[No. No more begging. Ramon doesn't beg, not anymore.
He has the gall to pull his eyes away from the face of the man who is going to kill him in favor of watching his mechanical arm twist and morph under the forces of servos and switches to turn into the weapon that will kill him.
His heart beats hard enough that it physically aches. He feels a rage bubble up inside of him, responding to the internal cry for an encore. The green glow from Dolph's arm is mirrored by the bright emerald that settles into Ramon's eyes.]
Innocent?
[He snarls, the sourest punchline he's ever heard.
His face scrunches into something completely distasteful: his brow pinched between too-big eyes, pupils now pinpricks, the flesh of his nose bunching up at the bridge as he bears his massive teeth -- no longer a mascot, but a scorned alien monster, in all of his betrayed wrathful glory.]
Aren't you going to ask me what I was doing instead?
[He braces his hands against the floor and leans forward into the threat, pressing his forehead into the end of Dolph's cannon. Whether or not Dolph can actually feel any tactile feedback in this arm is a moot point: his elbow will buckle, even if just a little, from the force that Ramon is pushing back on it with.
Deathwish? Still no. But if he has no choice in the matter, let his final words at least represent the better world that he always wanted, even when he was used to prolong the suffering of the very people he was trying to fight for.]
no subject
He has the gall to pull his eyes away from the face of the man who is going to kill him in favor of watching his mechanical arm twist and morph under the forces of servos and switches to turn into the weapon that will kill him.
His heart beats hard enough that it physically aches. He feels a rage bubble up inside of him, responding to the internal cry for an encore. The green glow from Dolph's arm is mirrored by the bright emerald that settles into Ramon's eyes.]
Innocent?
[He snarls, the sourest punchline he's ever heard.
His face scrunches into something completely distasteful: his brow pinched between too-big eyes, pupils now pinpricks, the flesh of his nose bunching up at the bridge as he bears his massive teeth -- no longer a mascot, but a scorned alien monster, in all of his betrayed wrathful glory.]
Aren't you going to ask me what I was doing instead?
[He braces his hands against the floor and leans forward into the threat, pressing his forehead into the end of Dolph's cannon. Whether or not Dolph can actually feel any tactile feedback in this arm is a moot point: his elbow will buckle, even if just a little, from the force that Ramon is pushing back on it with.
Deathwish? Still no. But if he has no choice in the matter, let his final words at least represent the better world that he always wanted, even when he was used to prolong the suffering of the very people he was trying to fight for.]
The Board of Directors are dead.
You're welcome.