[Connor admittedly isn’t intimidated when bootleg Gavin the man pulls out a gun. A handgun: small, held shakily.
How desperate might he be? How dangerous? It’s that shakiness that pings Connor, especially.]
I was giving you an opportunity to explain yourself before you leave. [The man reminds Connor of someone back home — almost fondly. It’s strange: being away from Detroit. Feeling all of these emotions, inspired by the horrors and loves and aches from home...
In a way, they are amplified here: his loneliness. His mercy.
Connor raises his hand to his side, as if to keep Castiel back. Not that he feels the man is about to spring forth, but still.]
I believe it’s you who is the “asshole” in this situation. This is Castiel’s, and — [glancing toward the floor, he sees that their friend has made it to the edge of the bed] — the slugs’ home.
[As the man mutters “phckin’ slugs?” Connor is on the move. Rushing up onto the bed, towering over the intruder. He doesn’t want to kill him, if at all possible, but it was the man who initiated violence. So as Connor gazes down at him — triumphant, almost; he really does remind him of that prickly detective back home — he slaps the gun out of his hand. It skitters across the floor, the arc calculated so that it would fly in the opposite direction of their slug friend.]
cn: guns ! violence !
[Connor admittedly isn’t intimidated when
bootleg Gavinthe man pulls out a gun. A handgun: small, held shakily.How desperate might he be? How dangerous? It’s that shakiness that pings Connor, especially.]
I was giving you an opportunity to explain yourself before you leave. [The man reminds Connor of someone back home — almost fondly. It’s strange: being away from Detroit. Feeling all of these emotions, inspired by the horrors and loves and aches from home...
In a way, they are amplified here: his loneliness. His mercy.
Connor raises his hand to his side, as if to keep Castiel back. Not that he feels the man is about to spring forth, but still.]
I believe it’s you who is the “asshole” in this situation. This is Castiel’s, and — [glancing toward the floor, he sees that their friend has made it to the edge of the bed] — the slugs’ home.
[As the man mutters “phckin’ slugs?” Connor is on the move. Rushing up onto the bed, towering over the intruder. He doesn’t want to kill him, if at all possible, but it was the man who initiated violence. So as Connor gazes down at him — triumphant, almost; he really does remind him of that prickly detective back home — he slaps the gun out of his hand. It skitters across the floor, the arc calculated so that it would fly in the opposite direction of their slug friend.]