[ though kovacs doesn't think much about his own appearance, he still knows it's a face that would be classified as "pretty" for all that ryker's put it through shit and back with the evidence of its scarring, attractive enough to draw attention, even if it isn't the kind he cares about drawing most of the time. but if it means waving it around for joke or two, he won't show much restraint, nose even crinkling a bit at her retort. ]
You comparing me to a dog, Cabrera?
[ the displayed squint shows offense, even if he doesn't carry any, tsking under his breath for a moment before he watches her slide off of the desk, turning in his seat to follow her movements, brows raising when he peers upon the glint of the scissors held so closely to his face. ]
You mean, do I trust you not to poke my eye out? [ he gives a bit of a smirk, gaze turning up to her with a slight purse of his lips. ] Go ahead. Make me pretty.
no subject
You comparing me to a dog, Cabrera?
[ the displayed squint shows offense, even if he doesn't carry any, tsking under his breath for a moment before he watches her slide off of the desk, turning in his seat to follow her movements, brows raising when he peers upon the glint of the scissors held so closely to his face. ]
You mean, do I trust you not to poke my eye out? [ he gives a bit of a smirk, gaze turning up to her with a slight purse of his lips. ] Go ahead. Make me pretty.