#danny [shaking like a chihuahua]: ohm y god shut th e fuCK UP

[vullcanica]

@nightmarecountry : “God, you’re like a fancy dinner plate that you don’t wanna budge off the edge of the table.” (I'm sorry dan)

It's usually meant as a compliment, he's found. The way people look at him and think of rare, pretty, cold things by way of comparison. He's learned to accept it without much complaint, learned to gratify it when someone's tone dips saccharine and their flattery turns demeaning. Pearl, painting, plate. Proper perfect Perkins.

He's been called a thing before, in as many words as one could manage.

He's never been called fragile.

Doesn't expect to sting as much as it does, his skin assumedly thicker to the sentiment but, by god, this man - this creature or thing, whatever it is which does not seem to breathe and whose eyes clack enamel behind their shades - he makes it sound affronting. His tone lilts southern, mawkish and cloying, almost sticky-slurred from all the wretched saliva gathered just behind bared teeth, and Daniel's skin prickles. The gravel rumble pitch unnerves where it should charm, eerie in its artificiality like a distorted record. Like a predator growl. There's something wrong and enchanting and infuriating about it all.

You don't know the half of it, he thinks, suddenly, oddly possessed by an urge to defy the assumption. To commit the debasement of gracing a farce with answer. He should leave instead. Run. But disdain is a mighty root and the scowl cannot be helped when Daniel looks at him from beneath heavy brows - luciferian with anger too polite to become fury. His lips curl to stave off a rude tone. He thinks he ought to snarl but can't justify the reaction.

"I think you'll find.. I've weathered worse than a 'budge'."