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#half considered having him bury a body but I doubt he'd bother DKLGFJHLG ALSO BC OF THE 'TOO DARK' THING
gdmonster · 2 years
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@jeoseungsaja​ | "You again." Sourness wrapped in throat, the fox stares at the poisonous creature; head tilting to a side with narrowed eyes. "Don't you have anything better to do than cause trouble? Tsk." Umbrella's tip bounces twice against the floor; grip firm around handle. "Perhaps you should get a new hobby, how about gardening? Suits you. You know, playing with dirt and all." A little, mischievous smirk blossoms; eyebrow slowly lifting. "Or butterfly watching, at least.” (to Nobleman from Yeo...cAN HE STOP I'M CRYING WEIDUHEWIUDH, I HOPE THESE ASKS ARE OKAY, IF YOU'D LIKE TO SKIP ANY FEEL MORE THAN FREE TO DO SO ;W; I ADORE YOU TONS)
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Life works in mysterious ways.
He’d mention god, but he’s also the man raised out of the child they once killed, so his belief-system is pretty much screwed in varied positions and then disposed of out the window, a clean job, one he couldn’t have done better himself, if he’d wanted to.
And he hadn’t.
He wouldn’t have cared for it.
Either way, it’s certainly a better cut of ties, a more efficient solution to an ongoing problem, than the lack of solution in attendance of a problem that seems intent on turning into an ongoing on.
It might not seem like it, but he hates problems. He’d like it if things simply continued as they always were, easy to shoulder through, keeping his wits closely stuck behind his teeth, not letting on that he knows much more and has no intention of sharing the least bit of info with a class he doesn’t care for, a teacher he wouldn’t mind seeing dead.
It’s an easy life. The only life, the only type of existence he gets to call his own, morbid and unearned.
So wouldn’t it be fair if, after all he’s been through, he’d be granted a few moments of tranquillity from people like him?
The stark red of his hair was difficult to forget, much like the eyesore of an umbrella he carried around, a stark contrast to the lack of elegance his sputtering and the genre of his facial expressions seem to insinuate. But even without an appearance noteworthy enough to warrant a few second glances, he’d be easy to recognise, easy to remember.
Maybe his memory simply refused to fail him. Or maybe the red-head had simply managed to irk him enough to leave an impression.
He wipes his hands off the other, a grimace eliciting the disgust in his chest and beckoning it to take residence on his face, as he momentarily lets his gaze drop from staring at the other to staring at his own hands.
Playing with dirt and all. Oh he thinks he’s so funny.
He reaches into the inside of his coat.
“Funny you’d say that, I was about to ask you the same thing.” A smile grows as he digs for the pocket sown into his garments, a lift of his eyebrows as if intending to match the other’s, a mockery of what he was offering, a mockery of a mockery.
“Although,” he uses the wet tissue he retrieves to clean his hands. “I was going to suggest you get a hobby, full stop. Loitering around, bothering poor pedestrians, bothering me,” an emphasis with a slight bite at the corner of his lips as he throws the used wet tissue to the ground.
Hands, somewhat cleaner, disappear where they’re a little safer from more dirt, as he fixes his posture to have his feet planted firmly, his head tilted slightly, his smile deeply unpleasant, charmingly devote of ignorance in his own regards. “You’re deeply, deeply annoying. Deeply. Hate to be forced to put an end to that. Stop fucking with me? Hm? Yeah? How about it.”
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