KENNY DRAGS the brush through her dark locks, or at least attempts to, while at the same time trying to maintain a certain gentleness to his rough hands, even though he wants nothing more than to grab the scissors from the drawer and just chop all of her hair off and finally be done with it — so many damn knots, was it even worth it ? He grumbles like a dog, murmuring a few insults here and there, though none of them were directed at her / she looks tired and fatigued, the dark circles beneath her eyes more visible than usual — even a bastard such as he can tell.
❛ … would ya stop fuckin’ complaining ? I’m even doin’ this shit for free. ❜
“ i’ll stop complaining when you stop ripping my hair out. “
her words are spat out with enough ire to knock a grown man down, leaving behind a formidable pout that only seems to grow with each rough tug of the brush. he’s supposedly doing this out of the kindness of his heart, which she thinks is barely enough to scrape the bottom of a barrel, but nevertheless she is grateful. kuchel still doesn’t know what he’s doing here, he’d shown up at her door an hour ago and now he’s dragging a splintered brush through her dirty hair. “ ... whadd’ya want, kenny. i thought you wanted nothing to do with me. “ or him, she thinks absently, opting to rest her palms against her swollen belly / to protect the only good thing she has down here.
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