Miniver has a Marlowe staring at him. A Marlowe dressed in black, with his arms crossed and a dagger on his belt, and a Marlowe whose left eye is bright and cold and hard.
"Have fun?" He asks and, yes, his voice has always been soft, but now there is a coolness to it like a snake in the grass. A voice to crawl along your skin, if you were so inclined to be spooked from it.
"Luckily for you, at this moment in time violence actually makes me feel ill," he says quite calmly in a tone of voice that suggests that this can be very, very easily remedied, and had utterly no relevance in the past.
"I am tempted to just verbally tear strips off you, but now it remains a question of stubborness. Are you going to avoid your sylph of a former lover?"
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shit.
Miniver sinks down a little. Possibly trying to hide behind a teacup. Ineffectually.
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"Have fun?" He asks and, yes, his voice has always been soft, but now there is a coolness to it like a snake in the grass. A voice to crawl along your skin, if you were so inclined to be spooked from it.
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"Not really, thanks for asking."
He LOOKS like he shouldn't be out of the infirmary. Or at least his room.
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"No, I lied. It was a stroll in the park. I just love exsanguination, don't you?"
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"Miniver, Miniver, Miniver..."
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The snark comes from fear for his well-being, mostly.
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"And sense, boy, or do you have none of that?"
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"I'm sure it did."
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Just wanting to be prepared.
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"I am tempted to just verbally tear strips off you, but now it remains a question of stubborness. Are you going to avoid your sylph of a former lover?"
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Flail! But not, because he's tired.
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