[behold as he makes every situation more difficult for both himself and everyone else involved! it's like a magic talent or something...

regardless, that feather-light touch is soon a harsh grip of his own; now they're a little more even in his mind, at least. a wrist for a wrist.]

Ah, I believe you might be right after all. You don't make a very interesting dance partner and I'm certain you would be just as miserable with games. [the repeated attempts at appealing to his surviving moral conscience, which isn't really engaged at the moment, is tiring him out. it's not the satisfying kind of tired he would have gotten from a proper fight, but it's enough for now. as both a measure of self-preservation and a middle finger, he'll be attempting to tighten his grip using roughly the same amount of force it would take to snap cutlery.]