#* greeters.

 ravenous desire carries through his gaze: that is ajax’s response. he prefers his eyes to do the talking, let it delineate a thirst that only emphasizes his deprivation of lust-filled endeavors. she may as well fit the bill,  “you got some mouth on ya.”

   “why don’t ya shove it up their ass, then?”

 “that ain’t none’a your business.”

    “c’mon, baby. i can show ya how rough i play.”

   “shit, was that all you?” incredulity sprinkles on his face like dirt, masking the expression that all is well. this is a new image he never thought his eyes would expose themselves to.

 “what’s the matter? ya turnin’ to a wimp all of a sudden?”

   “the hell’s that even for?”

   he’s been standing, back to where rembrandt was, head swiveling in both directions to keep an eye out for anyone else donning different colors, “ya done?” he checks in, seeing no activity -- though his fists are more than ready to burst into harshly-thrown punches -- & glancing back at him.