❝ quit your complainin'. i got my mission report right he— ❞ an abrupt cut-off as soon as @burserks door shuts and locks behind him. the facade so carefully, naturally, plastered to axel's features is dropped. it's a graceless act, but one they should be more than accustomed to. smirk fades away. sharp eyes instinctively soften at the sight of his — him. features relax and he moves through the motions of not only removing falsities from his body, but pesky clothing as well. stained gloves are bunched up and tossed in a hamper, and off goes his coat and boots — just as bloody.
he smells of ash and iron. a sensation not unlike hunger pangs in his gut, yet he doesn't take the time to wonder if it's from his lack of heart, or the blood bath he so easily partakes in as consequence. and the dancing flame draws near, clean hand reaching for a claw. it's comfort, he thinks. they're comfort, even if only due to their memories. his tone is remarkably playful for the horrors that linger on the back of his eyelids.
❝ y'know, you're lucky i don't mind these icky jobs. ❞













