ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵛᶤˡ ʷᶤᶰˢˑ

            HE’S NEVER BEEN PARTICULARLY voluble  ;  stony optics  &  something resembling a hard snarl have been his social modus operandi  &  they have yet to fail him. he likes being intimidating  ;  it’s not hard. towering at six foot five, knives tucked neat into steel-toed boots, it’s a wonder why anyone has bothered approaching him in the first place. 

           THIS IS NO DIFFERENT. defined limbs cross against his chin as he fixes the other with a quirked  &  scarred brow  ;  a staccato rhythm taps itself out under the heel of a scuffed boot as he waits for the other’s vocalisations to fall first.  (  perhaps he’s biting his tongue --- - perhaps he has nothing to say in a dimmed silence. why destroy something so precious  ?  )  he can only handle so much, though.

           ‘   are you P E R F E C T L Y alright there  ?  ’

             THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT clement quietude that resonates deep within the brunette  ;  perhaps it’s the stillness, the clarity in solitude  &  wonderful lonesomeness that stem from working alone. his laboratory is SAFE, it is his last refuge  --- -  he revels in his drudgery. he takes such discernible delight in petite explosions that stain gangly digits in technicolour evidence  !  in carefully-constructed confines, he finds reverence but it is the outside world that widens fawn optics  &  have pearly whites sinking into the plush form of a plump lesser petal.

            AS SUCH, it is entirely unavoidable that marius finds himself with a steadfast gaze aimed down at spattered, calloused fingertips that wrap untidily round the circumference of a coffee mug. there’s no ACTIVE evasion of the other’s hues  ;  it’s just that he cannot stomach adamant scrutiny some days.  (  today happens to be one of those days.  )