Describe facial expressions
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This leader is resting against the wooden pillar with a face of utter nonchalance, as if he were merely waiting for a bus on a spring day, apple in hand. He isn't slumped at all, his body is clearly too muscular for that, yet it is just as relaxed as his face. He's almost smiling - smiling as if something good were about to happen. The world falls through my feet. Good for him is likely bad for me. Very bad.
Mac's face fell faster than a corpse in cement boots. In that instant his skin became greyed, his mouth hung with lips slightly parted and his eyes were as wide as they could stretch. There wasn't even a point in reaching for his gun. There must have been eight well armed assailants at the very least. He had nothing to protect him but empty words and his badge. They had always been good enough up until now but somehow he didn't think it was going to work this time. He glanced nervously at his car, if they didn't know the vials were in the trunk he might be able to deal - unless Gregor had died already - then all bets were off.
As her father rounded the corner Saskia wondered why-ever he had gotten out of bed. His facial expression was cadaver-like, not just sagged but lacking it's usual liveliness completely, as if he had left his spirit snuggling under the duvet. His eyelids drooped and there was a slight lolling to his head, drunk with fatigue after a session of night-time trading no doubt. But why not just lie in? Even his feet barely skimmed the tile and altogether his limbs bore the appearance of being too heavy for him, like he was personally struggling against far more gravity than everyone else.
As Gina waits in the dark of the abandoned warehouse, wrapped in furs, she bares the facial expression of one expecting a great gift. There is a hint of the victor in the smile surrounded by stiff cheeks, not the supple grin of a friend, but the joy of the enemy after the battle is won. By now Mac would be tied-up tighter than a Christmas turkey, how fitting. She ran her hand lovingly over her newly acquired taser, a gift from her new friend in blue. Something clean to start the proceedings with before her employees got to vent their frustration with their boots. No knives alas, it was better if he survived - even if his state was vegetable-like.
He looks like Omar, except his expressions. In fact, his face is expressionless with no sign of feelings. Facial expressions are for those who have emotions and a mind able to choose for itself. But his dark hollow eyes show that he has neither, and he doesn't know what he is doing. That's what Eric had been working on, to extract the human from inside of him, and replace it some kind of machine which only he can control.
April bites on her lower lip and her eyes turn glossy with tears. She tries to blink them away and when she realizes that she can't, she pulls up the hood of her jacket and stares at the ground. She hides her tears, and with it all the pain she's been through. And when she looks at him again she turns into a different person. She manages to fake a smile that buries her pain deep inside her heart. But her eyes remain cold, like nothing in this world could melt them.
absent, agonized, alluring, appealing, black, bleak, blissful, blithe, brooding, chagrined, cheeky, cheerful, cheerless, choleric, coy, crestfallen, dark, dejected, dour, etched, gazing, gloomy, grace, impassive, leering, moody, peeved, pouting, sanguine, searching, sly, sour, sullen, tight, wan, wistful, wrathful, derisive, downcast, faint, glancing, glowering, haunted, inscrutable, meaningful, pained, petulant, quizzical, sardonic, snarling, set, stolid, stoic, taunting, unblinking, wary, withering, wry, despondent, dreamy, fixed, glaring, glowing, hopeless, hopeful, jeering, mild, pallid, pitying, radiant, scornful, shamefaced, sneering, straight-faced, taut, vacant, wide-eyed, woeful, doleful
Lara is slumped at the breakfast table, her brows creased and face tense. When Mom sits, coffee in hand, she asks "What's up?" her tone casual and light.
Lara's scowls at her scrambled eggs, "I don't know whether to do basketball or swimming. I like both but I only see Claire at swimming."
Mom takes another sip and then continues, serious faced, "I see, well, what's does your gut tell you? Which one do you want more?"
Lara's face crumples again, "I don't know!"
Mom makes her face straighter than a poker player and says, "Lara, you're not going swimming." For a fraction of a second the corners of Lara's mouth twitch upwards, until her conscious mind asserts control again. Then Mom says "Actually, no, you're not going to basketball." Lara's face is serious all the way from her eyes to her mouth, no pleasure at all, not even masked. "OK," Mom says, "We'll finish this set of swim lessons, then switch to just basketball. You can still see Claire every week, OK honey?"
Grandpa moved like a clockwork soldier at times, especially in winter. He said it was the shrapnel he got in the war, somehow the injury never fully healed. It didn't stop him though, he hobbled just as fast as the rest of us walked, often faster. I asked him once, about the day it happened, and his face fell into an expression I'd never have associated with his features before. Under that exuberant personality was someone more vulnerable than I could have guessed. He was in a truck on the way to the battle of el Alamein in Egypt, the side was only canvas. The fabric was no barrier to the metal shard and neither was his flesh. He spent the battle in a Cairo hospital, and likely it saved his life. He couldn't understand why he lived when so many "better men" died, he couldn't even speak the names of his fallen friends without bracing his face to stiffness. I never asked again. We talked about the town garden competition, about radio shows and runner beans. He'd earned it.