Date: 2020-01-14 04:29 am (UTC)
requiemshark: (031)
From: [personal profile] requiemshark
[ A brand. Like his fucked up face. A permeant mark. Hah, hah. He twitches again. Already losing the fight to hold still. He wants to move, pace. Punch something. Be anywhere but right here, enduring this moment. ]

You guessed.

[ Not a question. Sharkface shakes his head, incredulous. He's always telegraphed. Hunter warned him about that. Always on his back to guard his reactions, to protect himself in the field. No poker face at all, he'd said, and fuck if that didn't bare out. A vampire had one conversation with him and somehow just fucking guessed at the damage.

That's pathetic. He was a soldier, once. He cannot make mistakes like this. ]


Fine. Congratulations. I fought in the Great War. Everybody I know fought in the war.

[ He admits it too quickly, nearly snarling it. It wasn't the war that killed his people, or fucked up his face, but he can pretend. It's a good lie. A believable lie. He'll stick with that if it keeps people from looking deeper. ]
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ˢʰᵉʳᶤᶠᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵃʳᵉᵃ ᶰᶤᶰᵉ

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