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Summary
Argenti goes very, very still. In his armour it’s hard to even see the rise and fall of his chest. Only the slightest sway of one curl gives it away, shifting against his breastplate. Then his head cocks to one side. It’d be cute if the look in his narrowed eyes wasn’t so… dark. “On your knees.” It’s a command, not a suggestion. His hand starts to move again, pulling at the straps of his vambrace. The armour piece slides free, gets set on the portable rack Argenti’s set up.
Before he can start on the other one, Boothill says, “Make me.” He expects hesitation. He doesn’t get it. Argenti is in front of him a moment later, bare hand clasping the back of Boothill’s neck. It’s right where metal meets flesh, that sensitive, scarred line weakens Boothill at the knees. Argenti knows this – applies pressure and Boothill caves with almost no resistance. His knees hit the ground with a thud that aches bones he no longer has, the shockwave of impact radiating through his sensors.