Dalaric

Two: "𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙄 𝙩𝙧𝙮 ?"

"He who has a why to live can bear almost any how."
Friedrich Nietzsche

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He blinked. His blank face seemed- I don't know. Seemed ..nothing? He didn't respond- no thank you or what the hell? No one ever complimented my looks so I don't how you actually respond to a compliment. He simply walked back to the mahogany desk and sat down in a huge office chair that could roll.

I fricking live for rolly chairs.

The wall behind the desk was entirely covered in glass, you could see the entire landscape of the busy town. People hanging out with friends in some corners. It must be great.

The rest of the room was in a theme of black and red. The doors were a blood red and the carpet was stark black as well as the wooden floors. That's a lot of black.

It reminded me of dracula. Maybe I should ask him if he was a vampire- wait, that's stupid. I mentally remind myself to purchase the midnight sun book that just released which has Edward Cullens Point of view. I can't really afford it but I could borrow-

My trail of thoughts were interrupted by a faint clicking. I brought my eyes back to Mr.pretty who now wore leather gloves and was using a black cloth to clean-

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

He was cleaning guns. Three guns lay parallel to each other on the desk, each separated gun part glistening in the moon light from the window. He did it very quickly, taking out the magazine in a second and looking into it with one eye and putting it back. All in one second. He cleaned the barrel with a long rod and continued to do so with the other two guns.

He looked even more intimidating and cooler. Like those girls who had the fairy princess bags in primary when I was stuck with a rug sack that my mom used to feed the birds- okay, maybe not that kind of cool.

I gulped before sitting down on the chair right in front of the desk, frowning because it wasn't a rolly chair. Fake.

The man didn't meet my eyes until I cleared my throat and muttered gleefully.

"Can I try that?"

His movements halted before he set the guns down and looked me right in the eye. His grey eyes scanned me as if searching for something. Probably thought I was a spy or something. But I mean, the wet linkin park tee and beer soaked hair, really?

His blank face did not falter as he cracked his neck. He moved his neck in both directions and sighed in relief?

He folded his gloved hands in front of him and nodded. Not knowing what to do I just picked one of the guns up and took a magazine clip.

His grey eyes scanned me once again and look towards the gun. I put the magazine clip in and realized I put it the other way around so I quickly turned it. His face remained blank which i was thankful for since that was embarrassing.

I put the clip in and muttered a small "yay". He looked at me again and nodded again.

How can one's hands look so good in gloves?

I tried taking the clip out but it wouldn't budge. I tried for about a minute or two but couldn't do it. This is exactly how I feel when I try to do a hairstyle but fail.

Mr. Pretty gets up from the chair and buttons his coat up. That one action sending shivers down my spine. He takes out his gloves as he makes his way over to my side and I fiddle with my fingers that are slightly covered in some type of powder. I probably shouldn't bite my nails then.