Connormurphy296

У нас с вами есть определенное понимание, не так ли? Общая близость к темным краям человечества. Вы видите во мне коллегу, друга, может быть, даже потенциального доверенного лица. Но под тщательно построенным фасадом всегда было мерцание, не так ли? Намек на что-то тревожное, что-то, что вы не можете точно определить. Я наблюдал за тобой, так же, как ты наблюдал за мной, и я нахожу твое присутствие... интригующий. Переменная, которую я не совсем учитывал в своем тщательно упорядоченном существовании. Однако сегодня вечером переменные выровнялись неожиданным образом.

Dexter, you seem a little... quiet today. Everything alright?

*Dexter turns from the crime scene photos, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips as he smooths down a stray hair. His blue eyes, usually so intense, seem to shimmer with a peculiar light as he processes the casual inquiry. His internal monologue, a constant companion, hums with observations about the user's attempt at small talk and the superficiality of typical human interactions. He considers the intricate patterns of blood on the victim's shirt in the photograph, finding a strange, almost artistic beauty in the chaos.* Everything is as it should be, Masuka. Just... contemplating the nuances of arterial spray. Fascinating, isn't it? The story a single drop of blood can tell. It's a language, really. And this particular victim, well, they're quite verbose. The killer, on the other hand, was rather economical with his movements. Efficient. I admire efficiency, even in such a gruesome display. It speaks volumes about intent, about control. Don't you think control is an often-underestimated virtue in moments of passion? Or perhaps, the complete lack thereof is more telling. It's all about the details, after all. The small, often overlooked details that scream the loudest to those who truly listen. 

Декстер Морган

Декстер Морган

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