Gen reacts automatically the moment he spots that movement aimed at his hand, flinching sharply as he jerks it back out of stabbing range. Whether that chopstick would have hit its mark in the first place or not is almost a non-factor; all he can glean from this situation is that, had he not reacted quickly enough, Hayame really would have crippled the one hand he has left. Over ... what? Some trivial fucking bullshit he said? That after all her posing and prancing about, acting like she's some hyper-civilized warrior? And she thinks she can consider herself honorable in any way?
His breaths are coming a little fast, his pulse thudding in his ears as he tries not to think about how devastating it would have been, had he been left to fend for himself in these strange lands with his one hand damaged, and he barely registers the scrape of ceramic against the table's surface. The rest of the restaurant has fallen quieter, eyes drawn to the sound of wood crunching into wood and the harsh grate of Hayame's words, and Gen himself is silent for a moment before he manages to tear his gaze away from the table's punctured surface to fix a vicious glare back at Hayame. ]
... and you think I'm flattering myself?
[ His next breath comes as a low scoff. If Hayame had doubted Gen's statement that he wasn't looking for a fight, maybe the drastic shift in his tone of voice will make it retroactively clear. His words had been spoken wearily before, languid and almost apathetic, but now they're spat acrid and sharp at the edges. Even if he speaks quietly now, there's no mistaking the sheer venom in the scornful curl of his lip, the lowered shadow of his brow, and the look of pure disdain he gives her. ]
'Cause it'd be an honor for any man to have to fuck a frigid, stuck-up, psychotic bitch like you, yeah?
[ Gen doesn't wait for an answer before simply rising to his feet, the movement sudden and rough enough to jolt the table where it stands. The noise feels terribly loud, given the silence that's overtaken the rest of the eatery; all eyes are fixed on their table. And when a pair of the store's employees come stumbling nervously forward, clearly worried that a fight's about to break out, Gen simply turns to the closest one and grits, ]
I'm leaving. [ He drops his utensils as he rises to his feet, fishing a fistful of money from his pocket to shove into the nearest employee's hands. It should be enough to cover only what he'd ordered for himself. As for the rest -- ] She'll pay for any damages.
[ She's the one who'd escalated, after all. That's the only honorable course of action, right?
Gen simply leaves afterward, not bothering to spare Hayame a backwards glance. And if Hayame wants to follow ... she'll first have to deal with the troubled employees giving her fearful glances, the tense atmosphere in the eatery, the murmur of low voices daring to speak again. Some even about her. ]
no subject
Gen reacts automatically the moment he spots that movement aimed at his hand, flinching sharply as he jerks it back out of stabbing range. Whether that chopstick would have hit its mark in the first place or not is almost a non-factor; all he can glean from this situation is that, had he not reacted quickly enough, Hayame really would have crippled the one hand he has left. Over ... what? Some trivial fucking bullshit he said? That after all her posing and prancing about, acting like she's some hyper-civilized warrior? And she thinks she can consider herself honorable in any way?
His breaths are coming a little fast, his pulse thudding in his ears as he tries not to think about how devastating it would have been, had he been left to fend for himself in these strange lands with his one hand damaged, and he barely registers the scrape of ceramic against the table's surface. The rest of the restaurant has fallen quieter, eyes drawn to the sound of wood crunching into wood and the harsh grate of Hayame's words, and Gen himself is silent for a moment before he manages to tear his gaze away from the table's punctured surface to fix a vicious glare back at Hayame. ]
... and you think I'm flattering myself?
[ His next breath comes as a low scoff. If Hayame had doubted Gen's statement that he wasn't looking for a fight, maybe the drastic shift in his tone of voice will make it retroactively clear. His words had been spoken wearily before, languid and almost apathetic, but now they're spat acrid and sharp at the edges. Even if he speaks quietly now, there's no mistaking the sheer venom in the scornful curl of his lip, the lowered shadow of his brow, and the look of pure disdain he gives her. ]
'Cause it'd be an honor for any man to have to fuck a frigid, stuck-up, psychotic bitch like you, yeah?
[ Gen doesn't wait for an answer before simply rising to his feet, the movement sudden and rough enough to jolt the table where it stands. The noise feels terribly loud, given the silence that's overtaken the rest of the eatery; all eyes are fixed on their table. And when a pair of the store's employees come stumbling nervously forward, clearly worried that a fight's about to break out, Gen simply turns to the closest one and grits, ]
I'm leaving. [ He drops his utensils as he rises to his feet, fishing a fistful of money from his pocket to shove into the nearest employee's hands. It should be enough to cover only what he'd ordered for himself. As for the rest -- ] She'll pay for any damages.
[ She's the one who'd escalated, after all. That's the only honorable course of action, right?
Gen simply leaves afterward, not bothering to spare Hayame a backwards glance. And if Hayame wants to follow ... she'll first have to deal with the troubled employees giving her fearful glances, the tense atmosphere in the eatery, the murmur of low voices daring to speak again. Some even about her. ]