Hunt. Like a predator. Like a - monster. Cassius had called himself that so freely, hadn't he? And Hugh, in his infinite wisdom and capacity for ignoring red flags, had taken it as cutesy wording. A fun little self-title, like Doctor or Senior Engineer or abominable inhuman fucking thing. Because Cassius had been all big, dark eyes and little smiles, soft tones and the sort of pleasant drone that itches just right in the parts of him that aren't human anymore.
Hugh stills. Swallows audibly, eyes just a bit wider for it.
(Some part of him wants to say yes.)
"Oh - no, no. Not necessary. Adamska isn't worth the trouble, you know." There's the smile again, although it's not warm and soft - it's sharp and cocky, smeared on like paint. That glittery grin that goes crooked on one side, the one with a deeper line in his cheek. Like he wears this look often, this grin he doesn't feel. "How terribly thoughtful of you, Cassius. I'll remember that."
There are observers, of course. They shift restlessly at Cassius' quiet, earnest threat. A bit moreso when Hugh says that last line with a pointed look over his shoulder, heavy with dark promise. I'll remember it and I'll use it if I have to.
(He won't, not really. Doesn't want Cassius to make himself into the threat they so desperately want him to be so they can throw him away, or lock him up somewhere far smaller, far tighter and far worse. Treat him like a thing the way they wish they could treat Hugh.
But threats. Those are always useful.)
"I heal a bit quicker than the average human, it's really nothing. Far from the worst damage I've had done to me." He follows Cassius' line of sight down to his knuckles, laughing faint. A little shrug. "Far. From the worst. Honestly, you should see the other guy."
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Hunt. Like a predator. Like a - monster. Cassius had called himself that so freely, hadn't he? And Hugh, in his infinite wisdom and capacity for ignoring red flags, had taken it as cutesy wording. A fun little self-title, like Doctor or Senior Engineer or abominable inhuman fucking thing. Because Cassius had been all big, dark eyes and little smiles, soft tones and the sort of pleasant drone that itches just right in the parts of him that aren't human anymore.
Hugh stills. Swallows audibly, eyes just a bit wider for it.
(Some part of him wants to say yes.)
"Oh - no, no. Not necessary. Adamska isn't worth the trouble, you know." There's the smile again, although it's not warm and soft - it's sharp and cocky, smeared on like paint. That glittery grin that goes crooked on one side, the one with a deeper line in his cheek. Like he wears this look often, this grin he doesn't feel. "How terribly thoughtful of you, Cassius. I'll remember that."
There are observers, of course. They shift restlessly at Cassius' quiet, earnest threat. A bit moreso when Hugh says that last line with a pointed look over his shoulder, heavy with dark promise. I'll remember it and I'll use it if I have to.
(He won't, not really. Doesn't want Cassius to make himself into the threat they so desperately want him to be so they can throw him away, or lock him up somewhere far smaller, far tighter and far worse. Treat him like a thing the way they wish they could treat Hugh.
But threats. Those are always useful.)
"I heal a bit quicker than the average human, it's really nothing. Far from the worst damage I've had done to me." He follows Cassius' line of sight down to his knuckles, laughing faint. A little shrug. "Far. From the worst. Honestly, you should see the other guy."