shhh 🖤

Strade wiggles his fingers. “Oooh, don’t mind if I do.”

“I’ve gotten a few people to come home with me that way,” Strade nods. “It ends just the same way they all do, unfortunately.”

Strade flexes an arm. He’s no bodybuilder, but his bicep strains the cuff of his shirt. You can’t plunge a knife into as many stomachs as Strade has without gaining a little muscle.

“That’d be creepy. I’d probably set them on fire after I eviscerated them, just in case.”

Strade is already failing to hold back a snicker at his hilarious joke. “Whenever Ren makes pasta.. and there’s a different kind of noodle in it...” He covers his mouth and giggles for a bit. “... he calls it an impasta. And I can’t fuckin’ handle it it’s so goddamn funny.”

“That depends. If they asked me on day 1, then no. But if they stuck it out, and were just begging for their life... I might say yes.”

“Ahh,” Strade says, considering this indeed. “I’m still just unsure of ‘master’ as a title. It implies they’re in some kind of servitude to me. When really I would have taken what I wanted whether they owed it to me or not.”

“Anything Ren cooks, and a cold beer,” Strade says. He kisses his fingers. “Magnifiqué.”

Strade claps. “Ribs! So important and yet so fragile! They break off so easily, and the way the ribcage flutters when the toy is breathing too fast... ah.” He puts his hand to his forehead, swooning. “I end up playing with them every time. I can’t resist.”

“Oh, I was just like anyone else. Quiet, kinda lazy, kept to myself. I had decent enough grades that I pretty much slipped completely under the radar.”

Strade rubs his arms, suppressing a shiver. He clicks his tongue. “I’m... a sucker for the classics. Any night that ends with fucking the wounds -” he rolls his head back on his shoulders, his voice now a little wistful, “- keeps me riled up for days.”

“What makes you attracted to people who like inflicting pain?” he hums. “It’s not as straightforward a question as it sounds, is it?”

Something glitters in your drink, just for a second. Strade keeps your gaze and smiles.

“Isn’t that a little strong right off the bat?” Strade grins, twirling the hunting knife in his fingers. “Don’t you think you should come get to know me first?”

“I like to think each of my guests gets their own special treatment,” he says. “I’ve never done exactly the same thing twice... although, I do save the really good stuff for the ones that prove they can take a beating.”

He puts a hand over his heart and shrugs his shoulders, taking the compliment in stride. He clicks his tongue. “Aren’t you just a sweetheart.”