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With the bloodied glove, the Doorman drives his thumb into the Drifter's mouth and hooks it in his cheek. The blood from his nose slowly drips down his chin, never enough to give Drifter the taste he so desperately wanted.
Breathing noisily through his nose, the Drifter has to force a swallow that is loud and demeaning for the fact that he wasn't being allowed to close his mouth to preform the action. A shudder traces up his spine as it only grants him a deeper pull of air, like he could will the blood into his very lungs to drown in. Narrowing his eyes into beady, red slits, the Drifter angles his chin down to bare his throat. He doesn't dare look anywhere else but into the Doorman's striking eyes but simply rumbles— a throaty, glottal noise of an animal that hasn't been domesticated.
"You will beg."