is something he's done hundreds of times, after all (under different circumstances); the art of striking fear into someone is as second nature to him as breathing.
He lives for this thrill - breathes it, knows it more intimately than he's sure anyone else might in all of Ellipsa. To chase someone down, corner them like this, knowing that at this moment, he's the top of the food chain...
That sharp-toothed grin on his screen couldn't get any wider, lines starting to form above it as if nonexistent lips are peeling back to show nonexistent gums.
As he walks past one of the last shelves at the end of the room, though, there's a strange little sound - a thin little "shhhik", metal brushing along metal... and as he turns the corner, it's clear what that was.
While she decided against taking up any of the knives he has stored down here, he hasn't.
And with every step closer, he lifts it up higher so she can see exactly what it is -]
I been meanin' to share this belle with someone else... you gonna be a good girl 'n humor me, right?
[- A big, high-polish hunting knife as long as his own forearm, held with his claws around its handle and its tip pressed into a fingertip on his other hand.
Already, a little bit of glowing, orange blood is pooling around it.
...
And the antennae on his helmet are wiggling a little. It's like the crest of a bird, almost.
He's excited, too.]