Thomas barked out a wicked, triumphant laugh as he watched   the terror that gripped Melinda make her stumble in the filthy gutter. He revelled in her mis-step, as he saw it as a sign of how he'd managed to scare away all reason in her, an important step to breaking the girl who carried herself with such noble airs. That she cried out her single word of denial, he knew she was just babbling rather then showing any strength.<br/><br/>This was made doubly clear when his eyes trailed Melinda as she took a wrong turn down a blind alley. He actually began to sing a jaunty yet menacing tune from a GIlbert and Sullivan Operetta as he followed her:<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">With Cat-like tread...</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">...upon our prey we steal.</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">In silence dread...</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">...our cautious way we feel.</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">No sound at all...</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">...we never speak a word.</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">A fly&amp;#39;s foot-fall...</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">...would be distinctly heard.</span><br/><br/>Were it not for the setting and the horror of this moment for Melinda, Thomas might just be some gentleman wandering home after an evening at the theater. This was not the case, made abundantly clear by the way he sauntered over to Melinda, waving his knife through the air the way a conductor does his baton, maintainting that aura of casual violence he was famous for. He gave her a moment to think she just might be able to catch a foot hold to climb over the wall before stretching a hand out to grab at the back of her neck. He want to pluck her from the wall and let her feet dangle in the air the way a cat does when carrying a kitten by the scruff of the neck. "You're mine... now, tomorrow, forever," he hissed out through gritted teeth as his fingertips brushed past her hair as they went to close around her throat.