[And just like Petre told him that night - the very thought makes him sick.
So sick it's his turn to swing a fist across John's face. There isn't much strength backing his arm, but the impact's enough to leave a red mark somewhere between John's jaw and his cheekbone.
There's nothing less than disgust in Petre's face when he suddenly recollects himself and arranges his hair, looking to the sides. That was a breakdown in its purest form, and the thought that anyone might have seen it --
Doesn't matter.]
Wish not granted. Sorry.
[He isn't taking away the order, and instead adding another one.]
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So sick it's his turn to swing a fist across John's face. There isn't much strength backing his arm, but the impact's enough to leave a red mark somewhere between John's jaw and his cheekbone.
There's nothing less than disgust in Petre's face when he suddenly recollects himself and arranges his hair, looking to the sides. That was a breakdown in its purest form, and the thought that anyone might have seen it --
Doesn't matter.]
Wish not granted. Sorry.
[He isn't taking away the order, and instead adding another one.]
Now get out of my fucking sight.