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@burnlikeme sent a sentence starter: “I want to know why you care.”

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{!!} – Alexsander regarded the wounded man on the ground below with an arched brow, pale blue irises dancing indirectly around the other’s darkened sockets. He seemed unimpressed by the verbal admission of self-pity. ❝I try not to be a cruel man, but I am also not a particularly kind one. If you’re waiting for me to inspire you with some heartful speech comprised of preconceived insight into your value as a living organism, then I regretfully disappoint you.❞

He extended an arm out toward the injured party, a slight tremor in his right hand. ❝I saw what they did to you. That is all. Now take my hand, unless you so wish to bleed in the street, which I would not find ideal as it could cause an inquiry since you are, in fact, laying directly outside my home.❞ 

Home. That word felt strange upon his lips, almost like a lie, but the gothic mansion that towered above them was the closest thing he had to one, he must admit. An amalgamation of his interests all confined to one expansive building; a stronghold, built to keep people out and his personal life locked safely in. For Alexsander to open its doors to anybody besides his manager was a rare feat. If the stranger knew this, perhaps he’d think him a little less austere. ❝Come, it's dark. I’ll make some tea and patch you up.❞

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Anonymous said: You think you're so smart huh??

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{!!} – ❝Not at all.❞ Alexsander calmly rebutted, comprehensively unthreatened & unbothered by their misguided assumption of his conceit. He really couldn't be sure of why he seemed to get that a lot from people. ❝I’m fairly confident I’m of average intelligence.❞ By human standards, at the very least. ❝You just happen to be an idiot. You're also insecure.❞ He glanced the stranger up and down with distaste, casting judgment with both eye and speech uncivil. ❝Did they actually let you in here with that polyester suit or did you crawl in through the sewer pipes?❞ He tutted, dismissing them with an airily unconcerned wave in favour of nursing his cup of Golden Tips tea, much too sought after a blend to improperly appreciate, or he just might've taken fancy to pouring it unceremoniously over the stranger right where they stood. ❝Shameful.❞

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@freeddead sent a sentence starter: "You can't have fun with an unloaded gun. Or so I've heard, anyway."

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{!!} – ❝Oh – well, I don’t know about that!❞ Alexsander challenged the statement sedately whilst stirring his afternoon tea with the languid inattention of somebody preoccupied in contemplation, seemingly of the various black & white printed news clippings that scattered the tabletop. ❝You can achieve a rather satisfying thump from pistol-whipping your opponent upside the head with a revolver.❞ A knowing smile, barely there, preceded his mimicry of the words, ❝Or so I’ve heard, anyway.❞

[swxpped]

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{!!} – He almost felt compelled to roll his eyes at how annoyingly typical it was of Siegbert to interpret his reciprocation of the cat’s hostility with such an obvious bias. The cat hisses at him, so he hisses back, and now suddenly he’s the bad guy? If he were any crueller, perhaps he would’ve eaten the cat in the name of asserting dominance, just to spite it. Though Alexsander took no delight in harming animals for sport, no matter the intrusive thoughts that crossed his mind - however, repurposing roadkill for his personal consumption was never completely off the cards, as he was admittedly partial to the occasional cat meat stew among other roadside carcass-related cuisine - if one could categorise it as such. He would make a mental note to keep an eye out for the palace cat specifically, fully intending to cook it with potatoes should he ever coincidentally happen to find it lying dead on the motorway.

❝That isn’t true in the slightest.❞ Alexsander rebuffed Siegbert’s attempt to villainise him for his requital of the feline’s attitude, ❝Your cat, however, clearly hates me.❞ he made the scathing remark, embittered by the reactive effect that his curse so often evoked from animals - pets, especially. At heart, he wished that he could simply reach out to stroke the cat without it unsheathing its claws, or worse, meeting a premature expiration. ❝The rumours are false, by the way. I didn’t strangle my neighbour’s cat with a hosepipe.❞

Siegbert, strangely, could relate. He'd endured something similar recently and opened his mouth to tell the story of his notably absent rabbit when the cat hissed at the other and he actually hissed back. The prince turned his cat away slightly, creating a small buffer of distance between them.

"...You don't seem to be a cat person," he observed his brows narrowing slightly. He was warned that if animals or babies did not like someone, it was best to be wary of them.

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{!!} – Alexsander was momentarily lost for words, not as of a result of the heartfelt sense of poignancy attached to the story, but because he - quite purposely, actually - hadn’t asked.

It occurred to him, far too late according to the other man’s expression, that he’d been expected to afford him some kind of consolation on the matter. Though, he was much too straightforward for the typical over-used insincerities that so often accompanied people “feeling sorry” for one another to feel genuine to his sense of self, preferring to bypass the damp eyes and the long, drawn-out “how awwwwwful, I’m sooooo sorry you went through that!”s and the breathless “oh, bless your heart!”s usually paired with pressing the palm of your hand over your bleeding heart. But Alexsander’s heart did not bleed for him, and he was nothing if not frank. Perhaps, he could offer him the essence of sympathy in the way of a short story of his own, not that he was especially one to share in the way of personal anecdotes, but since they were on the topic, he supposed, on the very narrowest shred of strained sociability…

He really ought to have chosen his words more carefully, but Alexsander wasn’t exactly known for his tact, nor his sensitivity. It was entirely likely that he thought he was being perfectly sympathetic. ❝I found a stray puppy once, when I was young. I'd named it Nettle. So, I wrapped it up in some old newspaper and tried to smuggle it inside. My father found us and consequently stomped it to death on the kitchen floor in order to teach me a lesson about sneaking out of the house without permission. I am sure that she, too, is...as you said, "happier" where she is now.❞ He remembered it all clearly, the sound of the snap of her tiny neck beneath his father's boot, the sharp, sudden outcry of a yelp before the deafening silence...and the spillage he'd had to clean up by command of his father after he'd all but mangled her body beneath his boot.

The faerie glanced sceptically within the glinted view of the palace cat, which promptly arched its back and hissed with deep-seated animosity in his direction, which, naturally, inspired Alexsander to hiss at it right back, teeth bared in vindictive requital.

"When I was young, I found a kitten," he was petting one of the palace cats. "I believe I called him Dustball? He was gray, you see."

"Anyway, one day he ran away and never returned. I was sad about it, but I like to think that he's happier wherever he is."

Actually, Dustball had died and his caretakers didn't have the heart to tell him.

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Re; {x} from @cantevenbeachhere

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{!!} – A sense of urgent disconcertion, ❝Please, do leave me out. In fact, I insist that you leave me out! Don’t touch me or I shan't be responsible for my actions! You do not have my consent! Bother some other gormless sod with your childish high jinks!❞

Seriously, the last thing Alexsander needed in this instance was physical contact. The aromatic musk of another guest’s cologne had been unpleasantly evocative to him just moments beforehand, his host father's mordant tone ringing in his ears. He held in contempt his own absurd inability to think past anachronistic wounds. This mental fixation on his past was ridiculous; infuriating and illogical, and yet ever-present despite this self-awareness. 

He didn’t explicitly mean to reject Ken’s kindness (however arbitrary) quite so nastily, but the fear - the fear attached to his trauma made him impulsively spiky and standoffish, behaviour for which he would often feel aptly guilty yet would scarcely express as such. Today, though, it seemed that Alexsander would commit to swallowing his pride; as he sensed a certain naivety to Ken that made it seem almost immoral to criticise him too harshly. Sort of like a toddling child. Or a sick and stupid pup with the incapacity to understand why it was being reprimanded for relieving itself on the carpet.

Alexsander tried to pay as little heed as possible to the tightening in his throat while he took a few moments to gather himself, his imminent apology entirely warranted, he realised. What in the world is wrong with you, bullying the vulnerable like that? You should know better than that by now. Pointed claws scratched at, grazed, and finally pierced his own palms, the trickling yield of blood clenched and concealed surreptitiously inside his fists folded uncomfortably into his crossed arms over his chest. His stare was fixated with set concentration upon the edge of the room, like a guilty dog afraid to meet its master's eye, aquiver with nerves and rooted to the spot. ❝…I’m sorry. Please, do try to forgive my discourtesy. I have no excuse to have been so unkind, and while I must still decline your…surprising extension of conviviality, I would like to sincerely apologise for my reaction to it. I am sure there are others whom would gratefully receive your warmth.❞

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Marvels of Insect Life. 1916. 

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{!!} – Would it have surprised Adam if Alexsander were to tell him that some of his best dead friends had been sex workers? His nonparticipation in hiring them for their services paired with the austerity of his comportment upon Adam having approached him at the wrong time was not at all synonymous with the condemnation of their profession, but the faerie would simply allow Adam to invent these preconceptions on his behalf, so long as he went away. People would believe what they wanted to, anyway. 

Engaging his abilities to his advantage, Alexsander conjured a thick wad of notes from what appeared to be thin air and disguised it as a box of playing cards to the rest of the bar’s clientele so that only he and Adam were fully attuned to the transaction. 

“A simple no would have been enough, sir.”

In Alexsander’s experience, a “simple no” had very rarely been enough. So, he paid Adam not to bother him while he continued to guard his drink like a hawk, in spite of his gradual intoxication. Where the Hell was his manager anyway? She was supposed to be here something close to an hour ago.

His expression remained immaculately deadpan in the face of Adam’s contrived smile, causing some ambiguity to his tone, though he wasn’t always as intentionally sarcastic as he seemed. ❝Have a pleasant rest of your evening.❞

Adam frowned not because he was rejected but because of the others tone. A condescending attitude he had encountered many times before,you see it all the time,people looking down on sex worker's, even in somewhere like hell. Well,no skin off his nose, he couldn't force anyone to want him and he was still being paid,which satisfied Val. A tight smile made it's way to his face as he held out his hand. "A simple no would have been enough, sir". @swxpped

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@rocxyoulikeahurricane said: "May I buy you a drink handsome ?" It's not often the prostitute calls out to someone directly but the man had intrigued him from the moment he saw him. Clad in leather the man winked a golden eye giving his best smile. Val probably wouldn't mind, he looked like he had plenty of money.

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{!!} – The provocative leather ensemble was indicative enough, but paired with the question, the escort’s intentions at the bar that night were expressly clear. Alexsander intended to make his equally as plain, turning his head slowly towards him with the lethargy concomitant with controlled drunkenness, mixed with an air of - certainly not disdain - but discernible apathy, if not only mild annoyance upon his personal space having been breached. ❝How about I pay you to leave without me and you never speak to or approach me ever again? I haven’t a problem with you but I should much prefer to be left alone. Thank you for your acquiescence.❞ he concluded bluntly, his scarred hand, adorned with several striking silver rings, instinctively shielding over the top of his drink from being tampered with. Call it learned diligence.

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Concerned Sentences, Vol. 7

(Concerned sentences from various sources. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Is everything okay? You seem annoyed about something."

"I don't know why you do this to yourself. You know it doesn't help anything."

"You need to stop reading the news. It's bad for you."

"Doing something rash isn't going to bring him back."

"No, you're not doing this! You're going to kill yourself!"

"I can take care of myself just fine, alright?"

"I appreciate this concern, but I'm not like you, alright?"

"Sometimes, I think you might have a penchant for self-pity."

"There are always unintended consequences to everything we do."

"Yearning won't make it happen."

"When exactly was the last time you had a psych evaluation?"

"You can't save everyone, no matter how hard you try!"

"There's only so much that you can do, and you've obviously reached the limit!"

"I just don't understand why you work so hard to be alone."

"To deny who you are is much more painful than confronting what you hate about yourself."

"You don't need to trust them, but you do need to trust me."

"You're desperate and scared, and desperate people make mistakes."

"Battle scars are not always of the body."

"Denial can be a very powerful thing."

"Things like this - all things, in fact - have consequences."

"You're lonely, and sometimes loneliness turns to bitterness."

"Sometimes there are scars than cannot be seen."

"The truth is, despite you're abilities, you're still just one man."

"How are you really in the grand scheme of things?"

"She's using you, just like all the others."

"Listen, I really want to keep this between you and me. Why don't you start by just telling me the truth?"

"You're a bit out of it tonight."

"You can't hide out here forever, you know. You have to go home sometime."

"This must be a lot for you to process."

"I've known you for a decade. I know your behaviour patterns and how you think. You acted very out of character today."

"You seem like you're making up for lost time."

"You've got to learn to be the hero of your own life again."

"Actually, I don't smoke. Neither should you."

"Why should an accident happen? Are you concerned for your safety?"

"This hero stuff is only going to get somebody hurt."

"You like fighting, don't you?"

"I came as soon as I saw the morning paper. I thought you might need a friend."

"There's something not quite right with you today, and I can't quite put my finger on it."

"You need to decide what you want. Stop dwelling on what you can't have."

"Do you need a hug?"

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Moved from {x} because Tumblr Legacy threads are no longer able to be trimmed

@the-strongest-woman: Saitama glanced back towards the Tanktop to see him kiss his own muscles. For a long moment, she stared at him, her brow furrowed in disbelief. To any onlooker, it would be obvious how little she interacted with the other heroes in the Association--she knew narcissists tended to gravitate towards hero work, but it was a whole other thing to see it in action! It seemed she and the man were of a similar mind as they both gaped at the other hero. The man’s question caught her a little off-guard, and she couldn’t help but let out a quiet, surprised chuckle as she replied, “Oh, ah, we’re not exactly friends. But... I guess so? I mean, from what I hear, a lot of heroes act like that.” She could still remember how that one A-class hero--what was his name? Snake? Whatever--acted when she was inducted into the Association. A little more quietly, she added, “Though, I think the Tanktop group are in a class of their own.” In more ways than one. Right on cue, the Tanktop slurred something about how he was probably the greatest hero there, challenging anyone to come prove themselves better than him. Saitama, not wanting to make a fool of herself, silently hoped he wouldn’t turn his attention towards her. The man--Mr. Lovecraft, no, Alexsander--smiled back at her and bowed slightly, and that made her feel better for her little misstep. She returned the polite bow with one of her own. The strange way he smiled, as though he was simply doing what was expected more than anything, completely escaped her notice. He seemed nice enough, she thought. Certainly much nicer than a lot of the heroes gathered in the elegant ballroom. Though, now that she knew who she was talking to, the reporter glaring at them from nearby made a lot of sense! As did his earlier words about not trusting the words said in the press. Saitama hadn’t exactly done research on the man, as she had no interest in what the press had to say for the most part, but she knew he must be a powerful man to own such an elegant hotel, to be able to host the Hero Association. Remembering her manners at the last moment, she added, “It’s nice to meet you, si--Alexsander.” For a moment, she was quiet, then, before she could help herself, she added, “I’m sorry for how everyone’s acting. Well, um, not everyone, I suppose, but...” She glanced over in time to see the Tanktop in the middle of an arm wrestling contest with a female hero in all-pink spandex and with a shock of blonde hair. Ah. “I’d say heroes aren’t normally like this, but... well, that would be a lie.”

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{!!} – Alexsander was by no means whatsoever an aficionado when it came to the ins and outs of humanitarianism, but something about these people just didn’t sit right with him. These people weren’t role models, they were just professional braggarts with the ability to save people. One only need listen to their drunken blatherskite for as few as thirty seconds in order to gain keen insight into how scantly they actually cared about the people they had saved. Of course, they were proficient conquerors and had aided society in desisting many a worldwide catastrophe, but upon closer examination, it became crystal clear to Alexsander that the real catastrophe at which to be aghast was their attitudes. He got the distinct feeling that the greater good of the world and its people actually had very little to do with why these people had signed up to the Hero Association at all. Rich as it were of an ill-omened creature such as himself to cast his judgement, he couldn’t help but to feel the whole thing was in frightfully poor taste.

Sneering inwardly when the other Tanktop began to run his mouth about how he was literally God’s gift to the world, Alexsander suppressed the rising impulse to harness the misfortune that his dark influence could wreak to enchant the ridiculous gobshite to trip forthwith over thin air and snap at the fucking ankles just to teach him a well-deserved lesson about being an insufferable blowhard. He’d done it before, and if he focused enough, Alexsander was almost certain that he could do it again, but the fey decided against it on the very thinnest sliver of clemency. After all, he was very tired and it was his venue that was hosting this total farce of an event, so he supposed he should do what he could to accomplish the most favourable outcome. Had this not been the case, he may not have been so lenient, and the Tanktop could’ve ended up in intensive care without much of a fathomable recollection of how he had ended up there.

The host spoke earnestly, ❝Please, feel no responsibility to apologise on behalf of your colleagues. They are of absolutely no discredit to you.❞ He knew first-hand the effects of being tarred with the same brush as one’s associates. According to some, he was every bit as much of a child-eating, woman-napping wretch as the rest of the Unseelie class. He saw no sense in judging Saitama upon the shortcomings, however tremendous, of the other participants in the Hero Association, though Alexsander would keep his guard up in the same way he always did, just in case this really was some kind of elaborately calculated deception with his reputation as the object of their ridicule or attack.

A surreptitious glance at his watch proceeded the inevitability of his social battery beginning to wear rather too thin to be ignored, and so the changeling felt it best to find a way to politely abscond from the gathering without a fuss before he actually started to snap at some of these ridiculous pantomime characters, to reluctantly return a little later on in the evening. A brief moment of hesitation passed between them before Alexsander broached the subject, not wanting to appear in a hurry to bring the conversation to a close, be it as he was, ❝You wouldn’t have happened to have spoken to a Ms. Caroline Myers here tonight, would you...? My assistant seems to have disappeared yet again into the masses, and I would very much like for you to meet her – that is, if you would be so kind as to oblige, of course.❞

Caroline, you indispensable idle chatterer, where are you…? Oh. There she was. Laughing performatively with her arm draped loosely around the neck of a brawny fellow donning what appeared to be about two-foot long shoulder pads. Surely, an outfit that extravagant would hinder his ability to save the world...? It was by this moment in time that Alexsander came to the realisation that he actually, in fact, did not care enough to prolong his pondering of the inane & that he really just wanted nothing more than to escape into a quiet room with the familiar comfort of a large pot of scalding hot tea. Having procured her attention, the assistant in question came wandering obediently to his heel, having seen this far too many a time not to have 'got the memo', swooping in with the watchful vigilance of a hawk to smile, talk, and distract the hind legs off the other woman in order to allow Alexsander to feign a weary smile and murmur something indistinct about needing to speak to somebody, and take his leave.

Just one hour, to recharge, away from the organised chaos. What could possibly go wrong in an hour? Everything, his proclivity to catastrophise chimed in, but Alexsander would do his best to quell those nagging concerns, for the time being at least.

[swxpped]

Anonymous said: Unalive yourself!

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{!!} – ❝Now, you see, this is precisely what is wrong with today’s society! Why can’t you just tell me to kill myself like any self-respecting person over the age of thirty? There comes a point amidst all this censorship malarkey at which your words completely lose their potency. If you’re going to attempt to goad me into suicide, bloody do it properly!❞ Alexsander should probably be careful what he wished for, but Christ!

The decline in the standard of psychological torment these days was far more concerning to him than the threat itself, by which he appeared to remain exclusively unmoved. The self-inflicted scars around both his wrists were proof enough that he’d contended with far more consequential troubles in life than a petty fool who shouted dialectical inadequacies such as “unalive yourself” at him from a cowardly distance.

And yet, Alexsander still happened to find himself tugging subtly at his cuffs to conceal them from sight, suddenly achingly aware of these flaws to his skin.

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{It's Alexsander's 200th Birthday!!!! <3}

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@erotichorrors sent a sentence starter: ❛ you'd look better down on your knees. ❜

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{!!} – His entire body seemed to recoil in instantaneous and all-consuming mortification, his jaw clenching tightly with disgust and an underlying feeling of apprehension, if not fear, making him feel sick to his stomach. Quickly, it transposed outwardly with a prominent sense of indignation, outrage maddening his now oxford blue eyes upon having been scandalised with such flagrant and direct obscenity. Alexsander swiftly rose to his full height from where he had bent over to retrieve his pen from the floor to jab it accusatorily in Frank’s direction, ❝Look here, there is no need for that! If you’re going to be bloody vulgar, then I shan’t be doing business with you! Do you want this deal or not?❞

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{!!} – A sigh of resignation to the unfortunate circumstance. ❝Yes, it is.❞ Alexsander rebutted calmly. His enigmatic gaze shifted to focus in upon the amputated limb, unfazed by the gore while nevertheless exhibiting a quiet sense of discontent, though it was unclear what was going through his mind in those moments.

Alexsander, too, was well-versed in the world of true crime, though was it any wonder when an untold amount of those grisly unsolved murders you’d see documented on the television had been his personal doing? Actually, it amused him rather well that he could spend an entire evening in a room full of people all watching the same documentary about a murder he’d committed while they had not the slightest clue that the murderer was sitting right under their noses the whole time. Faerie DNA was notoriously difficult, if not virtually impossible to trace, after all. Besides, Alexsander knew what he was doing. Having made it to this ripe old age, he had learned a fair thing or two about not getting caught.

His lips parted with an uncharacteristically blithe chuckle incongruous with his expressionless visage, ❝I don’t scream.❞ he stated, more amused than he first appeared, ❝Or acquiesce in bribes.❞

The light within Alexsander’s eyes shifted to something more wistful as he crouched down next to the mutilated remains, and keenly studied the vacancy within its fixed stare. Funny how he could only stand to look dead people in the eye but so very seldom the living. He shook his head slowly, still somewhat incredulous to the encounter. His gloved hand cupped the corpse’s face, for a moment seeming mournful. ❝…And I was so looking forward to killing you myself. I should have cursed you when I had the chance.❞ No more than a moment’s further reflection before swiftly, he retracted his hand from the body’s face, the haste of his action responsible for the person’s head reconnecting with the ground with an audible crack; tossed away, discarded. Sneering, his serrated teeth bared to the winter chill in the air, ❝Bastard.❞

Rising promptly from his position with quite visibly absent grief, the changeling asked the slaughterer directly, ❝Do you need this?❞ Alexsander gestured coldly toward the body, most strangely stumbling upon the courage to, if albeit extremely fleetingly, meet the bloodied woman’s gaze, ❝More specifically, do you need the teeth…?❞

{Meme} {!!} – ❝What the Hell did you do? What the Hell did you just do?❞

A Bleak Spiral || Accepting

"Is...is not wha' it looks like." She's seen and read enough true crime to know that's what everyone says, even if in this case it is the honest truth. Sure, she can understand she looks rumpled ~she's been awake for four days~ and there is a severed limb in her hand. Her other hand is occupied with a knife of bone, likewise bloody. And maybe the craziest thing is that she's small and she is scrawny, but looking at the grime and slickness coating her...how can this be anything else? If she answers him, he'll think she's crazy. Worse than the way he thinks it now, staring at her as if she's the horrific thing to be afraid of. He must not have seen the fight or the nature of her very being. Not many people do, and the ones who would understand are hard pressed on a different battlefront. "I don't suppose...dat if I offered to buy you some coffee an' mebbe explain...dat you would considah coming wi' me, first....not screamin' second or...f'get you an' me were evah here?"

[swxpped]

Gillian Flynn, Dark Places

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@ligtyear sent a sentence starter: "That is the stupidest plan I have ever heard!"

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{!!} – A flash of indignancy disturbed his features, though the poor lighting inside the annex would’ve made his exact expression appear indistinct, as was most of their surroundings. McQueen shouldn’t even be here, he wordlessly seethed to himself, itching in his entirety to chew him out for approaching him unsolicited on his own property like this. Intruders weren’t usually met with such lenity, but with the shallow understanding that his brain-dead assistant had made the improvident and thoroughly reprimandable decision to send him down the garden in faith that he really did have some kind of childlike fascination with the decorative cast aluminium animal sculptures, Alexsander made the extraordinary decision not to bite. Literally. Perhaps, if he hadn’t reacted so promptly in order to shut off the main source of light upon McQueen’s unannounced entrance to the annex, the sheer know-it-all defiance upon McQueen’s contrary, young face would’ve commenced a sharper tongue (and teeth, and claws, and potentially various unsterilised taxidermist tools for good measure).

Clawed fingers twitched sporadically in his contained frustration, ❝I wasn’t asking for your opinion. I was telling you what it is that I plan on doing. That is what you asked me, isn’t it?❞ Alexsander sneered as he combed out the cold, brittle fur of the lifeless feline specimen resting atop the workbench. Its dull eyes, vacant and inexpressive, very dimly reflected the faery’s emotional detachment from the pertinent subject; absent pity. The room was overcast with the pungent odour of death and chemicals, while the shadows concealed the dissected bodies of various other recently perished animals (?) spotted around the room; unfinished projects.

His speech was scathing and left absent room for compromise, the arctic blue of his irises seeming to shift to a darker, more crepuscular shade, remindful of the Eventide. ❝If your friend whose sullied reputation you pointlessly endeavour to recover did not wish to be caught out and therefore suitably disciplined for his actions, then perhaps he ought not to have misbehaved so directly under my nose like the cretinous, little sanguisuge that he is. I do not care how good he is at his job. I do not care how much money he makes. I do not care if you or the rest of them do so absurdly choose to pity him, nor do I care if he, you, or anyone else should resent me for it until the end of the Earth. He shall be dismissed forthwith from his position. Now, I shan’t shilly-shally about the matter, so you may as well either make peace with that or leave my property!❞ He continued in disparagement, ❝You’re only here because my assistant appears to have taken something of a shine to you - heaven knows why! Oh, and…one last thing…❞ The tortoiseshell comb of which he brandished crumbled irreparably into knife-like fragments within the severity of his grip, a thin trickle of blood escaping through his fingers as the shards slit his palm. Alexsander seemed not to mind it, ❝…if you lie to her or me again, I shall see to the immediate termination of your contract in succession to your little friend’s - are we clear?❞