Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-27550231-20170522170711/@comment-28358106-20170528212650

"Well, well, well. It looks like I was right all along."

Thomas comes strolling from the nearby brush, dressed in his everyday work clothes. Except this time, the front on his vest is spattered with blood and other fluids of indeterminate origin. From the waist down he is covered in clotting blood and the ichor of bodily trauma, even though he himself looks unharmed. He holds a white towel, his hands deep crimson with dried blood. He wipes his hands as he talks, the towel rapidly losing its purity.

He looks at Jorge, and sees that he is staring at the dripping blood. He looks down at himself, then back up. His voice takes on a tone of deep resentment and anger.

"Oh, this? This is nothing new.  You ought to recognize it, actually.  It's all from your victims, but mostly your family.  You killed them too, you know. This here," he slaps a hand on his left pant leg, making a sickening squelch as it hits the ichor, "Belonged to Aabi.  I'll bet you didn’t even know that Magic Armor could bleed, did you?  Here, have a look at her.  You can have what's left."

With a sneer he throws the sodden towel at Jorge. It hits his chest with a wet slap, spattering him.