I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
It’s always amusing to watch how they react to the different pressures he can apply.
How some fight back, how others immediately succumb to it. He feels her irritation pressing into him, the displeasure so clear in the way she holds herself, but he doesn’t apologize immediately, doesn’t jump away, doesn’t even show that he’s noticed. He just continues to smile softly, the charming grin so out of place on a face that usually wears an empty, crocodile smile. When she finally speaks, he lets a wave of confusion wash over him as he blinks a few times, turning toward her. “Oh? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
His voice is an octave lower than usual, a little huskier, his handsome face arranged into pleasant lines as he takes a step away, opening up the space between them. He continues to look at her though, studying the lines of her face as if admiring them when, in reality, he was mostly imagining all of the different ways she would look like torn apart. Would she wear the same expression of horror as Lucrezia had?
Would she scream and ask for answers?
Would she fight back?
His own version of daydreams touch his face with a hint of dreaminess, a softness as he shakes his head. “I don’t know where my head is at today.” Another smile as he looks back to the water and those who gather here. All he wants is to pull on the Fear, to let it jump to his command, to bend reality and spark further nightmares that scatter them, but it’s not the right time—not yet. Not just yet.
“I love coming here when everyone is gathered,” he says, almost to himself, before turning to focus on her more fully again. “Oh, where are my manners. My name is Bruise,” he says his name like an apology, as if he was ashamed of it rather than immensely proud. “What brings you here today?”
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
@[Brine]