[It definitely is Henry Creel, just Henry Creel with all of his polite edges sawed off, unable and uncaring to keep them plastered on as he often does. He's pushing himself up on his elbows, dripping blood from one nostril. Even that is a great, great effort that lifts him maybe only a few inches from the ground.
Now he's not only exhausted, but his head is splitting, like knives behind his eyes. He gazes at her, cuts his look down to the ground where her shadows remain peaceful, lifts that gaze back up-
And sneers.
At something just beyond, over her shoulder, further down the library.]
Ha... of course.
[Henry's shadow splays across a bookshelf, shaped... strangely. Larger, almost more muscular, with... hm. Is that a large left claw hand? It moves closer, slow and purposeful.
no subject
Now he's not only exhausted, but his head is splitting, like knives behind his eyes. He gazes at her, cuts his look down to the ground where her shadows remain peaceful, lifts that gaze back up-
And sneers.
At something just beyond, over her shoulder, further down the library.]
Ha... of course.
[Henry's shadow splays across a bookshelf, shaped... strangely. Larger, almost more muscular, with... hm. Is that a large left claw hand? It moves closer, slow and purposeful.
guess they can't catch a break]