HE'S NOT OFTEN DRAWN TO ANGER. it remains a simmering, bubbling perpetual stew under his skin, but if his grandfather has taught him anything, it's control, and man without control is rabid. only one cure for that. gabriel thinks of the malinois kept under strict control by ian, and feels ---- and he feels like someone needs to grab him by the collar before needle-like teeth spill out of his mouth. the vestigal jaw has descended. and his tongue hurts, bitten through with a single moment of pure irritation.
the lawyer is an annoyance. has been ever since he'd felt her hateful gaze on the back of his skull, years old now but always recognizeable. how many times has he leaned over the lunch table to grip seth's wrist before he turned to bite, hit, protect? how many times has he soothed briar's bristling back to stop her from starting a fight, that bitch keeps staring at me, how many times has he erased ness' sour face with a well-bought dessert? it'll pass.
all of his efforts, and she's still here, a dead beard to agonize over and nothing else to her name. these magic types are all the same : big show, big arrogance. will she have much to say when he tears her vocal cords out, leaves her alive to wallow in the inevitable self-pity?
questions, questions. seth's told him he's too introspective, thinks too long instead of throwing punches. one has to think. if he allows instinct, there's be naught but a pile of blood at his feet and marrow sticking to the back of his throat. the thought nauseates.
@willfulintent: ā youāre always so right. it must be such a burden. ā
gabriel interlaces his fingers to give his hands something to do, pressed hard against the polished wood of the desk, skin yellow on his palms by how hard he holds his pose. his turtleneck feels tight on his throat; he thinks again of a creature collared. the ring ian's given him sates him some, collects his anger in a faint, imperceptible glow of star sapphire. he will not disappoint. he cannot disappoint. ā so it seems i am. and yet, nobody ever listens, do they? ā
he can hide plenty, but he cannot hide his glare. the sun behind her splatters and breaks over grilled, stained windows, dusk making its first presence known. ā let me repeat myself, one more time. i could help you, but i won't. your quest is stupid, and you'd have an easier time finding a family to keep you fed and watered. this ego of yours gets you nowhere, except closer to your father. stop asking about him, stop bothering my family, and get the fuck out of my house. ā he's daring her to try her silvertongue, daring her to break a moral code : goad someone enough to break their own rules, and you've already won.
