BLOOD & BRUISES PROMPT
@linepithema
He’d been bleeding. Itching. Festering. Some kind of weird side-affect of molting off of his not-so-friendly viral form. It was always naturally painful, the split of bones, the carapace breaking apart, the unfathomable burning in his veins that manages to still force Steve into a dry-heaving mess at the end of it all even after all these years. It would occasionally flare up, like a temper reaching boiling point -- the simmer into an unspoken threat dangling at knife-point.
A hand presses into the ornate wall, the luxurious wallpaper a velvet of some kind. Expensive. Infuriating. There’s at least there shreds of the stone underneath brutally cleaved in spaces of what seems to be claws much larger than Steve’s own hand. Some patches of green flesh still swell across the canvas of fleshy arms and neck, spider-webbing up to his jawline.
The question signals before the voice itself. A rasp of a laugh escapes a tired throat, before the redhead blinks and lifts his head. Not Alexia. Not Alfred. Who else would be able to wander around in the house like this?
No-- it’s more like a tomb, really.
Steve focuses and composes himself, blinking away the red blotted color infecting his blues as he focuses on the girl standing just a few feet down the hall. Was he THIS far gone that he might be hallucinating someone other than the Ashfords here? It was a possibility, but there was some... familiarity that was fluttering its way from his chest like an estranged butterfly. But it’s all wrong too. It’s just like when he’s standing near HER. The presence is unmistakable, but different all the same.
“I-- wait, who are you?” Dumbfounded, he forgets to answer. The need to know was stronger than the will to forge a response. There’s no way that Alexia hired any staff here; no WAY that Alfred would even allow anyone but himself to take care of the manor. Cut and dry, not a piece of dust to be seen - nary a misplaced spoon. Though, he’s sure to get a nice earful from this wall damage...
