He had been hoping for entirely too much. With an angered sigh, he settles instead for relief, which he takes in the form of one of the beds, pulling aside the covers, not to sleep, but instead to rip off the sheets and begin to shred them with his scythe for bandaging. They seem clean at least. Soft, too. This place was fucking bizarre, but very... fancy. Reminded him of Samael's home. He tried not to think about this desperation for a connection to comfort, and instead took his bandages to one of the lounges, curling small into a chair to treat himself.
"This would be a really shitty way to die," he gripes to no one in particular, trying to tourniquet the gash where the last Abaddon had managed to get in one final blow. Kenning was going to save that particular soul for when things got bad. He looks around next for an idea of what to do next. He doesn't need food, but some might be comforting. And he'll squeeze every iota of comfort he can find out of this hellhole.
I can tolerate a stranger in my home, but I draw the line at vandalism.
The voice seemingly comes from everywhere and nowhere all at once. If Kenning looks, there is no one to be seen within the vicinity but there certain feels like a presence is beside him. The sensation of electricity crackles in the air, followed by the undeniable scent of ozone.
You've made quite a mess of things. I certainly hope you can explain yourself.
