he gets his hands ‘round the other’s throat.
another knife is drawn from holster, and then another——all decent sized throwing knives; hands a blur as they’re tossed. aimed for other shoulder, chest.
it’s exhausting. acting is exhausting, pretending a life worth leading is something within his grasp——it’s all exhausting; something of his skin that he’s glad to shed. he’ll live in the blood & mess instead, and he’ll do it with a …
⠀
that’s the funny part, isn’t it? the human costumes. dress—up and playing house to prove fitting into the mold is enough for these people, until the facade cracks. can’t change human nature. can’t change what you are.
the force of the blades impact twists its frame, pries
smile.
speaking of: grin sharpens ‘neath balaclava when blade sinks in to the hilt, not even faltering when mechanism of grapple pierces his skin. a grunt leaves him, but he powers on. like he’s unconcerned with the damage, so long as …