Thanks
and guuuh i don't have it eiiither fml.As soon as Noss grabbed at his wrist, the redhead let out an angry growl at the touch. He did not want to be touched right now, contrary to his usually mood of wanting to be touched. Jerking his hand, Strel tried to pull out of Noss's grasp, well aware of the differences in height, weight, and strength. It was all on the warrior male's side and the redhead was left out in the cold here. The most he could do was grab his needles and ram them into the man's arms. But sometimes, if he hit the correct point, it would do nothing but make him feel better. That was totally not the point here. "You fucking let go of me..," he began, knowing whatever threat he made after would be useless, pointless, weak. Strel could not back himself up.
Even with Noss dominating over him, the tailor did not back down. He was stubborn, as hardheaded as a mule, and twice as resilient. But the other man could still win. But Strel would give his goddamn all to not go down easy, however that defeat would go. Noss said he didn't believe him, and the redhead believed that. Nevertheless, the Marquis let out a growl, barely pulling his lips over his teeth. He would not match Noss's ferocity; he had his own, and that was his lavender eyes - a normally very gentle color - storming with anger at the other man. "Well, too damn bad," he repeated, hissing back at him. Again, Strel tried to pull his hand free so he could push away the loner and retreat somewhere else. Or shove needles into his skin. Whichever came first.
But Noss could hold him there for as long as he wished, easily. Strel's face fell as the man continued to talk, but he was still angry. It was going down, but not nearly fast enough. The emotion was rising between, especially when the tension snapped. It grew, grew, grew, and Strel kept his silence as he considered what Noss told him. Finally, tenor tones cracked the silence. He shut his eyes, turning his head away. "Didn't you hear me?" he started, voice dangerously low, "Go. You want to see your sister? Go. Head south west. Or ask someone along the way." Strel sounded bitter, rather bitter.
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