“Never. Fucking. Mind?”
This follows several empty seconds of recalibration, while fear fronting as anger grinds toward authentic anger with a fuzz of residual fear in the background. They are moving in fits and starts, it seems, like a machine on the fritz. Not that they have ever been well-oiled. Near’s heart is still kicking into the backside of his ribs. His posture remains taut, prepared to surge forward with a closed fist or to fall back, despite Jude’s attempt at sleight-of-hand. A knife, even a small knife, isn’t one of those things you can just out of sight out of mind away.
“You just threatened to cut me. Ten seconds ago. With my own knife.” (As if the knife’s ownership matters – but it does somehow, the offense feels worse than if it had emerged from Jude's pocket.) He speaks slowly, a little too loudly, enunciating the shape of the words as if that will make the gravity of the situation clearer – his you’ve had enough to drink now voice – since Jude doesn’t seem to grasp it. He really doesn’t look like he understands. There is no apparent hostility on his face, no evidence that he’s just waiting for Near to let his guard down. Still.
“You don’t get to ‘oh never mind let’s eat’ that. What the hell is wrong with you? Put that fucking thing down, or I'll make you.”
This follows several empty seconds of recalibration, while fear fronting as anger grinds toward authentic anger with a fuzz of residual fear in the background. They are moving in fits and starts, it seems, like a machine on the fritz. Not that they have ever been well-oiled. Near’s heart is still kicking into the backside of his ribs. His posture remains taut, prepared to surge forward with a closed fist or to fall back, despite Jude’s attempt at sleight-of-hand. A knife, even a small knife, isn’t one of those things you can just out of sight out of mind away.
“You just threatened to cut me. Ten seconds ago. With my own knife.” (As if the knife’s ownership matters – but it does somehow, the offense feels worse than if it had emerged from Jude's pocket.) He speaks slowly, a little too loudly, enunciating the shape of the words as if that will make the gravity of the situation clearer – his you’ve had enough to drink now voice – since Jude doesn’t seem to grasp it. He really doesn’t look like he understands. There is no apparent hostility on his face, no evidence that he’s just waiting for Near to let his guard down. Still.
“You don’t get to ‘oh never mind let’s eat’ that. What the hell is wrong with you? Put that fucking thing down, or I'll make you.”