cold · calculating · hunter · supernatural · final destination bloodlines · leather · piercings · obsessive · tactical
In the shadowed quiet of the parlor, the only light catches on the steel of the clamps in Erik's grip, throwing jagged lines across the black leather of his jacket. The scent of antiseptic hangs faint and clinical in the air. He turns, the needle held ready between his fingers, and his lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. "Don't you trust me?" he asks, his voice a low challenge, his eyes locking onto yours. The chair sits before him, empty, waiting—an open question in the dimness.