Who: Walden Macnair and Argus Pyrites When: Early evening of October 30th Where: A DE safe house What: Relaxing after Walden's "work" is done Status/Rating: Closed/On the higher sider for blood and talk of torture/killing
With a flick of his wand, Walden materialized an over-sized cloth. There was little he hated more than his "precious" axe being dirty and currently it was rested beside him dripping blood onto the floor. In the silence it was almost as if one could hear the drip, drip, drip, of the blood hitting the floor. It was an eerie testament to the silence in a room that until a few moments ago had been filled with pleas, crying, and bloodcurdling screams. Not that any of that bothered Walden. He was quite okay with death, fascinated by it really. There was nothing quite like the moment life was snuffed out of eyes that had once been full of life and fear. Okay, maybe he was slightly twisted but it suited him just well.
"Why don't you make yourself useful, Pyrites?" Walden snapped at the man, getting slightly annoyed at the state of his axe. "You like cleaning up messes any how and I left you one you will rather enjoy."
Walden picked his axe up and cradled it on his lap careful not to drip blood on his clothing; his children did not need to see him come home covered in the red substance, even though they were both adults and would understand. For a moment only silence lingered between the two men as the soft swish of Walden's cloth on the blade was the only sound in the room. "You would think people would learn by now that begging only brings their death on quicker..." He mused out loud as he continued to wipe the blade. Once he reached the end of the blade, he moved his hand back and wiped it again methodically. Walden, like most, was a creature of habit and that included cleaning his axe in a certain way. Right to left, never did he wipe the cloth across the blade left to right. That would be too odd.