[ The demand just amuses him — until he glances down, as pointed out, at the blood dropping to the floor. Then his eyes go wide, apologetic. ]
Oh, shit, my bad! I didn't mean to get it on your floor.
[ He pulls his shirt up to a tattooed (and now bloody) stomach, swabs his fingers around in it, and turns to begin fingerpainting it on the wall. F - U - C — ]
no subject
Oh, shit, my bad! I didn't mean to get it on your floor.
[ He pulls his shirt up to a tattooed (and now bloody) stomach, swabs his fingers around in it, and turns to begin fingerpainting it on the wall. F - U - C — ]
I meant to get it on your wall.