His lips pout and curl, his stance arching his face as he exercises his muscles and sighs, rocking back and forth in his chair. Maybe he was a murderer and a monster - a lost and confused little boy, cracked on the outside, shattered on the inside, maybe his mask was breaking - none of it mattered, in the end, he’ll be picking himself up.
He laughs, even more so when she tries to loosen the grip of the rope around her wrists. He gives him commands, the palm of his hand making contact with her cheek, hard, hard enough to leave a red mark “Watch your mouth.” His hand slips into his back pocket, grasping that all too familiar knife in his jeans and flicks it open, the boys eyes gleam with the silver reflection. He points it towards her, a shallow breath, and another, his mind is empty and he relishes in the silence, the silence of the voices, the cries, the screams, the thoughts, the scenes, every picture, every damned memory.
"You stole that bike." It’s monotone and deadpan that he himself isn’t sure as to whether it is a question or a statement? Or both?
A small whimper escaped her as the force of his had made her head turn. She took a moment to compose herself, biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out or lashing back. “Alright, then.” Trixie glared up at Malus with watery eyes. She kept her eyes on the knife as the blade made an appearance, but she made eye contact once more when he gave her an answer.
"So the fu-" Trixie cut herself off, glaring at the ground. She reminded herself to take even breaths, keep calm and keep formal before she tried to speak again. "And? So what? You’re telling me you don’t steal? No one in your gang steals?" The words were already out before she remembered she was talking to someone in the richest gang on the outskirts. She growled to herself and looked up as if the answer would be there. If only her head would stop hurting.
"Alright, I stole a bike," she started, trying again. "But clearly it’s not mine anymore considering I’m down here.”