｡*ﾟ♡˖ @hawkinssoull ꒷︶꒦ “i think you're smart enough to know you're not winning this fight.” WAS HE BEING TOO COCKY? the gun in his hand made him feel invincible, a large contradiction to his earlier fright of being caught and torn to shreds by a debtor with a short temper. he'd barely escaped, no bullets shot and no facial features broken ... but the damage that he was left with? THAT was fright (for what had happened, for what could have happened, and for what may happen next): an ugly emotion that manifests itself through his frantic and brash mannerisms and less-than-friendly speech. “what good will your voice do against a bullet?” deadpan was his tone, the weapon still aimed towards her direction. for a moment, the cogs in his head can be seen turning, almost, with the way his lips twist to the side and the eventual lowering of the gun. you could see the exact moment in which each piece works itself out, that moment he realizes how to fix things: “but, i am feeling nice ... so, make this easier for the both of us, and absolutely no harm will be done to you or your home. all i'm asking is a little bit of time to spend here, while i...” because, for all his energy, jesper fahey was not invincible. in fact, he was absolutely drained. his bones ached, each joint screaming for -- “rest. i'd owe you one, too. doesn't that sound like a dream, sweetheart?”
