[ The name hurts far worse than whatever Danny thinks he's doing to his throat, so sickeningly glad it cramps him right up. The memory of Jem talking about Petre forgetting her had awakened a kind of fear he hasn't even admitted to himself. It doesn't thaw the ice, though. It just means Danny is going to understand why he's being punished — is going to know how to fight back. Both of which are positives, in John's book.
He can't respond verbally with a wicked talon of expensive china knifed into his vocal chords, which is the main reason he grabs snaps Danny's wrist like the first fold in an origami, his thumb stroking firm and fond up the thin skin to the palm as he presses the whole thing sickeningly back on itself with a dozen tiny pops and one loud snap, and lets go. Covers his new wound, arterial blood spurting in little pulses between his fingers in a way that leaves him dizzy, makes it hard to focus on fighting, so he turns his attention to trying to repair the damage instead. Just the basics, sewing back what he needs and leaving the rest a jagged opening.
People are staring, now, some avid and some shocked and disdainful. A servant moving to intercept, or maybe to try and save some of the decor from the blood and mess. John ignores them, fixed on Danny - for the first time since they met, he has all of John's considerable attention. His vocal cords knit themselves back together. ]
The fuck are you doing here.
[ No double-edged sword of a diminutive, he's too pissed off. Grabbing again now, going for hair or clothes or uninjured arm, knowing he needs to pin this fucker down between his thighs if he wants to get him still long enough for an answer. ]
(cw for gore and violence for the thread)
He can't respond verbally with a wicked talon of expensive china knifed into his vocal chords, which is the main reason he grabs snaps Danny's wrist like the first fold in an origami, his thumb stroking firm and fond up the thin skin to the palm as he presses the whole thing sickeningly back on itself with a dozen tiny pops and one loud snap, and lets go. Covers his new wound, arterial blood spurting in little pulses between his fingers in a way that leaves him dizzy, makes it hard to focus on fighting, so he turns his attention to trying to repair the damage instead. Just the basics, sewing back what he needs and leaving the rest a jagged opening.
People are staring, now, some avid and some shocked and disdainful. A servant moving to intercept, or maybe to try and save some of the decor from the blood and mess. John ignores them, fixed on Danny - for the first time since they met, he has all of John's considerable attention. His vocal cords knit themselves back together. ]
The fuck are you doing here.
[ No double-edged sword of a diminutive, he's too pissed off. Grabbing again now, going for hair or clothes or uninjured arm, knowing he needs to pin this fucker down between his thighs if he wants to get him still long enough for an answer. ]