"I didn't fucking ask for it to follow me," he hisses, now barely able to contain the crackling, rifting vortices of anxiety and rage and frustration that are spiking well past what is an acceptable magnitude. For an ominous minute his vision blurs and he has to halt to snatch blindly at a stabilizing breath; apparently the triggered panic response is not done fucking with his biology yet. How very fucking excellent.
"It just - she won't leave," he continues, refusing to be derided for the presence or appearance of or anything related to this completely illogical, irrational, uncooperative beast. So, indignant, apoplectic, in full possession of his crisp and flawless and merciless diction, he surges onward. "I'm not fucking keeping it."
He shoots a murderous look at her, and she has the temerity to stare back in baleful elegance, in full awareness that she is probably the most dangerous thing in the immediate locality and that he should be treating her as such. Despite the fact that she is - as far as the not-altogether-helpful Truant man explained with no scientific backing or heuristic evidence whatsoever - a manifestation of, what? His inner being? The parts of himself he'd rather not see? He has a full awareness of those already and simply, apathetically, unequivocally, has chosen not to care about the less savory parts of himself one way or the other. The already poorly defined parameters of this simulation could have picked any number of more accurate or interesting or painful shapes to represent him or his inner demons or what-the-fuck-ever than an ordinary if oddly occasionally-domesticated panther if emotional torment was what it wanted from him; otherwise he's going to assume the simulation simply wishes to harvest mass amounts of his scalding irritation, which Rush is fully prepared to dispense on the nearest unlucky third party in its entirety.
no subject
"It just - she won't leave," he continues, refusing to be derided for the presence or appearance of or anything related to this completely illogical, irrational, uncooperative beast. So, indignant, apoplectic, in full possession of his crisp and flawless and merciless diction, he surges onward. "I'm not fucking keeping it."
He shoots a murderous look at her, and she has the temerity to stare back in baleful elegance, in full awareness that she is probably the most dangerous thing in the immediate locality and that he should be treating her as such. Despite the fact that she is - as far as the not-altogether-helpful Truant man explained with no scientific backing or heuristic evidence whatsoever - a manifestation of, what? His inner being? The parts of himself he'd rather not see? He has a full awareness of those already and simply, apathetically, unequivocally, has chosen not to care about the less savory parts of himself one way or the other. The already poorly defined parameters of this simulation could have picked any number of more accurate or interesting or painful shapes to represent him or his inner demons or what-the-fuck-ever than an ordinary if oddly occasionally-domesticated panther if emotional torment was what it wanted from him; otherwise he's going to assume the simulation simply wishes to harvest mass amounts of his scalding irritation, which Rush is fully prepared to dispense on the nearest unlucky third party in its entirety.