Sebastian Ellington

I thought you knew I was filthy rich
I thought you knew I never answer my phone
I thought you knew I was a late night with a bad bite I thought you knew.

There was little doubt within the man's mind the Ceara was increasingly less pleased to see him. The man had developed some habit of simply depositing his maker at her door step, entirely unsure of where else he might simply leave her whilst still ensuring she remained relatively safe. The woman had far more experience with Anna-Marie then he could ever hope to have and yet, he still made some effort to charm her enough to, reluctantly, take her from him for the evening at the expense of that story on what had occurred. Ceara, at least, understood that volatile nature of the child and why he so sought to escape from her. After all, Ceara herself had run from the girl ages ago in the same fashion he was now considering, even if he knew well that he could not simply run forever. That walk back to his own Estate in the North felt both far longer than he liked and yet, at the same time, not yet long enough. He yearned for the sanctuary of those walls and yet, somehow, the tranquility within them had been ruined by her. With no concrete proposal on how to fix this, Sebastian found himself entirely anxious for what the following night would hold for him. He could hardly help those questions that plagued him - if she would return and what he would do when she inevitably did. He knew, to some degree, how to co-exist with the elder child and yet, it so often considered of simply placating her and cleaning up her messes but such was not a risk he wished to take with Dorian - much less his concerns on how such actions would likely displease the singular soul whose opinion he placed precedence above all else.

It was with a soft sigh upon his lips that stepped over that threshold into that warm, familiar home. Sebastian had been gone nearly an hour now since that eventful evening within his living room and still, he found himself lacking that reprieve he should have felt within that place he'd worked so hard to turn into a home. Gingerly, he closed that door behind him, pausing to lean his back against that solid oak frame, letting it support him as he slumped briefly against it in a small show of his own utter exhaustion at this whole affair. Worrying was a near second nature for the man, the fact that this clearly now pertained to Dorian as well only had a fashion of further exasperating that internal fretting. He tried to still those thoughts, he tried to push them back into the far recesses of his mind. After all, Dorian at least deserved somewhat of a decent evening to what he was assured was already a traumatic enough night as it was. He didn't want to worry the man any more than necessary. Softly, Sebastian exhaled, his eyes fluttering open with a certain sort of determination, attempting to appear nothing if not placid of the whole situation. He could, however, use a drink. Hell, he was certain they both could after all of that.

He stepped into that living room, those bright blue eyes so quickly finding his lover as he made his way towards the man. His lips gingerly pressed against Dorian's forehead, before he uttered softly. "I'm sorry that took so long, I had to convince her to deal with Anna-Marie." They were certainly not the first, nor the last to have ever felt the wrath of that petulant girl. He knew well his lover had questions for him, that there were matters to be discussed and though he hardly intended to shy away from such a conversation, the siren call of that alcohol still demanded to be answered. "I'm going to get us something to drink - when was the last time you had Gin? Have you ever had Gin?" He questioned over his shoulder, moving away from his lover and towards that kitchen were those drinks were kept at such a perfect temperature within that small wine fridge. Though he had every intention of indulging in that booze that was so typical of his culture, the vampire never quite got to that tumbler and its liquid comfort.

He opened the door to the kitchen, those bright blue eyes falling upon that broken bright blue pottery. His lips parted, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly as he stared in disbelief at that scene his once pristine kitchen had become. "Florence - what happened to you?!" He cried to his beloved teapot, a marked hint of distress within his voice as he moved to pick up those small shattered pieces off the cracked base. His favorite teapot. His best teapot. It always brewed the perfect tea and now it was gone. The vampire settled on the floor surrounded by all those little pieces, almost trying to fit them back together even if he knew well that it was quite a fruitless effort. She would never hold water again, much less be able to handle the heat of the stove. His entire life was utterly doomed - any hope he had of juggling Anna-Marie and his lover erased all thanks to one damaged tea pot.