The knife stopped midway through puncturing Dobby's topmost skull. Dobby winced as if he had actually been stabbed, his chest rose and fell constantly.
Ashton cried, "Come on, Jin. This isn't like you!"
It grew awfully silent for a while. Jin hadn't said anything yet; he froze like a statue, towering over the petrified Dobby in his presence.
Jin was seething in rage. He stormed off, he opened his hands and his dagger disappeared. He walked down the flight of stairs, and started walking through the living room.
Cliff's head followed him like a camera. "Hey, Pin. You have my utmost condolences …" mischievousness to his tone. "I can't believe you killed your own—"
A dagger—with a luminously green contrail—went spinning and flipping toward Cliff's body. The dagger missed his head, and penetrated the soft material of the couch he had been sitting on.
Cliff looked at the dagger, and then looked at Jin again. "Your aim is horrible …" he knew Jin wasn't trying to actually hit him.
