YOU MAKE ME SICK.

@synthmama what u gonna do when u walk in and there’s an owl headed man wanking in ur living room 

           A SIGH  ---   it passes distorted, yet human - like enough to be unsuitable for the beak he speaks from. or perhaps it’s more of a scoff ?  certainly, the latter, because rasmus harbors little to no patience for games. alas, seems to be she has chosen to do things the difficult way. he rests back in the chair, idle for the moment as her footstep draw her farther. and if she had been present, perhaps she could have seen the way in which he vanished.             ❝  LEAVING SO SOON, QUINCY ?  ❞  posture relaxed, an arm propped against the door frame to sufficiently block her once it opens. what lies within his eyes doesn’t match, however, narrowing and borrowing, as if reaching to pluck something from inside of her.  ❝  I TOLD YOU TO SIT. IF YOU DO NOT LISTEN WE WILL BE FORCED TO PLAY MY GAMES. YOU LIKE GAMES, DON’T YOU ?  YOUR DOLLS ARE VERY LIFE - LIKE. I DON’T THINK YOU’LL LIKE MY GAMES.  ❞

             ❝  DON’T BOTHER WITH THAT.  ❞  he doesn’t have to look, to know :  the manner in which he sees extends far beyond the conceivable for most, but perhaps she will understand.  ❝  I AM BOTH LESS THAN YOU THINK, AND MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE.  ❞  physically, yes, but perhaps he’s referring to much more than that. is he ?  he’d like to think it stupid to disregard the notion.          head snaps to her, finally --- large, crimson - tinted eyes steadily trained on her. there’s a depth to them she cannot see, capabilities she will soon learn. after all :  there’s no hiding from rasmus, he sees all. and quinn ?  he’s certain she’ll soon face the dread and vulnerability that comes with exposure.  ❝  SIT. NOW. BEFORE YOU MAKE A BIGGER FOOL OF YOURSELF TRYING TO AVOID THE INEVITABLE.  ❞ 

             RICHARD — POMPOUS COCK. rasmus holds no love for either of the other entities, though his tolerance for don juan was significantly greater. her weakness and insufferably calm demeanor was favorable to what richard brought to the table. and yet, there is a certain pecking order he must respect. the rooster was in charge, and neither he nor don juan cared to challenge that, accepting it as a necessary order to things. so when he speaks, they listen, and now in particular, richard is jostling him from his prior focus, sifting through records to replace the last.               respect, but no submission. feathers still become disrupted with a bitterness, snapping his gaze over.  ❝  WRONG ? HOW SO ? WHICH GIRL ? I WON’T SPEAK OF ANY GIRL !  ❞  back to the records, but his search becomes noticeably and increasingly irritated.  ❝  I STAND BY ALL I SAY. I HAVE GOOD REASON FOR ALL OF IT. THE TRAMPY ONE IS TROUBLE.  ❞  and he stops, slows, sets the box of records on the floor next to his legs and folds his hands in his lap.  ❝ TROUBLE. YOU MUST BE GOING SOFT. WEAK.  ❞

               TENSION RISES  —  it shows in the disruption of oft neatly - placed feathers, in the stillness of a form that near - always trembles with some restless vibration. disgusting, that he believes himself permitted to reach out and touch with those filthy, bloodstained hands, liable to poison everything those fingers come into contact with. ( it’s a wonder he hasn’t already caused that girl to whither and rot. )        he’s fast, always faster, a silent predator that sees all and catches all without fail. both hands around jacket’s arm in different places, clawing into the sleeve of his tacky, dirty letterman much as he does with the seat he resides on.  ❝  EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH IS SURE TO DIE. LOOK BACK AT YOUR HISTORY. HARM COMES TO ALL WHO FALL FOOLISH ENOUGH TO ALLOW YOU IN. YOU’RE FILTH, A MURDERER — DIRECT AND INDIRECT. IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE YOU KILL HER TOO.  ❞  a pause, head twitching into canted state.  ❝  LET ME HELP YOU SEE.  ❞   rasmus is up, then, but pulling forward. if jacket was so inclined to touch, so be it :   ras would make him feel just how life - like this owl’s visage was as his beak tore through his eyes.

            SHARP SNAP of his head, twisting in a way most unnatural for the humanoid neck, body he possessed   —   head turns near the full one - eighty, eyes wide, boring. the movement is quick, and so is the hand that captures a much smaller wrist in a grip that borders on merciless.  ❝ YOUR ENTITLEMENT GRANTS YOU NOTHING.  ❞  that beak moves with each word, but it’s human - like, drawing away from expectation. human, thick with a russian touch, and distorted.       grip tightens, white - knuckled, and those eyes —  still wide, unblinking, never leaving the boy’s.  ❝  BOLDNESS SERVES NO PURPOSE WHEN YOU’RE BUILT FROM A CORE OF FEAR. OR IS IT INADEQUACY ? DISTANCE ? WHAT KIND OF MAN DO YOU HOPE TO BE, WITH ALL THIS FRAGILE CONFIDENCE ? ALWAYS SO FRAGILE … ❞  and he twists.

                 ❝  YOU’RE RIGHT.  ❞   were he feeling more jovial, perhaps he’d laugh. not with her, but rather, at her. at the melancholy she harbors, this pool of pity she’s drowning herself in as if waiting for someone to reach in and pull her out, too pathetic to do it on her own. instead, he settles with that same hard stare, snapping his cigarette with his beak until it flutters down to the floor, crushed under the heel of his shoe.          ❝  I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, THE SICKNESS ON YOUR HANDS. I CAN SEE IT IN YOUR EYES, WOMAN, YOU DISGUST ME. YOU’VE FORFEITED YOUR RIGHT TO BE ONE. YOUR LOSS MEANS NOTHING WITH THE LOSS YOU’VE CAUSED.  ❞

             ❝  YOU ARE SMALL.  ❞   if there’s anyone who could have him on edge like this, it’s him. even the rivalry he holds with the rooster - headed one bares nothing in comparison for his distaste for the rotten landscape of a mind they are born of. his feathers are bristling, mask seemingly twice its original size. he doesn’t take his stand often, only when sufficiently riled. rises to his full height, steps closer, nearly invasive with his approach, and there’s no effort in hiding the dangerous gleam in crimson - tinted eyes.         ❝  DOES HURTING PEOPLE MAKE YOU FEEL BIG ?  IS THAT WHY YOU DO IT ?  DO YOU FEEL BIG WHEN YOU’RE IN CONTROL, WITH YOUR HANDS AROUND SOMEONE’S NECK LIKE THE FILTHY KILLER YOU ARE ?  I BET IT DOES.  ❞  rasmus doesn’t tower, rather, he stands ever with jacket  –  give or take an inch or two given by adorning feathers. almost as if they are one in the same, despite his apparel. despite the form he holds :  if jacket wants to hate him, much like with richard, he will have to face the hatred of what they hold similar.  ❝  NOBODY IS KEEPING SECRETS. IT’S YOUR OWN FAULT IF YOU CANNOT FIGURE OUT THE TRUTH ON YOUR OWN. I WON’T HOLD YOUR HAND AND TALK YOU THROUGH IT.  ❞