Re: Upstairs halls (for now...) This one’s insulting you. it barks within, the call of the wild, snarling in the embrangled bearskin hollow of his huddled mind. And yet, with open posture unaffected, fearless of a pounce, he seems to smear on an inviting grin, the way a madman would the lipstick of his kill.
“You cold read.” and it’s a chimera labeling his method on his behalf; half a boy, half what stirs with scales within him used to the tactics of baiting it out. The fact is, however, his only education is the barbed wire womb of poverty and the darkness of mankind. He cants his head to the leftward, in much the same manner that that of an animal might to discern this one’s features in the sallow glow of the new room. As if he must rouse his mind in the sizzle of that red-handprint brain pan, by coercing it to and fro. His accent has an exotic amalgam, some relic of two distinct nations easily recognizable to the educated or traveled. And he prowls straight into the room effortlessly, as if he dwells there himself.
“But not inaccurate. If I attend a pony show, I want to see a pony trick.”
Spidery, his fingers crawl along the fine velvet backing of an old chair.