Not even the satisfaction of seeing his improvised projectile weapon connect can quite undermine the sheer indignation in his voice.
"We all know you're as self-absorbed as they come, but, seriously? This is the worst denial I've ever seen."
His hand rolls in an incredulous gesture toward himself. As if to access the net he'd been so cruelly cut off from. His escape severed like a limb. His security cut off like a gangrenous appendage. Of course, there's nothing. It does nothing but stoke the angry fires in both his processor and the literal glow of hellish light from ports and joints.
"And I've been on the internet."
There is a rose bush in his way, thick and hoary with thorns and decay. Never once taking his optics off Stark, he seizes it by the trunk, twisting it with a snapping crunch of dead flora. It comes out at the roots, spraying earth like blood. But it's a poor substitute for the neck he really wants to wring. For the payback he's owed.
It would be so much easier if he could tell Stark was lying. But he isn't. Damn him, he isn't lying.
"I could tell you. But I think I'd rather show you. You've never lost a limb, have you? Not even part of a finger?"
His hand flexes, crushing the rose bush to wood pulp in his fist.
no subject
Not even the satisfaction of seeing his improvised projectile weapon connect can quite undermine the sheer indignation in his voice.
"We all know you're as self-absorbed as they come, but, seriously? This is the worst denial I've ever seen."
His hand rolls in an incredulous gesture toward himself. As if to access the net he'd been so cruelly cut off from. His escape severed like a limb. His security cut off like a gangrenous appendage. Of course, there's nothing. It does nothing but stoke the angry fires in both his processor and the literal glow of hellish light from ports and joints.
"And I've been on the internet."
There is a rose bush in his way, thick and hoary with thorns and decay. Never once taking his optics off Stark, he seizes it by the trunk, twisting it with a snapping crunch of dead flora. It comes out at the roots, spraying earth like blood. But it's a poor substitute for the neck he really wants to wring. For the payback he's owed.
It would be so much easier if he could tell Stark was lying. But he isn't. Damn him, he isn't lying.
"I could tell you. But I think I'd rather show you. You've never lost a limb, have you? Not even part of a finger?"
His hand flexes, crushing the rose bush to wood pulp in his fist.
"We'll start with that."