[Slevin glares at her; he is angry. He wants to hit her back, even knowing she could snap his neck before the blow landed, even knowing his own warden has a gun leveled at them both whether he would use it or not. But the anger is contained, visibly so - so visibly - his eyes dark and burning, his bloody hands trembling with temper where he reaches up to rub his throat as he slips out from in front of her.
Hannibal is not the gory mess he'd left the assassin in so many months ago in the showers; his eyes are gone, and Slevin has left ribs broken, a collarbone, but he did not open him the way Hannibal did. The killing shot was clean, swift, and singular. The gun powder can still be smelled in the room.
Slevin steps around it, glancing at it only long enough to rekindle the bloody satisfaction in his gut, but he doesn't move for the weapons. Instead, he looks at Mal, spits] He deserved it. [and moves for the door.
He slips past Chris, careful not to overbalance him or come remotely close to touching him, and he stops obediently once he's in the hallway.]
I'll go. I won't try anything, but can I clean up first?
spam cw: gore, eye squick
Hannibal is not the gory mess he'd left the assassin in so many months ago in the showers; his eyes are gone, and Slevin has left ribs broken, a collarbone, but he did not open him the way Hannibal did. The killing shot was clean, swift, and singular. The gun powder can still be smelled in the room.
Slevin steps around it, glancing at it only long enough to rekindle the bloody satisfaction in his gut, but he doesn't move for the weapons. Instead, he looks at Mal, spits] He deserved it. [and moves for the door.
He slips past Chris, careful not to overbalance him or come remotely close to touching him, and he stops obediently once he's in the hallway.]
I'll go. I won't try anything, but can I clean up first?