[ He doesn't need to say much more than that for them to get the drift. Hand it over, or else. The implicit threat is blatant enough even behind vague words, and it's an attitude they're all too accustomed to being subjected to. That's their mother's way of doing things. And it immediately colors their perception of the man before them, eye twitching involuntarily, face tensing as though a heavy pressure has begun forcing itself down upon their shoulders.
Were things different right now, were they Harmonized and invigorated by the blackened blood coursing through their veins, they'd be able to talk themself into standing up for themself. But right now...
It's frightening. It's so, so frightening. Crona is someone who is scared of facing most people and things, even when they're at their strongest — and at their weakest? It feels impossible to do anything but to be a coward, to do whatever they have to in order to survive. As much as they hate it, what can they do? They wilt, the more the man speaks, eyes darting about as though they're a spooked animal, desperately and nervously looking for any kind of opening for an escape. ]
Freely given...?
[ Their hand closes around the hourglass hanging from their neck, but their eyes are, not so subtly, looking over their shoulder behind them to see what the escape route is like back there. A long hallway, ended by a door that has a shallow pool of water at the base. Honestly, they're about 50/50 on giving up and forking it over versus making a run for it, mind racing to try to come to a conclusion. In the meantime, they take a shuffling step backward - the same distance he'd taken by stepping to their side. ]
Stay away from me... [ It's more a plea than a demand; there's no force or confidence behind their words. ] Is that all you want...? The sand...
no subject
Were things different right now, were they Harmonized and invigorated by the blackened blood coursing through their veins, they'd be able to talk themself into standing up for themself. But right now...
It's frightening. It's so, so frightening. Crona is someone who is scared of facing most people and things, even when they're at their strongest — and at their weakest? It feels impossible to do anything but to be a coward, to do whatever they have to in order to survive. As much as they hate it, what can they do? They wilt, the more the man speaks, eyes darting about as though they're a spooked animal, desperately and nervously looking for any kind of opening for an escape. ]
Freely given...?
[ Their hand closes around the hourglass hanging from their neck, but their eyes are, not so subtly, looking over their shoulder behind them to see what the escape route is like back there. A long hallway, ended by a door that has a shallow pool of water at the base. Honestly, they're about 50/50 on giving up and forking it over versus making a run for it, mind racing to try to come to a conclusion. In the meantime, they take a shuffling step backward - the same distance he'd taken by stepping to their side. ]
Stay away from me... [ It's more a plea than a demand; there's no force or confidence behind their words. ] Is that all you want...? The sand...