Re: [log: antique store - daniel/claire/louis]
Daniel, being the kind of creature that didn't do well dry, moved his tongue over lips gone harsh in the newly arid room. His eyes were entirely black against the seam of his brow, alive with his anger and ready to track the smallest movement. "I am nothing of yours." Daniel did not like being owned, or even the suggestion that he could not do what he wanted when he wanted. The thing behind Louis' face made him angry because it was violating his space and his Louis, a status for which there was no other word. It didn't talk like Louis, it talked like Ireland, which made Daniel yet more uncomfortable, in the far reaches of his old soul. Despite himself Daniel glanced at Temperance. He was not of her God either, but he didn't say this, because he knew Temperance believed otherwise.
Naturally, Daniel had no trouble following the Italian, but he chose not to respond in kind. Despite the fluency the dry god displayed, Daniel knew the words to be as much a shell as Louis, and that was all.
It was the challenge, not the invitation, that moved Daniel forward from his place in the remnants of his cup. Pieces of it made no sound under his feet, as if his weight was light and his passing silent. The echo of its destruction was equally writ on his face, frustration and inhuman anger full of blackness and hungry teeth, which seemed to become ever sharper and more numerous by the second. "You taste of nothing," he spat, long accustomed to controlling and concealing the hunger, even if his all-pupil dark eyes shifted ever so slightly along the pulsing vein. "He is not yours to offer."