You own a— a— [He has to bite his own tongue with the singular pair of flat incisors he possesses just to keep from letting a word slip too loudly in sheer shock as they crowd in one another's space, tugging a set of stray, feathering pulses loose beneath his ribs. Staying in shadow comes naturally even in the throes of instinct, and while he fits himself sidelong across the edge of Fenris' body, it's the way he's conformed to in turn that upends every last rattling thought he could possibly attempt to kickstart in those seconds.
And then the engine of his skull sputters back to life with one sharp (whispered) hiss:] —You own a bloody mansion?
no subject
And then the engine of his skull sputters back to life with one sharp (whispered) hiss:] —You own a bloody mansion?