[ Coyo releases his wrists and his hands are drawn back to her hair like magnets, raking and playing with the enthusiasm of a carefree lover (there's so much of it, how can he not—). Thrilled with her proximity, agitated by her words, Path turns into a mismatch of a smile paired with wide-eyed indignation. On his cheek, a flesh-tendril splits away from muscle, probing upwards, towards her face. ]
Your meal?
[ A shocked-like exhale, arrogance packed into a laugh while blood is still sweet on his lip. No, no… Passengers are never food. They're at the top of the chain, everyone knows that. Everyone fears that. ]
no subject
Your meal?
[ A shocked-like exhale, arrogance packed into a laugh while blood is still sweet on his lip. No, no… Passengers are never food. They're at the top of the chain, everyone knows that. Everyone fears that. ]
What is there to eat in me?