sfidar:
xanxus would sooner die than have to attend a function on his own – no, that was wrong. it was more accurate to say that everyone else in the room would die, were he to show up himself, his second-in-command nowhere to be seen. so long as squalo remained in the vicinity to knock sense into the man before he made a grave, violent error, the night would play out smoothly. well, there was that, and the constant stream of alcohol he demanded come his way; it helped too. standing at the sidelines in a far corner of the room, squalo watches the party’s other guests as they mingle, with all the faux-camaraderie and charade as they could possibly muster. mostly, he’s looking for someone he can make a smart comment about. and he finds said someone soon enough, ‘else he’d not be elbowing his boss in the ribs, nor wearing his mischievous smirk. ❛ ehi, questo cazzo – guardarlo. tutte le persone qui devono pensare ch’ è un coglione! ❜
@wrathfire / starter call !
[ It wasn’t so much that he’d rather die than attend one of these functions-- nothing quite as simple as that. Or, perhaps, it was something simpler: Damn these parties, and damn the etiquette that forces me to be here.
The stormy look on his face is, at least, to be expected. No one so much as bats an eye at the curl of his lip, the disinterest-- nay, disdain-- in the gaze he casts around the grand ballroom. His body is coiled tight, held tense, close, a spring ready to be sprung, a predator ready to pounce, a trigger ready to be pulled.
And then Squalo, the only one here who had a prayer of entering his space and surviving the encounter, nudges his side and nods inelegantly to a man in the center of the room, louder than the rest, dressed in a suit that is clearly last year’s Armani-- and poorly tailored, to boot.
Trash.
❝ Quel vestito? In questo tipo di compagnia? Ovviamente non gliene frega niente di essere scambiato per ricchi. Forse ti verserà dello champagne e avrà una scusa per bruciarlo quando sarà finita. ❞ ]
