[ Mark sees Sanji draw his knees up, get ready to go back down after pretty much telling him to fuck off, yet again, and something in him that he'd been keeping buried finally snaps. ]
Fuck you. [ His voice is quiet, but he's glaring daggers at Sanji. Soft-spoken, but pissed. ] There's a literal bomb strapped to your wrist and you're saying you don't need help? It's not like you used my face to kill god knows how many people, so maybe try a little harder if you want to get rid of me so bad.
[ And with that he will swoop right back in to grab any part of Sanji he can to keep him up in the air. Preferably nowhere near anything that might beep or explode, but if that's the first part of him he can manage to get ahold of then so be it. ]
No. He doesn't have time for that. Whatever Mark's shouldering, he has loved ones who can help him bear the burden. He doesn't need Sanji—never did, in all honesty. If he knows what's good for him, he'll never look back once this is over.
As for Sanji, he knows what he needs to do, so what's one more strike against him in the sea of transgressions? He's just kicked off when a hand clamps around his left lower leg, the suddenness of which pulls a grunt out of him. Held in place by the iron grip, he tightens his core and flexes against the pull of gravity to lift his chin and shoot Mark a glare.
He can feel them. The voices below shift like ripples on the water's surface, reacting to his prolonged absence. Time's running short. The faces of rowdy cooks and annoying culinary masters white out his vision, and Sanji reacts the only way he can—violently, with the snap of his free leg.]
If you want to be responsible for more, keep bothering me. I'll detonate both bracelets while I'm at it.
[ Mark recoils at that sudden kick, less out of pain (he's had worse), more out of surprise — that Sanji would do that to begin with; that it still actually did hurt, physically and emotionally.
Not only does he let go, but he recoils at his words, too. For a second Mark just stares, disbelieving. And then he scrunches his face in frustration all over again. ]
You'd hurt yourself just to try to get back at me for trying to help you? [ He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. ] Do you seriously have a death wish?
[ How he means it: How far are you willing to go, Sanji? If he inadvertently threatened his friend(?), well... that's something Mark himself hasn't picked up on, because he doesn't think Sanji is capable of driving him to the point where he'd feel the need to put a permanent end to his shit, as frustrating as this entire experience has been, continues to be. ]
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Fuck you. [ His voice is quiet, but he's glaring daggers at Sanji. Soft-spoken, but pissed. ] There's a literal bomb strapped to your wrist and you're saying you don't need help? It's not like you used my face to kill god knows how many people, so maybe try a little harder if you want to get rid of me so bad.
[ And with that he will swoop right back in to grab any part of Sanji he can to keep him up in the air. Preferably nowhere near anything that might beep or explode, but if that's the first part of him he can manage to get ahold of then so be it. ]
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No. He doesn't have time for that. Whatever Mark's shouldering, he has loved ones who can help him bear the burden. He doesn't need Sanji—never did, in all honesty. If he knows what's good for him, he'll never look back once this is over.
As for Sanji, he knows what he needs to do, so what's one more strike against him in the sea of transgressions? He's just kicked off when a hand clamps around his left lower leg, the suddenness of which pulls a grunt out of him. Held in place by the iron grip, he tightens his core and flexes against the pull of gravity to lift his chin and shoot Mark a glare.
He can feel them. The voices below shift like ripples on the water's surface, reacting to his prolonged absence. Time's running short. The faces of rowdy cooks and annoying culinary masters white out his vision, and Sanji reacts the only way he can—violently, with the snap of his free leg.]
If you want to be responsible for more, keep bothering me. I'll detonate both bracelets while I'm at it.
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Not only does he let go, but he recoils at his words, too. For a second Mark just stares, disbelieving. And then he scrunches his face in frustration all over again. ]
You'd hurt yourself just to try to get back at me for trying to help you? [ He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. ] Do you seriously have a death wish?
[ How he means it: How far are you willing to go, Sanji? If he inadvertently threatened his friend(?), well... that's something Mark himself hasn't picked up on, because he doesn't think Sanji is capable of driving him to the point where he'd feel the need to put a permanent end to his shit, as frustrating as this entire experience has been, continues to be. ]