[ most people would rather generously describe finch as something of a twink, a skinny little blond in club-clothes, covered in tattoos and piercings, with a cautious set of copper-colored cat's-eyes. he carries himself as if he's mink's size, though, effortlessly confident, and there's something about him that's almost uncomfortably attractive. inhumanly so.

he tips his chin up as his glance rakes over mink, taking in the long hair and powerful frame, and when he offers a toothy smile, heat and hunger fill the air between them, thick and sultry. ]

Darlin', you want it to hurt and I can make it hurt as sweet as you want it to. [ his accent is american southern and.. not, as if he's been out of the south long enough to lose much of it. he takes a step forward, into mink's personal space, and his tongue flicks out against his mouth briefly, the bar in it clicking against his teeth as he does so. ] But see, baby, I'm careful even then, 'cause I'm real goddamn hungry, and things like me can eat and eat and eat people right up.