“Listen here, CHICKEN WEASEL. I didn’t ASK for ‘yer input. I know what I’m doin’ and I know what I GOTTA DO to get to the top of the FOOD CHAIN and take somethin’ I’ve DESERVED for a long time. This is a fight to the DEATH, a battle of TITANS try’na gain the GOLDEN BRASS KNUCKLE without anyone gettin’ in the way. Y’know all ‘bout that, don’cha? ‘Yer the one that INVENTED that.”
It was no surprise that Ambrose hadn’t forgotten about the BETRAYAL from someone he would’ve risked his entire REPUTATION and LIFE for - someone that had torn a piece of his essence and let it spiral down into a CESSPOOL of filth and DECAY. He hadn’t been the same since then, every waking moment was spent lathered in SWEAT and SELF DOUBT. Had he been that FLAWED to be discarded so easily? To be REPLACED by something so materialistic? To be a mere STEPPING STONE to his accomplishments?
Then again, here he was next to the one man that CLAIMED what was left of his sanity, almost SEEKING guidance with his architectural ways of DECIMATION. A HYPOCRITE was what Dean was at BEST, and that was putting it mildly. He had NO ROOM to talk with the schemes he had manifesting.
SIGH. BREATHE IN. BREATHE OUT.
The biggest QUESTION of the century that Dean refused to answer each time it was asked. There were signs of HESITATION emitting from him: clenched fingers ‘pon silk sheets beneath them, CONSTANT and varied levels of pressured lip biting, and circulatory movement of his shoulders. All those signs were ones he knew Seth would recognize in the blink of an EYE, but as strange as it was, Dean had no problem disrobing his persona in front of the biggest TRAITOR he’s ever known.
He turned around properly to face the raven haired man, one hand extending to brush along Seth’s leg that remained closest to him. Eyes ventured to take in EVERY INCH of Seth that constricted him from talking, the air in his throat tightening and nearly ASPHYXIATING him. It was like his fourth calling, the very presence of the man enough to send his mind spinning into orbit.
“That ain’t the POINT, a’right? ‘don’t matter if I trust y’or not. I’ll do things YOUR way if it’ll get’cha’ta shut up.”
The underlying meaning: YES, he DID trust him, even though every part of him WARNED him not to.
‘ don’t care if y’didn’t ask. Gonna give you my opinion anyway. ’ & that was the truth. Not only with the Ohioan but with everyone. His opinions were ALWAYS shared – regardless if people wanted to know them or not. It was written in his code; part of his configuration. Ask you and shall receive even if you do not wish to.
The cogs within his brain worked to untwist the words strung out of Dean’s mouth --- his terminology and vernacular when explaining such generally easy situations ALWAYS caused his mind to slow down & unpuzzle the phrases. ---though after the years he had known Dean, he’s gotten it down to a fine are. & though he knows he shouldn’t : he still gets offended when people make fun of his way of explaining things. Only HE could do that. It’s what MAKES him. Part of the elaborate machine that was the reasons Seth still LOVED the man. ----Despite all Seth’d done. TOLD himself he wouldn’t. But it was inevitable, at best.
‘ You’re lucky i know what you’re talkin’ about. S’a wonder people always wonder what the hell you’re babblin’ on about. ’
Brown eyes narrowed behind his glasses after his question was asked, knowing the little movements & ticks dean was presenting Seth with as he tried to conjure up and appropriate answer --- if there was even such a thing. He watched every little movement, knowing how much the question caused Dean to try and figure out the right words. ---- but the answer he was given was almost MORE than he has expected. USUALLY; previously --- it had always been a flat out no. Or, you wish.
THIS WAS PROGRESS.
‘ GOOD. That’s what i like to hear. MUSIC to my ears, Dean. ’ A satisfied smile graced bearded features at the response, shivers from the fingertips on his leg being sent upward from the base of his spine straight to his brain at the contact. ALL contact from Dean always sent him sky rocketing. NO MATTER THE CONSEQUENCE. They could be in the middle of match, BLOW FOR BLOW – pressure connecting with what felt like bones cracking: and the contact from Dean would always warrant the same response. He shifted closer, wincing slightly as his hand manoeuvred his bum knee into a better position, seth’s eyes locked onto the Ohioan’s.
‘ YOU wanna do everything my way? ’
