[ Thick as his fingers are in their leather gloves, Dickerson produces a mean little folding knife from a pocket in his vest, flicks it open, and takes hold of Richard’s upturned wrist in less time than it takes Wysteria to hit part three of her question. He could’ve fetched a scalpel, he could’ve run a flame along the blade, he could have switched to gloves that aren’t scorched rough and stained with evidence of experiments past. He could’ve done plenty of things.
The thing that makes the most sense to him is to nick a neat slice into Richard’s forearm before he can change his mind, so that is what he does as casually as he might snip through the skin of a potato. Just enough to draw blood.
He’s quick and he’s precise and he swipes the blade across the back of his glove before he folds it away again. A glance across to Wysteria in the process is less about clocking her reaction to the clip they’re moving at and more about trying to catch a glimpse of how many more questions she intends to ask. ]
no subject
The thing that makes the most sense to him is to nick a neat slice into Richard’s forearm before he can change his mind, so that is what he does as casually as he might snip through the skin of a potato. Just enough to draw blood.
He’s quick and he’s precise and he swipes the blade across the back of his glove before he folds it away again. A glance across to Wysteria in the process is less about clocking her reaction to the clip they’re moving at and more about trying to catch a glimpse of how many more questions she intends to ask. ]