[ Alec thinks he probably should feel something about this. The hot reek of blood, the opaque looks being traded across the table that might have something to do with him, the near certainty that this is going to get even messier in the very immediate future.
He doesn't. There's nothing but a still, observational readiness inside of him. No emotion, no particularly acute thought, no busywork of predicting and deciding. ]
Most of them. The people stay in the hotel, the puppets just sort of stand around at their pretend bullshit jobs.
[ No reason not to tell them that. The waiter returns to set down a plate of onion rings and fries, his pants stained with errant streaks of blood. The girl offers Alec the fork. He takes it, of course. It'd be rude not to. He examines it, idly, and then spins it over his fingers as the waiter puts down Alec's coffee mug. There are slick fingerprints all over it, the liquid inside wobbling more than usual thanks to the waiter's slightly less deft, damaged hand. ]
Hey. [ Alec says, a thin, mean curl at one corner of his mouth. ] Watch this.
[ He raises his empty hand and flicks. The waiter's arm spasms from shoulder to fingertips, and Alec's strawberry milkshake falls to the floor with a shattering crash, spewing sticky pink and broken glass to mingle with the pooled blood. The waiter's face contorts with a ripple of something almost like fear. ]
Oops. [ He flips the fork over again and reaches out to dimple the waiter's twitching wrist, the lightest of teasing scratches. ] You fucked it, dipshit. Go get me another one.
cw: body control, muscle spasming, cruelty
He doesn't. There's nothing but a still, observational readiness inside of him. No emotion, no particularly acute thought, no busywork of predicting and deciding. ]
Most of them. The people stay in the hotel, the puppets just sort of stand around at their pretend bullshit jobs.
[ No reason not to tell them that. The waiter returns to set down a plate of onion rings and fries, his pants stained with errant streaks of blood. The girl offers Alec the fork. He takes it, of course. It'd be rude not to. He examines it, idly, and then spins it over his fingers as the waiter puts down Alec's coffee mug. There are slick fingerprints all over it, the liquid inside wobbling more than usual thanks to the waiter's slightly less deft, damaged hand. ]
Hey. [ Alec says, a thin, mean curl at one corner of his mouth. ] Watch this.
[ He raises his empty hand and flicks. The waiter's arm spasms from shoulder to fingertips, and Alec's strawberry milkshake falls to the floor with a shattering crash, spewing sticky pink and broken glass to mingle with the pooled blood. The waiter's face contorts with a ripple of something almost like fear. ]
Oops. [ He flips the fork over again and reaches out to dimple the waiter's twitching wrist, the lightest of teasing scratches. ] You fucked it, dipshit. Go get me another one.