[this might truly be the single demonstration of luck the churchies have ever known in their pitiful existences...!! someone, somewhere, must rejoice on their ignorant behalves......
--ah, but there is no rejoicing as far as Abel is concerned at present. he is giving a quiet forced hiss between his teeth when he feels that hand rapidly expanding immediately after being entrapped within his palm -- forcefully prying it ajar and once more putting the priest in a position where he can't help but relinquish his grasp of the claw appendage. it's free.
jerking backward to avoid the incoming kick would mean to give Charles further ground and potentially compromise the state of his continually one-handed grip-- something he is not about to concede; none-the-less, there's no real show of fear or sense of danger in the priest even if there's no doubt that Charles might well have fractured something for the sickening sound upon impact. instead of flinching in pain and loosening his hold, Abel's grip is tightening, and--
his newly opened palm is reaching out for Charles' face. his fingers tighten around his skull -- strength that is no child's play and borne of frustration, a desperate sort of plea he still hasn't given up on. his palm is intending to black out vision from the boy's eyes and Abel's pushing his body weight against that of the much lighter Chiropteran. if successful, he clearly intends to back him up against the wall beside the door where he had been trying to retreat.]
You won't be satisfied! Not by any of this, and you knew it from the start! Even if you razed the entire town to ashes, you'd still be just as empty and angry and hurt inside-- and even more lonely than you started! Do you really have to lose it all to acknowledge as much, Charles?!
[...so, self-restraint was never his strong point. it seems emotion has once more gotten the better of him, no matter how many times he might scream at himself to maintain a calm demeanor...]
no subject
--ah, but there is no rejoicing as far as Abel is concerned at present. he is giving a quiet forced hiss between his teeth when he feels that hand rapidly expanding immediately after being entrapped within his palm -- forcefully prying it ajar and once more putting the priest in a position where he can't help but relinquish his grasp of the claw appendage. it's free.
jerking backward to avoid the incoming kick would mean to give Charles further ground and potentially compromise the state of his continually one-handed grip-- something he is not about to concede; none-the-less, there's no real show of fear or sense of danger in the priest even if there's no doubt that Charles might well have fractured something for the sickening sound upon impact. instead of flinching in pain and loosening his hold, Abel's grip is tightening, and--
his newly opened palm is reaching out for Charles' face. his fingers tighten around his skull -- strength that is no child's play and borne of frustration, a desperate sort of plea he still hasn't given up on. his palm is intending to black out vision from the boy's eyes and Abel's pushing his body weight against that of the much lighter Chiropteran. if successful, he clearly intends to back him up against the wall beside the door where he had been trying to retreat.]
You won't be satisfied! Not by any of this, and you knew it from the start! Even if you razed the entire town to ashes, you'd still be just as empty and angry and hurt inside-- and even more lonely than you started! Do you really have to lose it all to acknowledge as much, Charles?!
[...so, self-restraint was never his strong point. it seems emotion has once more gotten the better of him, no matter how many times he might scream at himself to maintain a calm demeanor...]