A quick check-in with Charlie was about twenty, before she was tagged in for a debate between Husk and Angel Dust, the latter of which needed some back-up. They headed off to animated conversation.
This left the King of Hell wandering without a word, aimlessly, for what felt like days. Because he looked for all the world like he was definitely on his way to something or was deep in thought, nobody saw fit to bother him.
On days like these, he preferred it.
But a man could also drive himself insane with boredom.
You're sick. Sick. Like. Me.
...Fucking Alastor. He scowled. HE wasn't sick. Everything just sucks, and some days sucked worse. By all accounts, he should give the fella a piece of his mind!
But he recalled the wound. It'd been... a month and a half? Two? And it still looked like that. It was clear that Adam had used a blessed weapon, and probably something dearest to him.
That stupid guitar. His 'panty-dropper'.
His own frustration happily blended with concern. Alastor was, by all accounts, a citizen in his realm, and lived under this roof. Shouldn't he do something to help? He could heal, he could...
Without realizing, he'd passed the turn to head down the stairs. He'd been making a beeline...
The king stopped, puffed his cheeks, and zipped back to the turn toward the staircase. He pressed himself against the wall.
Wait. He can't come off as desperate. As much as grabbing an arm and kissing up the length of it was soundly his style, there's-
no subject
A quick check-in with Charlie was about twenty, before she was tagged in for a debate between Husk and Angel Dust, the latter of which needed some back-up. They headed off to animated conversation.
This left the King of Hell wandering without a word, aimlessly, for what felt like days. Because he looked for all the world like he was definitely on his way to something or was deep in thought, nobody saw fit to bother him.
On days like these, he preferred it.
But a man could also drive himself insane with boredom.
You're sick. Sick. Like. Me.
...Fucking Alastor. He scowled. HE wasn't sick. Everything just sucks, and some days sucked worse. By all accounts, he should give the fella a piece of his mind!
But he recalled the wound. It'd been... a month and a half? Two? And it still looked like that. It was clear that Adam had used a blessed weapon, and probably something dearest to him.
That stupid guitar. His 'panty-dropper'.
His own frustration happily blended with concern. Alastor was, by all accounts, a citizen in his realm, and lived under this roof. Shouldn't he do something to help? He could heal, he could...
Without realizing, he'd passed the turn to head down the stairs. He'd been making a beeline...
The king stopped, puffed his cheeks, and zipped back to the turn toward the staircase. He pressed himself against the wall.
Wait. He can't come off as desperate. As much as grabbing an arm and kissing up the length of it was soundly his style, there's-
Well-
It's-
Was it too soo-