[his expression remains exactly the same way it was a moment before, but at that comment Vincent's eyes bug out to the point that it's a wonder one of them doesn't burst and spray his unwilling victim with frothing blood.
his hand clenches instinctively over the offending one, as if by squeezing it out of existence with his death grip he can also eradicate the reality in which those words escaped from Kit's demented mouth. teeth audibly grinding against one another in pure rage, he manages to hiss out a response eventually:]
As if you were my type.
[why hasn't he taken a swing at him yet? the simple answer is that Vincent is simply too stunned to react in any way that isn't purely instinctual. it's going to take him another few moments before his brain sorts itself out to the point he can attempt some serious violence.]
no subject
his hand clenches instinctively over the offending one, as if by squeezing it out of existence with his death grip he can also eradicate the reality in which those words escaped from Kit's demented mouth. teeth audibly grinding against one another in pure rage, he manages to hiss out a response eventually:]
As if you were my type.
[why hasn't he taken a swing at him yet? the simple answer is that Vincent is simply too stunned to react in any way that isn't purely instinctual. it's going to take him another few moments before his brain sorts itself out to the point he can attempt some serious violence.]