#nctheather

Where he was concerned, the rules bent and creaked. Under the pressure of his need to shed blood and his temper there were plenty of times when things strayed off that rigid path. When the creature whose thumb pressed down on him, had to whisper sharply in his ear and remind him to be good.

Seldom does he see it the other way - though some appear to consider it. "Cheating" in order to spare either themselves or their supposed friends the agony of being placed upon the butchers block.

Her closed fist was not entirely unusual. Nor painful, even when she managed to get a decent shot right against his mouth. That sweet little location that sent his head sharply back and knocked his shades away, revealing the bright crimson gaze that normally lurked behind them.

"Think you're a hero do you?" His question mocks as he stares at her. Unharmed, undeterred by what ought to have made him bite his tongue.

Did she realize she'd made a mistake, he wondered. Or was that part of the plan...

Dwight Fairfield was so much more than just the 'Leader of the pack', he was compassionate, if not a bit awkward about it. Empathetic. Reluctantly courageous. Willing to just sit there and listen. Sometimes, admittedly, putting others' inner struggles before his own. And lately, though he tried to keep it hidden as best as he could, his own mind had been in a constant state of flux.

He casts a glance towards the exhausted survivors arriving back from a trial he wasn't a part of, noting disheveled, traumatized states as well as one missing from their numbers. Though certainly they would re-emerge before too long.

In a role such as this, of course the Shape is used to survivors fighting back against him. Sometimes they don't, they simply lay on their backs and show their belly because they know they don't stand a chance against him, or they hope some humanity will show in him and he'll show them mercy. Of course, it never works, because Michael only cares about seeing how they die. It is a curiosity that can never be sated, something that is louder than anything else can ever be to him.

@nctheather | protective prompts: ACCEPTING !!

The Leader's eyes hesitated over the blonde's features as if he felt like somehow he was obligated to apologize for his actions. But . . . how could he? And what amount of pride would send someone down the route of spitefulness versus gratefulness? Dwight didn't do what he did for a 'thank you,' but admittedly he wasn't expecting such a cold dismissal of the wound in his shoulder. Such a reluctant bravery and sudden surge of bravery would overtake him at times where he knew in his gut he could save someone as they'd saved him.

But maybe he really had just thrown himself in front of a situation Heather was more than appropriately prepared to deal with by herself . . . Maybe he'd actually gone out of his way to make a woman feel weak and defenseless in his presence? The mere thought of that being the interpretation of his actions made a stone sink into his gut. In that moment, Dwight was certain both of his sisters would already have him in a dual headlock right now if that's what they thought.

"No."

Even if he'd been asked to nicely it still would not have made him listen. With the red soaked blade tightly griped in one hand it is evident the only thing on his mind is the goal being murmured into his ears.

He is perhaps the least personal of the pick - the sterilized option of a bloody litter. Though his hands inflict death all the same. When he steps closer the thick soles of his combat boots gently thud against the ground. Echoing off the walls that always seem dusty and stained with grim no matter how much time has passed.

"Make is easy for yourself and stay still."