“Who the fuck are you?” Sips asks, looking frantically around himself for an exit. He’s being penned in.
Slowly, two, three, four humanoid figures rise up- gray golem-like forms made from the ground beneath his dress shoes. The figures are silent as they shuffle closer. Their arms reach for Sips robotically. He can’t pull away when hands wrap around his forearm, his shoulder, his wrist.
“Hey, let go! Fuck off!” He starts to struggle, and the figures’ grips tighten painfully.
Another concrete hand reaches for Sips, but before it can touch him, the bond erupts.
CW: minor violence/injury; mention of gun/gunshot wounds/attempted murder/viscera/actual murder/blood; arguing; smoking; drinking; talk about death and personal sacrifice (not the ritual kind); minor depressive mood
If I need to tag something else, let me know.