[ Lured on by that spearpoint like some unveiled threat, he lobs the knife with the intent to impale, missing them by mere millimeters. Erring hard into audacity, his expression stays measured. Banking on Mira's willingness to put themselves to the sword for insensible reasons isn't all that difficult; deep, deep down, Tartaglia's the same.
Wanting and cagey and restless like he has been for weeks going on weeks, he accepts the unhinged trajectory that polearm takes to yank it closer where others might've forfeited ground. Only two steps later and unholy claustrophobia veers to greet him; their faces aren't far apart when he's leaning down, dragging the weapon and Mira alike into terrifying range. ]
Just an invitation.
[ His left cheek's a whole smear of red where the gouging metal edge has sliced into the skin, cutting him open. Good thing Tartaglia is obscenely tall; he couldn't heft the spear up until someone vertically-challenged like Mira dangled on their tiptoes otherwise. ]
Where should I start? [ Annoyingly, his palm's cradling the opposing side of Mira's face, soft and boyish with his touch. ] Here?
no subject
Wanting and cagey and restless like he has been for weeks going on weeks, he accepts the unhinged trajectory that polearm takes to yank it closer where others might've forfeited ground. Only two steps later and unholy claustrophobia veers to greet him; their faces aren't far apart when he's leaning down, dragging the weapon and Mira alike into terrifying range. ]
Just an invitation.
[ His left cheek's a whole smear of red where the gouging metal edge has sliced into the skin, cutting him open. Good thing Tartaglia is obscenely tall; he couldn't heft the spear up until someone vertically-challenged like Mira dangled on their tiptoes otherwise. ]
Where should I start? [ Annoyingly, his palm's cradling the opposing side of Mira's face, soft and boyish with his touch. ] Here?
[ Eye for an eye and all that jazz. ]