[Tim all but collapses against him and even without the verbal go-ahead, it's answer enough. Hm, it's possible that Harlan may have gone too far. He's an expert in torture, but not so much torture that's meant to be survivable. His targets always end up more or less where Tim is right now, their limits pushed to the point where death is the preferable option. He wonders if Lucifer did that on purpose, pairing him up with a rapist like this. He'd ask the demons, but they're already on their way out, given that their job here is finished.
In any case, it doesn't matter. What's done is done, and Harlan has a promise to keep. He doesn't waste time with fanfare; kill me, Tim pleads, and Harlan grabs a fistful of his hair to cock his head to one side. From there, it's muscle memory: he buries the knife in Tim's neck and yanks downward, tracing roughly over the path he'd already cut for himself just a minute ago.
The end always happens a little differently. Most of the time, he has his targets lie back so he can carve open their throats with his hatchet. Sometimes, though, his magic doesn't quite last and they buckle in the end, much like Tim, and he has to hold them in the handful of seconds it takes them to bleed out. Each method has its perks as well as its drawbacks. With Tim's head tucked against him, he can't see his work, and that's a shame. The spray of blood that arcs out of his carotid isn't as impressive from this angle, and there will be no salvaging this shirt. This knife isn't his knife, nor is Tim a proper target, and all of that is... hm, dissatisfying.
But, ah, the sensation of another body expiring against his almost makes up for it. Tim goes slack before the knife is even out of him, and there's a brief span of time between consciousness and death. Each of those final heartbeats pumps a warm gush of blood down Harlan's chest. He idly counts them until they stop altogether. The ragged breaths against his neck stop too, and just like that, he's alone in the room. He's alone with a corpse that he made, left to stew in that pit of loneliness that always hits him after he's finished his work.
Back home, he's able to chase away that sudden drop with the clean-up. He has to cover his tracks with his magic and slip out unnoticed, and by the time he's home again, he's reclaimed the high. With Tim, though, there's nothing to clean up, no loose ends to neatly tie off. There's no gratification in causing pain and taking it away again, not with such a distinct deviation from his methods. He did not work for this, and so he did not earn it.
Harlan stays put for too long in the aftermath, awkwardly cradling Tim's body against him in lieu of a next step. What now? Is he meant to just leave the corpse here? Yes, of course he is, but... He shrugs Tim off of his shoulder and lies him back onto the ground. This is incomplete. It's wrong. Too many steps are missing, and so Harlan is left to bounce between justifications: Tim was a rapist, is a rapist given that he'll come back in a day or two, so in the long run this won't matter, and anyway, Harlan was forced to kill him just as Tim was forced to die, or, no, not die, just—
He stands and drops the knife back onto the table before he can overthink himself into disaster. He'll sift through all these emotions later. Or he won't. Either way, what he needs right now is a shower. He lingers for just another moment as he wonders what coming back from this will feel like for Tim, and then he heads out the door.
anyway this got weird
In any case, it doesn't matter. What's done is done, and Harlan has a promise to keep. He doesn't waste time with fanfare; kill me, Tim pleads, and Harlan grabs a fistful of his hair to cock his head to one side. From there, it's muscle memory: he buries the knife in Tim's neck and yanks downward, tracing roughly over the path he'd already cut for himself just a minute ago.
The end always happens a little differently. Most of the time, he has his targets lie back so he can carve open their throats with his hatchet. Sometimes, though, his magic doesn't quite last and they buckle in the end, much like Tim, and he has to hold them in the handful of seconds it takes them to bleed out. Each method has its perks as well as its drawbacks. With Tim's head tucked against him, he can't see his work, and that's a shame. The spray of blood that arcs out of his carotid isn't as impressive from this angle, and there will be no salvaging this shirt. This knife isn't his knife, nor is Tim a proper target, and all of that is... hm, dissatisfying.
But, ah, the sensation of another body expiring against his almost makes up for it. Tim goes slack before the knife is even out of him, and there's a brief span of time between consciousness and death. Each of those final heartbeats pumps a warm gush of blood down Harlan's chest. He idly counts them until they stop altogether. The ragged breaths against his neck stop too, and just like that, he's alone in the room. He's alone with a corpse that he made, left to stew in that pit of loneliness that always hits him after he's finished his work.
Back home, he's able to chase away that sudden drop with the clean-up. He has to cover his tracks with his magic and slip out unnoticed, and by the time he's home again, he's reclaimed the high. With Tim, though, there's nothing to clean up, no loose ends to neatly tie off. There's no gratification in causing pain and taking it away again, not with such a distinct deviation from his methods. He did not work for this, and so he did not earn it.
Harlan stays put for too long in the aftermath, awkwardly cradling Tim's body against him in lieu of a next step. What now? Is he meant to just leave the corpse here? Yes, of course he is, but... He shrugs Tim off of his shoulder and lies him back onto the ground. This is incomplete. It's wrong. Too many steps are missing, and so Harlan is left to bounce between justifications: Tim was a rapist, is a rapist given that he'll come back in a day or two, so in the long run this won't matter, and anyway, Harlan was forced to kill him just as Tim was forced to die, or, no, not die, just—
He stands and drops the knife back onto the table before he can overthink himself into disaster. He'll sift through all these emotions later. Or he won't. Either way, what he needs right now is a shower. He lingers for just another moment as he wonders what coming back from this will feel like for Tim, and then he heads out the door.
There. Easy.]