#websriot

@novaragno hobie vc: im doing it for the bit

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ​ ┈⌯⁍𖦏 ❝ 「 So what's the GRIFT? 」 ❞ Red was still trying to piece together what he was seeing. Big eyed suit, spikes, tatters of leather? He couldn't place them in his memory. HERO OR VILLAIN? It didn't matter. Everyone had a motive to running around in costumes. He just needed to know if this FREAK was going to interfere with business. Gun is already drawn, pointed at the other's head. ❝ 「 Parden but I'm a bit territorial. 」 ❞

morbid curiosity prompts

His grievance wasn't constrained by a single point of aggravation. In fact, there happened to be a list of problems that he could recite if pressed on the matter. Some could be attributed to the unpleasant presence, currently towering over his seated form, arms defiantly crossed in front of their chest as questions rolled forth from their mouth as needed. But in truth, the weight that currently settled upon his back like an unwelcomed passenger stemmed from another source. That of growing responsibilities, and the burden of governance.

Finding a reason to frown, what advantage this brazened protest aims to encourage is lost as Miguel motions to stand, a slow elevation of height that sees the span of his shoulders roughly match the other Spider's own lankiness once fully stationary. "Now's not the time for this." Weary tone expresses no desire to invite challenge, to bicker and disagree over their clashing points of view, providing fuel for the Society's other residents to gossip and speak about.

"I've got nothing to say to you. Not today." A response that in itself provides a partial clue for his unexpected aversion to starting another argument. Mission debriefs were piling up, squads were awaiting fresh orders. Right now, he was needed, in the capacity of a Leader, more than as a man disputing with someone nearly half his age.

various question sentence starters

He is nearly at a loss for words, reaching for sounds that fail to make their way up his throat. Of all matters to ask about, he chose that? Even as a joke, it radiated with cruelty -- and he wasn't going to stand for it.

"...Why do you ask?" With pain points struck, Miguel puts effort into keeping his tone neutral, grateful in the moment for the cover of luminant hard light concealing his stricken visage. There was no reason to ask, for he wasn't exactly secretive about his grief, a despondency that weighed heavily upon his shoulders, hardened his capacity to feel anything that wasn't... akin to anger. Or impatience.

RANDOM DIALOGUE. ↪ accepting.

❝ no ... ❞ it's admitted with the smallest of voices; EVERYTHING ABOUT HER, ALWAYS SO SMALL. from her voice to her height to her presence in a room: everything seemingly tailored to become INVISIBLE right in front of his eyes.

felicity parking, so meek, so small, so mute; THE ANTITHESIS of what he is, what he stands for. but he takes the time, anyways.