[ Drifter makes a show of licking his teeth, languidly swiping his tongue over pronounced-canines as-if to taunt him; To show him the monster he's dealing with.
He readjusts himself, shifting to sit on spread-knees, and tilts his head up, pushing his crown against the gun. ]
[ Quinn glowered, and puffed hot air out of his nostrils. He cocked the gun downwards, the head staring Drifter in the eyes. He could if he wanted to — and right now he was really feeling it. ]
...Knew it. Knew you couldn'.
[ He laughs, rolling onto all-fours. Flashes his fangs to rub the salt into the wound. He was weak, like all the other Venators that came before him; None of them, not one, could ever kill him. ]
[ He grimaced at the sharp claws digging into his skin. If he were a smarter man, he would've pulled the trigger right there. Instead, he shoved Drifter off, stumbling upwards onto his feet. Perhaps these rituals are really getting to him.. ]
[ An uncharacteristically soft, and small, squeak is squeezed out of him, before the sound is forced into a hiss, hands coming up to clutch at wrists. Despite the compromising position, he is plagued by an unsettling smile, staring up at the Venator with a giddy expression. ]
[ Quinn tries to stand upright at the yank, but ends up tumbling down atop of Drifter with a loud clatter. It took him a long minute to truly process the position, but when it clicked the gun was aimed at Drifter's throat. ]
[ Drifter is not perturbed. If anything, he takes the opportunity as a chance to play with the chain linked to his thurible— like a cat toying with a string. ]
[ Drifter, despite expecting some retaliation, still stumbles backwards. A claw is hooked in-between a hole of the chain, though, just in time to allow him to jerk his hand back and pull the priest down with him. ]
[ The second he heard chains rattle, Quinn took his chance to slam the butt of his gun against Drifter's head. It wasn't too hard — just enough to make him back off. Hopefully. ]