Sniper has like, a bad habit of not taking baths so Medic cleans for him?
The Frenchman wasn’t expecting much of a positive reaction from him, of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean that isn’t the reaction he wanted. In fact, he hadn’t got a glare shot his way that fast in a long time. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the occasional harsh tongue.
Lysandre’s lips tugged to the side some, a faint grin inching its way along his face. He was anticipating what was about to be verbally exchanged, on the edge of his seat (so to say), a desire festering for Vin to be a bit of sadist with him. Like old times. But sadly, to his dismay, he got a measly ‘what the fuck do you want’. He almost frowned at that, his arms folded across his chest.
“Oh, nozhing really.” He purred in an innocent tone, though it was evident he was preparing to be his per usual mischievous self. “Can’t Ai’ just watch a man without truly ‘aving a specific reason- aha.” That even sounded weird to him. Though the Spy had lost most emotions towards the Australian, it was still exceedingly entertaining to Lysandre to see the Sniper’s eyes narrow, expression grow dark, and attitude twist and modify into a look of true abhorrence.
“Jeou may continue with what jeou were doing, just pretend Ai’m not even here.” Lysandre insisted, taking a few more steps towards the other. They were slow, and almost looked hesitant, as if he was still contemplating whether or not he should really rile up the poor man’s feathers today. But the Spy knew exactly what he was doing, and what he wanted to extract from this spontaneous meeting.
He grunted his response, trying to do as was suggested. The sniper returned to his weapon, wiping it on his sleeve before he continued to sharpen it. Vin continued to go along with it, that was, until the Spy stepped one step too close.
Something was off about the spy, something different from usual that he couldn’t quote put his finger on. That annoyed him, it set him on edge, soon he found himself tensing up. Similar to a dog who felt he was being challenged.
One more step, the last straw, the spy might have been closer then he’d have wanted to be. Within moments the ginger had jumped to his feet, closed the gap between them and held the newly sharpened blade to the other man’s neck.
"Don’t push me. Don’t fuckin’ push me," he hissed, tempted to strike him there and now. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but he had a feeling that the other was trying to aggravate him, and he couldn’t stand that.
"Oi said oi’d forgive ya fer th’old stuff. N’ oi have. Jus’ don’t think I’m gonna be a push over, a’roight?"
Sets about sharpening his shiv for no reason other then wanting to look particularly intimidating today.
Jeremy stares at the sniper. His shiv needed sharpening too but he’s fine. But a sharpening block would be nice. “Where ya get your sharpening block?”
"Huh?" Stares at the man, grunting before he continues on sharpening it.
"Town - why?"
The next time you open your trap, it had better be to put my cock in, wanker. *He kicked Vin off of his knife with an angry hiss* I’m going to my cabin until Spring’s over and you’d better leave me alone about it.
*He didn’t attempt to stand after that, allowing himself to fall to the ground before he pressed his hands to the wound, attempting to stop the bleeding. Vin mumbled a few words, swears, nothing awfully loud.*
Yeh fuckin’ wish. *He hissed quietly. Fully intending to get his revenge someday.*
*Unfortunately for him, McLeach catches the blade, sacrificing his hand to give himself an opening. Holding the edge despite his pain, he aims to drive his knife into the rib cage beneath the Sniper’s arm*
*He grins for a moment, thinking he’s had a small victory, but soon he realizes what’s happened, he flinches, glaring at the man. If looks could kill it really would have been Vin who won this fight.*
*having no interest in fighting or anything else with him, he drew his knife and grabbed for the other man’s knife with his free hand*
*It’s as that hand’s raised that he aims for it, attempting to deal a good amount of damage to it with a firm swing.*