Fashionably Late -Active-Open
Characters: Xanxus, Squalo, OPEN
Setting: Entrance Hall
Time: Late Day 008
Summary: Xanxus arrives and no, he's not too pleased about it.
Warnings: Language?
The warmth of a breath bounced back at him as he pushed it out of his chest. Face flat against the floor and a stinging headache, he was pissed off before he could get to his feet. He couldn't remember falling or where he was, only that it had been different from what he last remembered about anything. He didn't just pass out, no this was someone's fault. Whomever it was, oh he was just prepared to rip them in two.
Xanxus hadn't moved until his fingers curled into a fist. Already imagining the ways he would rip whomever was responsible for knocking him out. Glossed over with sleep, he opened his eyes. A distasteful look hardened across his face before slamming a fist against the floor, only to receive the blunt pain shoot back up his arm. He tensed and inhaled sharply through his nose. A quiet groan passed through his lips as he lifted his head before the rest of his body followed. Every limb still heavy and slow, almost numb around the edges as he tried to adjust to the delay and waken. Head still swimming, at least he'd made it to his feet, the details of the room clearing out for him as he pinched his fingers to his temples.
The house rested noisily above him, the Italian pressed his lips together, disinterested in whatever company he may share. He turned to the door, and yanked at the handle with no avail. The house settled again, his lip snared bitterly as he glanced back to the hallway. His tongue clicked with distaste before he heaved his shoulder against the door, only meeting a flat unbudging surface. Again, and again he threw himself, thinking the wood would splinter or moan but it only shook and rattled against the heavy pacts of his weight.
Xanxus growled quietly, slamming one hand against the polished wood before twisting back around on his foot. The last grains of his patience had slipped away, a small table captured his attention. Hastily he took it in his hands, tossing its contents over the floor. While quietly relishing in the tinkered sounds of his destruction, he lifted the piece above his head and swung it against the window...
Setting: Entrance Hall
Time: Late Day 008
Summary: Xanxus arrives and no, he's not too pleased about it.
Warnings: Language?
The warmth of a breath bounced back at him as he pushed it out of his chest. Face flat against the floor and a stinging headache, he was pissed off before he could get to his feet. He couldn't remember falling or where he was, only that it had been different from what he last remembered about anything. He didn't just pass out, no this was someone's fault. Whomever it was, oh he was just prepared to rip them in two.
Xanxus hadn't moved until his fingers curled into a fist. Already imagining the ways he would rip whomever was responsible for knocking him out. Glossed over with sleep, he opened his eyes. A distasteful look hardened across his face before slamming a fist against the floor, only to receive the blunt pain shoot back up his arm. He tensed and inhaled sharply through his nose. A quiet groan passed through his lips as he lifted his head before the rest of his body followed. Every limb still heavy and slow, almost numb around the edges as he tried to adjust to the delay and waken. Head still swimming, at least he'd made it to his feet, the details of the room clearing out for him as he pinched his fingers to his temples.
The house rested noisily above him, the Italian pressed his lips together, disinterested in whatever company he may share. He turned to the door, and yanked at the handle with no avail. The house settled again, his lip snared bitterly as he glanced back to the hallway. His tongue clicked with distaste before he heaved his shoulder against the door, only meeting a flat unbudging surface. Again, and again he threw himself, thinking the wood would splinter or moan but it only shook and rattled against the heavy pacts of his weight.
Xanxus growled quietly, slamming one hand against the polished wood before twisting back around on his foot. The last grains of his patience had slipped away, a small table captured his attention. Hastily he took it in his hands, tossing its contents over the floor. While quietly relishing in the tinkered sounds of his destruction, he lifted the piece above his head and swung it against the window...