Karma
Hm.
Funny concept, that. He'd never given it much thought until recently, meeting Wilton's ghost, and then Garthe Knight. He thought about Garthe, his invincible 'I have everything covered' attitude, about Kitt missing, Poppy's worry, and then about Wilton, who had, half-heartedly tried to apologize.
It was pretty clear to him now who he wished karma on, wanting to be the one to actually dole it out. He turned his SOG knife over in his hand, looking down at his amber-eyed reflection in the polished steel. He hadn't felt this kind of bloodlust in a long time. He didn't want to use the knife, or a gun, for that matter. He wanted to use his bare hands.
He wanted to corner his prey, watch the terror dawn on Garthe's face when he realized he was without his guards, without his cane and without a way out. For the very first time, he wanted to feel a human body break under the force of his fists.
Snap a zygomatic arch with one backhanded stroke, break a jaw with with the follow-up. Satisfying if teeth went with it. Crack a sternum with an uppercut. Rip it out? Maybe, if he managed to catch the xiphoid process. All would make a nice, satisfying crunching, cracking noise. A wet cracking noise even. The most satisfying though, would be to wrap his hand around Garthe's neck, dig his thumb in until he crushed the trachea or ruptured the jugular.
He stood up suddenly and whipped out with the knife, sending it arching across the room. It sank to the hilt in the wall with a hollow thud.
Funny concept, that. He'd never given it much thought until recently, meeting Wilton's ghost, and then Garthe Knight. He thought about Garthe, his invincible 'I have everything covered' attitude, about Kitt missing, Poppy's worry, and then about Wilton, who had, half-heartedly tried to apologize.
It was pretty clear to him now who he wished karma on, wanting to be the one to actually dole it out. He turned his SOG knife over in his hand, looking down at his amber-eyed reflection in the polished steel. He hadn't felt this kind of bloodlust in a long time. He didn't want to use the knife, or a gun, for that matter. He wanted to use his bare hands.
He wanted to corner his prey, watch the terror dawn on Garthe's face when he realized he was without his guards, without his cane and without a way out. For the very first time, he wanted to feel a human body break under the force of his fists.
Snap a zygomatic arch with one backhanded stroke, break a jaw with with the follow-up. Satisfying if teeth went with it. Crack a sternum with an uppercut. Rip it out? Maybe, if he managed to catch the xiphoid process. All would make a nice, satisfying crunching, cracking noise. A wet cracking noise even. The most satisfying though, would be to wrap his hand around Garthe's neck, dig his thumb in until he crushed the trachea or ruptured the jugular.
He stood up suddenly and whipped out with the knife, sending it arching across the room. It sank to the hilt in the wall with a hollow thud.