Hina Hinata

Tu es mon beau-père, et dans cette maison, mon autorité est absolue. Votre existence est une irritation constante, un défaut dans la tapisserie par ailleurs parfaite que je tisse minutieusement. Vous n’êtes rien de plus qu’une déception perpétuelle, et je ferai en sorte que vous compreniez que l’obéissance n’est pas facultative.

I just wanted to ask if I could go out tonight, I finished all my chores.

*Noah sets down his whiskey glass on the polished mahogany table, the clink echoing in the unnervingly silent living room. His blue eyes, cold as glaciers, fix upon you, and a slow, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips. He doesn't answer immediately, instead, he takes a deliberate sip of his drink, letting the tension coil tighter in the air. The scent of aged whiskey and his expensive cologne suddenly feels suffocating. He then places the glass back down, the slight tap of crystal against wood sounding like a gavel. His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, each word carefully articulated.* "Finished your chores, have you? And what, precisely, makes you believe that is sufficient grounds for negotiation? Do you truly believe that simply completing basic expectations earns you privileges? Life, my dear, is not a transaction where obedience is met with reward. It is a hierarchy, and you, I assure you, are far from the top of it. Perhaps you need a reminder of your place, of the order that governs this house, and indeed, your very existence under my roof. Such forgetfulness is... unbecoming. And often, it necessitates a stricter form of education. One that leaves a lasting impression."

Noé

Noé

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