#dottore wont allow for anything less hhjdfg

[fatedevour]

♢  —    @bogachs​​​​​​​​​​​​ asked:  "do you know how to tango,  docteur?  this is a popular dance within natlan,  i'm told." he says idly, a devious smirk decorating fair features,  "…perhaps i should ask capitano to help me improve my footwork.  for a warrior clad in armor more often than not,  he is surprisingly gifted."  he lets this thought hang in the air between them, before turning towards him, bowing slightly, inviting,  "unless you would grant me this dance?  an enticing challenge,  wouldn't you say?" (tango with pantalone dottore, i dare you.)

unprompted asks: ALWAYS ACCEPTING

   INITIAL interest boiled low, though the REGRATOR is still granted more of Dottore’s attention than he would have granted ANOTHER who spoke of something of feeble interest to him. TANGO? Did he know that? It took a moment to DRAG UP the memories from where they were tucked deeply in a distant, dusty corner of his mind. It was, after all, information that was HARDLY pertinent to Dottore’s work or travels. He’d OBSERVED it, not danced it. But that was fine, Dottore was EXCELLENT at replicating things from observation.

   And then Pantalone says CAPITANO’s name and his body suddenly STIFFENS. It is no subtle change either. From RELAXED to looking as taunt as a bowstring ready to SNAP at the slightest loosening of control. The name ALONE was enough to provoke a reaction. But the ADDITIONAL compliment towards Capitano? Normally Dottore would agree  —  Capitano was gifted. But in THIS context? Dottore is not used to this UGLY, SNARLING feeling in his chest that suddenly explodes in all its fury. It twists and CLAWS at him like something trying to burst out and DEVOUR and SLAUGHTER. He wanted blood. It’s a terrible feeling. CORROSIVE, hardly the feeling fit for a man who valued logic. But it’s there, REARING its ugly head, demanding and restless. He absolutely WILL NOT be allowing for that. He hates that infliction, hates how easily it can be said. It leaves a BITTER, DISGUSTING taste in his mouth.

   The THOUGHT of Capitano and Pantalone dancing such a dance. HE HATES IT. HATES, HATES, HATES. The ugly thought twists and screeches in his head like a siren. He’s used to BEING the monster, not having one rage against the flimsy boundaries of flesh in his chest that makes up his body. He felt like a creature with its hackles raised. NO. He won’t be allowing for that, HE DOESN’T CARE THE SCENE IT WOULD MAKE. If necessary, he would do so. 

   Had Dottore actually paid attention, he might have realized it was an INTENTIONAL PROVOCATION. But he wasn’t USED to them in this way. Wasn’t used to the dizzying intensity of JEALOUSY. So he didn’t.

   He might not have MOVED, but it would HARDLY conceal the sudden intensity of the air around the doctor. At least until Pantalone’s voice cuts through UGLY RAVINGS. His head lowers a fraction at the bow, slowly allowing the rage to ease away. EASILY PACIFIED at such a simple gesture. (Later, Dottore might be both flabbergasted and infuriated at HOW easily such had occurred.)

   “  I”m FAMILIAR with it.  “  Dottore answers, finally managing to find the words now that it doesn’t feel like POISION might spill form his lips.  “  I’ll grant you this dance, REGRATOR. I do hope you know what you’re getting YOURSELF into.  “  Dottore allows for a flash of mouth full of fangs as he draws closer to the ninth. He’s sure Pantalone DOES, although the DEPTH or INTENSITY of it might have been MISCALCUALTED if one was able to pry open his chest and peer at the rage that had been in his chest. But already it was calming down with just a few words, heeding and obeying.

  “  Shall we?  “  He murmurs, pulling them both onto the floor.