It takes him two, three, four seconds for the words to properly resolve in his brain, and another second after that for him to question them. Put what away? A confused glance down at the blade in his hand, the icy dread of recognition that follows. Immediately after, a flash of a wide-eyed look directed at Geralt — it's fleeting, but significant, heavy. There's fear in it, there's alarm, though he only allows it to surface for a moment before quickly burying it to focus on the threat in the room.
(The threat in the room should be Lucifer. Should be.
The threat in the room is the blade in his hand.
No, the threat in the room is-)
The blade lowers, but he doesn't drop it.
"What do you know about this?" He barks, bearing his forearm Lucifer's direction. Whether his voice raises to sound authoritative or because he's trying to talk over his own cacophony of inner turbulence is something he's definitely not thinking about.
no subject
It takes him two, three, four seconds for the words to properly resolve in his brain, and another second after that for him to question them. Put what away? A confused glance down at the blade in his hand, the icy dread of recognition that follows. Immediately after, a flash of a wide-eyed look directed at Geralt — it's fleeting, but significant, heavy. There's fear in it, there's alarm, though he only allows it to surface for a moment before quickly burying it to focus on the threat in the room.
(The threat in the room should be Lucifer. Should be.
The threat in the room is the blade in his hand.
No, the threat in the room is-)
The blade lowers, but he doesn't drop it.
"What do you know about this?" He barks, bearing his forearm Lucifer's direction. Whether his voice raises to sound authoritative or because he's trying to talk over his own cacophony of inner turbulence is something he's definitely not thinking about.