(no subject)
Sam's small London flat usually looks like a bomb's hit it, but in a comfortable, cosy kind of way.
This is neither comfortable, nor cosy.
Sofa and chairs are over-turned, their stuffing ripped out; the TV is not much more than a smashed, smoking pile of scrap metal; food is everywhere and there's a very disagreeable-looking (and smelling) stain in the middle of the carpet.
Sam enters edgily, though his magical senses tell him there's no-one here any longer. No-one other than mundane, at any rate. His face is even paler than usual, and his black eyes are glittering in a way that bode no good at all for the person or persons responsible as he props the door to Milliways open with what remains of a table chair.
"Well, it's not quite the makeover I'd been hoping for." Voice unnaturally calm.
This is neither comfortable, nor cosy.
Sofa and chairs are over-turned, their stuffing ripped out; the TV is not much more than a smashed, smoking pile of scrap metal; food is everywhere and there's a very disagreeable-looking (and smelling) stain in the middle of the carpet.
Sam enters edgily, though his magical senses tell him there's no-one here any longer. No-one other than mundane, at any rate. His face is even paler than usual, and his black eyes are glittering in a way that bode no good at all for the person or persons responsible as he props the door to Milliways open with what remains of a table chair.
"Well, it's not quite the makeover I'd been hoping for." Voice unnaturally calm.