Seventh Bomb || VOICE

[muertederojo]

Good day, residents of Mayfield! I hope you are all doing well. Yet again, another holiday is here; Father's Day. A day to honor our fathers, husbands, or perhaps even male figures of whom we look up to. I hope you all have a wonderful day!

{{FILTERED TO: Olivier ArmstrongBy the way. Miss Armstrong. May have a word with you? I would like to

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Action

[wristsniper]

[Again, she feels compelled to follow. This isn't good, there are alarm bells going off in her head... This man is as good as insane and she's alone with him in his house.

But she follows in silence and takes a seat.]

[wristsniper]

[She has heard of what he can do, and being faced with it is not her idea of fun. She's prepared to die, she isn't afraid, really, but she is in vast amounts of pain.]

I can lead as long as I can breathe, Crimson.

[Finally, she releases an enraged, animalistic cry of anguish.]

Stop this!

[muertederojo]

*Kimbley frowns. He doesn't like being told what to do. He hated mother's day, just for that. At the sound of her 'command', he pulls her thumb backwards, on that same hand, hearing a firm snap.*

[wristsniper]

Augh! [She clamps her jaw shut, glaring at him. When will this end? The amount of blood coming from her hands is starting to make her feel dizzy.]

You've made your point, Crimson...

[muertederojo]

*he reaches down to roughly pull out both knives from her hands, and looks at them, tossing them in the sink.*

Go straight home, don't look back and... have a wonderful day, Miss Armstrong.

[wristsniper]

[With a cry, she ducks her head as the knives are savagely pulled out. Yes, she'll obediently rise from the chair, leaving a trail of blood through his house.

And out the door.

And down the street.

Never stopping to bandage them.]

[muertederojo]

*And he'll clean up the mess on the table and through out the house... damn these pesky stains!*