graftage: (to a god unknown)
John Steinbeck ([personal profile] graftage) wrote in [community profile] overjoyed_logs 2017-01-18 01:15 pm (UTC)

Aw, is that so?

[His tone is practically a croon, like he knows he will never get anywhere sincere with what he's saying - Rhys, in his eyes, is worth as much as trash in the gutters. He's a cockroach, someone who's gotten to where he is through idiotic means, and Steinbeck has no sympathy whatsoever for him.]

By all means, if you're so done, just leave. It's your life. Nobody makes that decision for you.

[There's a pause - perhaps, he means what he says? - except there's suddenly the sound of a snkt, and the gleam of a knife appears in Steinbeck's hand. He steps forward, eyes a little too wide and bright to be comfortable.]

But you have to know, I'm not here to just chat, Rhys. Do what you like. But if you think the Enforcers in that stupid company of yours are bad - [He edges the knife closer, pressing the tip of it against Rhys' abdomen.] - you obviously haven't met me. I'm worse.

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