All of this anger - this agitation (this discomfort) - and nowhere to direct it. At some point he sits, because he has to do something, because if he stands he's half an impulse away from exiting the room and strangling the shit-spitting bastard, never mind the consequences or who fucking sees. It'd spell the end of this problem.
(It'd keep Enri protected.)
(It'd keep everything in line.)
He shouldn't do that. Death can't be the answer here; there'd be more trouble to follow. He needs to— Clear his senses. He wants to reach for Lydia, gesture for Lydia, but the problem's impacted her too, she's seen something, she's communicating something. She called the boy 'Puppy.' (Why.) She doesn't like this, either. The situation and all the world's a fucking mess, and there can be no ease for anyone until a solution's found.
He sits, and he seethes, letting Custis speak anger for the both of them. Trying to heed Lydia and hearing, vaguely, Alice's interjections, but what Morgan remembers is Enri snarling, and Enri fighting, and Enri strange. (There's a reason. Lydia knows the reason. Morgan can't calm himself enough to understand, and every glance at the bedroom door sparks his vision red again.)
Alice enters Enri's room to talk, to check on the boy, and the sound of Alice through the door incites him again - this shouldn't be happening, none of this should fucking be happening - and Morgan stands abruptly. Kicks a table, heavy fucking thing that thuds out of place and leaves his foot distantly aching, then stalks to the next room. Fingers flexing, fist clenching. Not looking at Lydia, but setting his shoulders to suggest an attempt at self-control, at removing himself in order to guard against further damage.
He paces. He paces. And when Alice emerges, he moves like a shot to stand in the doorway, eyes focused, seeking signs of what transpired.
no subject
Of course he doesn't fucking like it.
It's fucking unconscionable.
All of this anger - this agitation (this discomfort) - and nowhere to direct it. At some point he sits, because he has to do something, because if he stands he's half an impulse away from exiting the room and strangling the shit-spitting bastard, never mind the consequences or who fucking sees. It'd spell the end of this problem.
(It'd keep Enri protected.)
(It'd keep everything in line.)
He shouldn't do that. Death can't be the answer here; there'd be more trouble to follow. He needs to— Clear his senses. He wants to reach for Lydia, gesture for Lydia, but the problem's impacted her too, she's seen something, she's communicating something. She called the boy 'Puppy.' (Why.) She doesn't like this, either. The situation and all the world's a fucking mess, and there can be no ease for anyone until a solution's found.
He sits, and he seethes, letting Custis speak anger for the both of them. Trying to heed Lydia and hearing, vaguely, Alice's interjections, but what Morgan remembers is Enri snarling, and Enri fighting, and Enri strange. (There's a reason. Lydia knows the reason. Morgan can't calm himself enough to understand, and every glance at the bedroom door sparks his vision red again.)
Alice enters Enri's room to talk, to check on the boy, and the sound of Alice through the door incites him again - this shouldn't be happening, none of this should fucking be happening - and Morgan stands abruptly. Kicks a table, heavy fucking thing that thuds out of place and leaves his foot distantly aching, then stalks to the next room. Fingers flexing, fist clenching. Not looking at Lydia, but setting his shoulders to suggest an attempt at self-control, at removing himself in order to guard against further damage.
He paces. He paces. And when Alice emerges, he moves like a shot to stand in the doorway, eyes focused, seeking signs of what transpired.
"Well?"