[The so-called stunt with the soda can just so happened to be the most effective way to both launch a counterattack and free up his hands. Kit had never intended for the tab to get caught on Vincent's piercing in the process...but neither was he sorry that it had.
Vincent had chosen to allow his anger to get the better of him and, as a result, he'd lost one shiny piece of face metal somewhere in the stairwell. He had only himself to blame for that. Much the way he could only blame himself for Kit's decision to withhold a response until the smaller boy had nearly reached the first landing.]
Don't worry about me. This is nothing. [In his youth, Kit had been a frequent fighter. He'd often wandered back 'home' covered in cuts and bruises, but the same could not always be said for the other party. For all the damage he incurred, he had a penchant of doling out much worse. He'd never taken a life, of course. But with some of the things he had done, perhaps death would have been more merciful. Not that he was that person anymore. A year and some months later, he may not have outrun the rumors or the way the promise of a good fight made his blood boil, but he was...different. Not shaved of his thorns, but perhaps possessing fewer. But always the same barbed sense of humor.] You, on the other hand...you may well be the one in a sorry state if you're not careful.
[Despite the discomfort, this time Kit made no attempt to hide his amusement, muffle his soft laughter, or for the sake of Vincent's dignity refrain from pointing at his posterior. When the can and piercing were thrown earlier, they must have come apart. One was stranded somewhere on the stairs still, and the other had made its way down to the ground floor where it must have gotten snagged on the smaller boy's clothes.]
If you fall from there, you could wind up with a piercing you didn't bargain for.
no subject
Vincent had chosen to allow his anger to get the better of him and, as a result, he'd lost one shiny piece of face metal somewhere in the stairwell. He had only himself to blame for that. Much the way he could only blame himself for Kit's decision to withhold a response until the smaller boy had nearly reached the first landing.]
Don't worry about me. This is nothing. [In his youth, Kit had been a frequent fighter. He'd often wandered back 'home' covered in cuts and bruises, but the same could not always be said for the other party. For all the damage he incurred, he had a penchant of doling out much worse. He'd never taken a life, of course. But with some of the things he had done, perhaps death would have been more merciful. Not that he was that person anymore. A year and some months later, he may not have outrun the rumors or the way the promise of a good fight made his blood boil, but he was...different. Not shaved of his thorns, but perhaps possessing fewer. But always the same barbed sense of humor.] You, on the other hand...you may well be the one in a sorry state if you're not careful.
[Despite the discomfort, this time Kit made no attempt to hide his amusement, muffle his soft laughter, or for the sake of Vincent's dignity refrain from pointing at his posterior. When the can and piercing were thrown earlier, they must have come apart. One was stranded somewhere on the stairs still, and the other had made its way down to the ground floor where it must have gotten snagged on the smaller boy's clothes.]
If you fall from there, you could wind up with a piercing you didn't bargain for.