you couldn't be that man I adore ♫ [closed]
Who: Sebastian and Chrome.
Where: Sebastian's room at the Violet City Inn.
When: The morning after this little trainwreck.
Summary: Chrome saw the battered wife and is coming to confront the abusive husband.
Rating: PG at worst; Sebastian's calmed down by now.
Log:
[ After the night's fiasco, Sebastian honestly thought it best to get as much of the violence out of his system as he could. It was quick work, a simpler task as a human; his human body grew tired, and it had a finite amount of rage, unlike a demon. After trashing the room, he fell asleep on the bed, and he's only now woken up to survey the damage.
The mantle, the table, the shelves, all of them swept clean with a broad stroke of his arm. The mirror is still broken, traces of blood on the shards that haven't fallen, and the desk chair is upended in the doorway of the bathroom, where the shower curtain is sprawled in the tub.
With a soft sigh, he rises to his feet (tired, so tired, which is so much better than angry, since there's no one here to see him) and begins by removing his ruined glove and washing his bloodied hand. Even clean, it looks bad, but it doesn't hurt much anymore. He replaces the shower curtain and takes a scalding hot shower, changes into fresh clothing - not his butler uniform, but some spare clothes he bought around Christmastime - and begins the tedious task of cleaning up the rest of the mess. ]
Where: Sebastian's room at the Violet City Inn.
When: The morning after this little trainwreck.
Summary: Chrome saw the battered wife and is coming to confront the abusive husband.
Rating: PG at worst; Sebastian's calmed down by now.
Log:
[ After the night's fiasco, Sebastian honestly thought it best to get as much of the violence out of his system as he could. It was quick work, a simpler task as a human; his human body grew tired, and it had a finite amount of rage, unlike a demon. After trashing the room, he fell asleep on the bed, and he's only now woken up to survey the damage.
The mantle, the table, the shelves, all of them swept clean with a broad stroke of his arm. The mirror is still broken, traces of blood on the shards that haven't fallen, and the desk chair is upended in the doorway of the bathroom, where the shower curtain is sprawled in the tub.
With a soft sigh, he rises to his feet (tired, so tired, which is so much better than angry, since there's no one here to see him) and begins by removing his ruined glove and washing his bloodied hand. Even clean, it looks bad, but it doesn't hurt much anymore. He replaces the shower curtain and takes a scalding hot shower, changes into fresh clothing - not his butler uniform, but some spare clothes he bought around Christmastime - and begins the tedious task of cleaning up the rest of the mess. ]