[It's like being shot with a high-caliber bullet, honestly. Words like that. They turn sour and acrid in his ears immediately, and he can feel a burn like bile rising up against his throat as his fingers curl dangerously. Anger was an easy feeling when you had an output for it. Lashing out, guns blazing--maybe he had taken to the villain thing a little too easy, but anger was always an emotion he was familiar with. And with Jesse McCree of all people implying how much of a problem he was--how many problems he caused--
The kid was damn lucky that he backpedals when he does. His hand had already moved under his coat, fingers easily finding the handles to his too-large shotguns. He would have been moments from having the other staring down the barrel of the damn things if not for the single word used in his half-assed apology.
Trust. Jesse had to be kidding him.
Smoke, thick like fog was curling around his body, like an overworked machine spewing smoke after a small internal fire, and he fixes the other with a nearly glowing stare from under his stylized mask. He could shoot the other up now and be done with it. He'd feel better about it, wouldn't he.
His fingers squeeze against the handle of his shotgun again, before dropping it to the side. Hissing out a low growl of irritation. Jesse knew exactly what he'd done. He'd leave it as a warning, making no subtle movements that would hide the fact that he very well had just considered shooting the ingrate where he stood.]
...Didn't sign up for it, but I've never been one to bend at the knee to fate. [Needlessly edgy wordplay, check.] Wouldn't want to be you fighting me either. Good save, cowboy. [Needlessly cocky half-threat, check.] Start keeping your nose clean. ["Or next time, I won't stay my gun."]
I could pull enough weight for everyone on this trip. But I'm not a babysitter, and you know that. [A rough growl.] Look alive, and maybe I will start doing a little more.
no subject
The kid was damn lucky that he backpedals when he does. His hand had already moved under his coat, fingers easily finding the handles to his too-large shotguns. He would have been moments from having the other staring down the barrel of the damn things if not for the single word used in his half-assed apology.
Trust. Jesse had to be kidding him.
Smoke, thick like fog was curling around his body, like an overworked machine spewing smoke after a small internal fire, and he fixes the other with a nearly glowing stare from under his stylized mask. He could shoot the other up now and be done with it. He'd feel better about it, wouldn't he.
His fingers squeeze against the handle of his shotgun again, before dropping it to the side. Hissing out a low growl of irritation. Jesse knew exactly what he'd done. He'd leave it as a warning, making no subtle movements that would hide the fact that he very well had just considered shooting the ingrate where he stood.]
...Didn't sign up for it, but I've never been one to bend at the knee to fate. [Needlessly edgy wordplay, check.] Wouldn't want to be you fighting me either. Good save, cowboy. [Needlessly cocky half-threat, check.] Start keeping your nose clean. ["Or next time, I won't stay my gun."]
I could pull enough weight for everyone on this trip. But I'm not a babysitter, and you know that. [A rough growl.] Look alive, and maybe I will start doing a little more.