[Weir might not be able to cut off any limbs without either of his knives—taken away from him without circumstance in this blasted city—but that’s what pure strength is for. It’s easy enough to twist a wrist just so to earn a snap or crack or two, or at least pop a finger in the wrong direction, and he is far from hesitant to doing such to someone who deserves it.
This man is fast approaching that category.
Or rather, he would be, if sense had not overcome him seemingly at the last moment. Weir’s sneer has hardly left his face, and a part of him—the unkind part—does think about punishing for his unfathomable burst of anger all the same, but eventually, his grip releases and he angles himself away.]
Damn fool.
[I’m sorry he’s just mean like this]
If your temper gets the best of you for such a small offense, you’ll not survive here for long.
no subject
This man is fast approaching that category.
Or rather, he would be, if sense had not overcome him seemingly at the last moment. Weir’s sneer has hardly left his face, and a part of him—the unkind part—does think about punishing for his unfathomable burst of anger all the same, but eventually, his grip releases and he angles himself away.]
Damn fool.
[I’m sorry he’s just mean like this]
If your temper gets the best of you for such a small offense, you’ll not survive here for long.